A New Shirley Chisholm Biopic Undersells Its Impressive Subject

In 1969, Shirley Chisholm became the first Black U.S. congresswoman at 44 years old. The Brooklyn representative’s objection to her assignment on the agriculture committee reads today as a justified act of indignance: She was there to get things done for her constituents, seniority be damned.

A version of this incident appears near the beginning of Shirley (premiering Friday, March 22 on Netflix after a one-week theatrical run) to alert us that Chisholm was unwaveringly results-oriented despite obstacles like protocol, process and tradition. And just as importantly, the scene suggests that her voice was not respected.

The obviousness with which the prolific writer, producer and director John Ridley conveys these two points sets the tone for the rest of this watchable but predictable historical drama. The problem is that Shirley consists of a parade of dialogue scenes that, contrary to principles of visual storytelling, show us nothing and tell us everything. The missed opportunity is that we are continually presented with what Chisholm (played by Regina King) represents, rather than taken, shaken and inspired by who she was.

Shirley pinpoints Chisholm’s arrival on the national scene by condensing the universe of 1960s political, racial and social upheaval into a simplistic collage. Chisholm isn’t a radical, though, but an experienced educator and state legislator who believes in change from within the system. Perhaps frustrated with the pace of progress in Congress, she decides at the beginning of 1972 to run for president.

Like George C. Wolfe’s superior film Rustin (also on Netflix), which blends its subject’s personal life with the planning and execution of a specific project (the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom), Shirley takes us behind the scenes while building toward a finish line. Chisholm’s Jamaican-born husband Conrad (Michael Cherrie), a private investigator who becomes her security, supplies a low-temperature domestic melodrama. Her disapproving sister Muriel (Reina King) shows up now and again to reprimand Shirley for a swelled head (she’s not special, no matter what their father told her growing up).

On the longshot, underfunded campaign front, Black Congressmen Walter Fauntroy (André Holland) of Washington, D.C. and Ron Dellums (Dorian Crossmond Missick) of Oakland say all the right things to Shirley. But—spoiler alert!—politicians don’t always keep their promises. At least Chisholm’s seasoned political advisors, Wesley “Mac” Holder (Lance Reddick) and Arthur Hardwick Jr. (Terrence Howard), are trustworthy, as is Conrad even if his opinion doesn’t carry the same weight.

If you appreciate Dellums’ appearance in Shirley, you’ll chuckle in recognition at a young Black student named Barbara Lee (Christina Jackson), whom Chisholm enlists in the campaign and entrusts with increasing responsibility. Lee has less screen time than national student coordinator Robert Gottlieb (Lucas Hedges), but her character resonates louder.

While Rustin offered the pleasures of Colman Domingo’s flamboyant performance, Shirley largely deprives Regina King of flashy moments. She has a wonderful scene with actress and singer Diahann Carroll (Amirah Vann) and Huey P. Newton (Brad James) next to Carroll’s Hollywood pool, but Shirley doesn’t give her a galvanizing speech until Chisholm takes the mic late in the film at a luncheon of Black delegates at the Democratic National Convention.

Only then does Chisholm’s polite dignity give way to something approaching righteous fury — Chisholm’s defining characteristic and the beating heart of Shola Lynch’s galvanizing 2004 documentary Chisholm ’72: Unbought and Unbossed (streaming on Kanopy and Amazon Prime).

Admittedly, there is a sequence in Shirley where the congresswoman’s measured demeanor and old-school values combine to deliver a punch. Against her advisors’ counsel, Chisholm visits avowed racist and fellow Democratic presidential candidate George Wallace in the hospital after he’s paralyzed by an assassin’s bullets. She speaks to him as a Christian, and her compassion and belief in second chances contrast sharply with recent statements of some supposedly religious politicians.

Curiously, this was one of the few times in Shirley where I felt its relevance to the current moment. Though it’s standard procedure for biopics and historical dramas to draw connections to the present, Shirley fumbles this basic assignment. At the end of the film and before the credits, Ridley awkwardly inserts Congresswoman Barbara Lee to deliver a few words about Chisholm’s contributions.

Was Shirley Chisholm’s presidential campaign a transformative event or a political footnote? John Ridley would say the former, but his film doesn’t make a convincing case.