Movies usually give us a hero to root for and a villain to hate. Martin McDonagh didn't do that. When Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri hit theaters, it didn't just win Oscars; it started a massive, messy argument about whether a story can be "too" human.
Mildred Hayes is angry. Honestly, "angry" is an understatement. Her daughter was raped and murdered, the case went cold, and she decides to rent three derelict billboards to call out the local police chief, Bill Willoughby. It’s a simple setup for a revenge flick, right? Except it isn't. It’s a jagged, foul-mouthed study of grief that refuses to play by the rules.
I’ve watched this film three times now. Every time, I find something new that bugs me, and that’s exactly why it works. It’s a film that lives in the gray areas of the American South, or at least a cinematic version of it. It’s about what happens when justice isn't just delayed, but seemingly forgotten.
The Problem with Sam Rockwell’s Jason Dixon
People lost their minds over Jason Dixon. Rockwell plays him as a dim-witted, racist, violent mama’s boy who works for the police department. He’s objectively a terrible person. Then, something happens. He gets fired, he gets burned, and he starts to... change?
Some critics, like Hanif Abdurraqib, argued that the film tried to redeem a racist too quickly. It’s a valid point. Can a man who allegedly tortured a Black prisoner really find redemption because he helped a woman find a lead on a different crime? McDonagh doesn’t give us a clear "yes." He gives us a "maybe."
Dixon doesn't become a saint. He just becomes someone who realized he was a loser and decided to try one thing that wasn't selfish. The movie ends before we see if it sticks. That's the nuance people miss. It isn’t a redemption arc; it’s a "starting to not be a total piece of trash" arc. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It feels like real life where bad people don't always get struck by lightning; sometimes they just sit on a porch and drink a beer.
Frances McDormand and the Weight of Grief
Mildred Hayes is a force of nature. Frances McDormand won the Academy Award for Best Actress for this role, and you can see why in every twitch of her jaw. She wears a jumpsuit like armor.
She isn't "likable."
She drills a hole in a dentist’s thumb. She flips off teenagers. She throws Molotov cocktails at the police station. Yet, we feel for her because her pain is so heavy it’s practically its own character. Most movies about grieving mothers show them weeping into tissues. Mildred doesn't have time for tissues. She has billboards.
The Writing Style of Martin McDonagh
McDonagh comes from the world of theater. If you’ve seen In Bruges or The Banshees of Inisherin, you know his vibe. It’s rhythmic.
The dialogue in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri has a specific cadence. It’s vulgar, fast, and often hilarious in places where you feel guilty for laughing. Take the scene where Mildred is talking to the priest. She delivers a monologue comparing the Catholic Church to a street gang. It’s sharp. It’s brutal. It’s also incredibly theatrical.
He likes to subvert expectations. You think Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson) is going to be the "bad guy" cop who’s lazy. Instead, he’s a dying man who actually cares about Mildred but just doesn't have any evidence to go on. He’s a good man caught in a bad system. This flips the "corrupt cop" trope on its head and makes Mildred’s crusade much more complicated. Who are you supposed to root for when the person being attacked is actually a decent guy with cancer?
Real-Life Impact and the Billboard Phenomenon
Life imitated art in a big way after this movie. People started using the three-billboard format for real-world protests.
- In London, activists used them to demand justice for the Grenfell Tower fire victims.
- In Florida, billboards appeared after the Parkland shooting to pressure politicians on gun control.
- Even in the UN, the imagery was used to highlight various humanitarian crises.
The film tapped into a universal frustration with bureaucracy. It proved that if you want people to pay attention, you have to be loud, you have to be repetitive, and you have to be bold. The red background and black Stencil font became a shorthand for "we aren't going away."
Why the Ending Still Divides Audiences
The ending is a Rorschach test.
Mildred and Dixon are in a car. They’re driving to Idaho to maybe kill a guy who might be a rapist, even though they know he didn't kill Mildred’s daughter. They both admit they aren't sure if they’re actually going to go through with it. "I think we can decide on the way," Mildred says.
Fade to black.
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No shootout. No arrest. No closure.
A lot of viewers hated this. We’ve been conditioned by Hollywood to expect a resolution. We want the "bad guy" caught. But McDonagh is more interested in the state of mind of his characters than the mechanics of a cold case. The movie isn't a whodunnit. It’s a "how-do-you-live-with-it."
By the end, Mildred and Dixon have found a strange, warped kind of companionship in their shared anger and failure. It’s dark. It’s also strangely hopeful in a very twisted way. They’ve stopped fighting each other and started looking toward a horizon, even if that horizon involves a potential murder.
Cinematography and the Missouri Setting
Actually, it wasn't filmed in Missouri. It was filmed in Sylva, North Carolina.
Ben Davis, the cinematographer, used a lot of natural light and wide shots of the rolling hills to contrast with the cramped, cluttered interiors of Mildred’s house and the police station. The billboards themselves sit on a lonely stretch of road that feels like the edge of the world. The way they loom over the landscape makes them feel like gravestones.
The color palette is muted. Browns, greys, and faded greens. Except for those billboards. They are a violent, screaming red. They don't belong in that peaceful landscape, just like Mildred’s rage doesn't "fit" into the polite society of Ebbing.
Final Thoughts on the Legacy of Three Billboards
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is a movie about the infectious nature of anger. Anger starts a fire, literally and figuratively. It spreads from Mildred to Dixon to the whole town. But it’s also about the moment that anger turns into something else—maybe not forgiveness, but a tired realization that hating everyone is exhausting.
The film remains relevant because our institutions still feel broken. Whether it’s the legal system or the local police, there’s a feeling that the "little guy" has to scream just to be heard. Mildred Hayes screamed with red paint and black ink.
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If you're looking to dive deeper into this film, here’s how to actually appreciate the layers:
- Watch for the Letters: Pay close attention to the letters Chief Willoughby leaves behind. They are the moral compass of the film. They provide the context that the characters lack in the heat of the moment.
- Compare to In Bruges: Look at how McDonagh handles the "hitman with a conscience" vs. the "cop with a conscience." He’s obsessed with the idea of bad people trying to do one good thing before they die.
- Research the Grenfell Billboards: Look at how the visual language of this movie translated into real-world political activism. It’s one of the few times a fictional film changed the way people protest.
- Ignore the "Whodunnit": Stop trying to figure out who killed Angela Hayes. The movie tells you early on that there is no DNA match and no leads. The killer isn't a character in the movie. The killer is the void that Mildred is trying to fill.
Stop looking for a hero. Start looking at the flaws. That’s where the real story is. Move past the initial shock of the violence and look at the quiet moments, like Mildred putting a turtle back on its feet. That’s the movie. The billboards are just the invitation.