to five years in federal prison, the longest sentence ever imposed for that crime. Few Americans probably remember Winner’s case, which in this case is an advantage, better allowing Satter and her star — a revelatory Sydney Sweeney — to work their tautly coiled craftsmanship.
Winner is just getting home from running errands when she’s approached by two FBI agents , who meet her in the driveway and almost immediately begin asking whether there are any animals in the house. Reality’s dog and cat become absurdly comic supporting players in a Kafkaesque chamber piece whose dialogue is taken entirely from transcripts of the ensuing interrogation.
Satter’s original title was taken from a brief — and surreal — interruption in Winner’s interrogation; “Reality” is more literal — with its close-ups and wider visual range, the movie becomes an even more compelling portrait of an already compelling subject — and also more layered, as Winner’s story and demeanor morph from wide-eyed naiveté to something more ambiguous.
Satter, who makes her filmmaking debut here, brilliantly deploys cinematic technique to deepen and animate what might easily have been a static tableau of talking heads, intercutting real-life tape and introducing moments of static to stand in for redactions in the official record. One of those elisions is the name of the online outlet to which Winner sent the incriminating article. When she says the name out loud, it plays like a whopper of a reveal.
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