Straw

From the very first frame, *Straw* signals its intent to trap us in a boiling pot of psychological pressure. Taraji P. Henson plays Janiyah, a single mother pushed to the absolute edge, spiraling into a tense standoff in a local bank. The setup — built around escalating tension, grief, and systemic failure — has the bones of a compelling thriller. And to a degree, it delivers. But Tyler Perry’s approach, often walking the line between deeply emotional and melodramatic, creates a movie that is as uneven as it is intense.

Taraji P. Henson holds nothing back. Her portrayal of Janiyah is deeply human, emotionally layered, and emotionally exhausting — in the best way possible. She carries every scene with an urgency that feels real, never exaggerated. It’s a performance that justifies the film’s existence. Sherri Shepherd adds heart and gravitas, while Teyana Taylor surprises as the officer caught between protocol and empathy. It’s a rare case where the casting truly feels like alchemy, as the Heaven of Horror review put it — turning otherwise straightforward roles into fully lived-in people.

Perry clearly aims to dig into psychological realism and social critique. There’s ambition in how much emotional weight is thrown into a single day of Janiyah’s life: a layoff, eviction, health emergencies, and bureaucratic indifference all snowball into a tragedy. This “everything all at once” approach does succeed in overwhelming the viewer, which is likely intentional, but it comes at the cost of narrative pacing. The storytelling at times feels heavy-handed and overloaded, with scenes collapsing under the pressure of their own urgency.

Even the weather becomes symbolic — sudden downpours reflecting emotional breakdowns — though some critics have called this "visual inconsistency." The direction never fully commits to subtlety, opting instead for maximalism. That works for viewers who like their drama loud, but it can alienate others looking for narrative finesse.

One of the more compelling aspects of *Straw* is its desire to tackle mental health, particularly among Black mothers, in a way that feels both personal and systemic. The final twist — that Janiyah’s daughter Aria had already died, and she’s been in denial — reframes the entire narrative. It’s gutting. And it’s perhaps the film’s most powerful statement: grief and trauma don’t always present cleanly, and institutions often fail those most in need.

But even here, the script occasionally falters. Instead of weaving its social commentary organically into the plot, the film sometimes feels like it’s announcing its themes. The tension between emotional rawness and narrative control is never fully resolved.

The bank scene — Janiyah with a blood-stained check, a weapon visible, chaos erupting — is the film’s emotional and visual peak. In that moment, the stakes crystallize, and Perry’s direction finally aligns with the urgency of the performances. The close camera work, muted panic sounds, and raw confusion make this a rare scene where every element clicks. It shows what *Straw* could have been more consistently.

This isn’t Perry’s most polished film, but it might be one of his most emotionally urgent. *Straw* shows him reaching for something more grounded, more painful, and more socially engaged than much of his past work. While it still carries his signature melodramatic edges, it attempts to channel that style toward something rawer. Whether or not it succeeds depends on the viewer’s threshold for emotional overload.



Straw (2025 / United States)
Directed by: Tyler Perry
Written by: Tyler Perry
Starring: Taraji P. Henson, Sherri Shepherd, Teyana Taylor, Sinbad, Rockmond Dunbar
Duration: 108 min.