“Straw” Review - Taraji P. Henson Breaks Your Heart in Tyler Perry’s Bleakest Film Yet

Some movies carry you through a journey. Straw drags you through it, kicking, wincing, and completely winded by the time the credits roll. Directed by Tyler Perry, this psychological crime drama is not here to entertain as much as it is to confront. And at the center of this relentless storm is Taraji P. Henson, delivering one of the most heartbreaking performances of her career.

Taraji P. Henson plays a struggling single mother whose world is falling apart at every turn. What she does here isn’t just powerful, it’s quietly devastating. She brings so much vulnerability, rage, and quiet exhaustion to her character that you almost forget you’re watching a performance. It’s not the fiery, commanding presence we’ve seen from her as Cookie in Empire or the steely brilliance of Katherine Johnson in Hidden Figures.

"Here, she’s stripped down to something far more raw and fragile, a woman with nothing left to prove, and nothing left to lose."

There’s a moment when she looks up, her eyes hollow and wet, and it says more than a whole monologue ever could. The pain, the helplessness, and the isolation hits hard. It’s not just acting; it’s lived-in.

The film itself is bleak. The visuals are washed in a dull, lifeless tone that mirrors the emotional landscape of its lead. The score swells at just the right moments, amplifying every sting of humiliation, every hopeless attempt to claw her way out. The story leans heavily into melodrama, and while that may not appeal to everyone, there’s no denying the emotional weight it carries.

"Taraji’s performance anchors the film with quiet force. She gives her all to this role, embodying a woman so completely worn down by life that even hope feels out of reach."

And while she shines in every frame, the characters around her often feel less lived-in. There’s a kindly policewoman who believes in her innocence almost instantly, offering empathy and support without hesitation. It’s a comforting presence, sure, but for a police officer, especially in a charged situation, the lack of skepticism feels more like narrative convenience than realism. On the other end of the spectrum is an FBI agent written with such blunt aggression he borders on caricature, all bark and no believability. These extremes might serve the plot, but they rob the story of the nuance it clearly aims for.

That said, there’s a familiar ache in Taraji’s character—a woman constantly pushed to the edge, trying to hold it all together for the sake of her child, even as everything crumbles. It’s hard not to think of Emmy Rossum’s Fiona Gallagher in Shameless, another portrait of a woman navigating poverty, broken systems, and the emotional whiplash of just trying to survive. Both characters carry the weight of their worlds alone, and both remind us how easy it is to overlook the strength it takes just to make it through the day.

Thematically, Straw hits hard. It’s a reminder that kindness matters, that mental health struggles can be invisible until they’re not, and that sometimes, all it takes is one more blow to push someone past their breaking point. However, the film falters when it comes to its supporting cast, many of whom seem like they’ve been written to prop up the protagonist’s journey rather than exist as fully realized characters. Some are cartoonishly cruel, while others are too saintly; in a story this grounded, that lack of complexity stands out.

The film’s final reveal, handled delicately and without fanfare, is a gut punch. And while it might not land for everyone, it reframes everything that came before it in a way that feels earned.

Straw isn’t perfect. It’s a bit uneven, and at times leans too heavily on its own misery. But it’s also honest, and sometimes brutal in its depiction of a woman falling through the cracks. It doesn’t offer comfort, and it doesn’t pretend to. But maybe what it does offer is something rarer: empathy, unvarnished and unfiltered.

Cinegeeks rating: B+