‘Silenced’ Review: Post-#MeToo Doc Addresses Worldwide Misogyny (and So Much Else)

Sundance 2026: Selina Miles’ documentary has a powerful thesis but could use a tighter edit

Silence
"Silenced" (Courtesy of Sundance Institute)

An important documentary that doesn’t quite feel finished, “Silenced” has undeniably essential stories to tell. With a few structural adjustments, its impact could be significant.

Director Selina Miles begins by introducing us to Jennifer Robinson, an Australian barrister who works on a wide range of human-rights cases. Robinson is also co-author of the book on which the film is based: “How Many More Women,” about the ways in which legal systems, and defamation suits in particular, silence survivors of sexual abuse.

Among her most high-profile clients is Amber Heard, who appears briefly and with apparent hesitation. “This is not about me” are the first words the actress says. “I don’t even want to use my voice anymore.” Her exhaustion alone, after years of public battles, speaks volumes.

Given the sheen of awe constructed around Robinson, it’s unsurprising to learn that she’s an executive producer of the film. She’s meant to be our solemn guide through this dismaying world, but Miles shoots her in such a glamorous way — closeups of her high heels, slow-motion shots of her walking purposefully or gazing thoughtfully — that it inadvertently does this passionate and accomplished professional a disservice.

That’s a shame, because the film does succeed in expressing its overarching message: that the kind of work Robinson is doing for victims of weaponized lawsuits is desperately needed.

Once Miles shifts her focus to some of the system’s survivors, the documentary opens up significantly. All of them speak with remarkable strength and moving eloquence about their years-long ordeals.

Catalina Ruiz-Navarro is a feminist journalist who reported on eight women who raised allegations against Colombian director Ciro Guerra (whose last movie starred Heard’s ex-husband, Johnny Depp). Guerra filed three judicial claims in constitutional, criminal and civil courts, requiring the journalist to spend virtually all of her time and money on defense.

In South Africa, Sibongile Ndashe serves as executive director of the Initiative for Strategic Litigation in Africa, an organization that trains lawyers to defend journalists and survivors in defamation suits. British journalist Alexi Mostrous, creator of the podcast “Who Trolled Amber,” notes the suspiciously structured nature of online smear campaigns against public figures like Heard and Blake Lively.

And back in Australia, Brittany Higgins shares the overwhelming punishment she experienced after reporting that a colleague had assaulted her. “I’m just really tired,” she admits, echoing Heard. “I’ve gone through four government reviews, a criminal trial, a civil trial, countless civil suits. I wouldn’t even know how many.” Online harassment, stalkers at her home, horrific deepfakes, and vicious rumors became her daily reality.

In other words, someone documenting worldwide misogyny has no shortage of material with which to work. However, that avalanche of evidence has also, perhaps inevitably, led to some thematic diffusion. Sometimes the film seems to be about Robinson, sometimes it seems to be about specific legislation and the women it impacts, and sometimes it seems to be about the #MeToo movement in general.

There are clips of accusers, including E. Jean Carroll, Gisèle Pelicot and Lively, and of the accused, including Geoffrey Rush, Conor McGregor and Andrew Tate. And the film ends with extensive updates on everyone from Harvey Weinstein and Sean Combs to Clarence Thomas and Brett Kavanaugh.

Miles convinces us that her central thesis — about defamation laws that have been both egregiously misunderstood and cynically exploited — is powerful enough to deserve its own film. With a sharper center and a tighter edit, we’ll have it.

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