Tyler Perry’s ‘Straw’ is messy, ugly, and sadly familiar

Tyler Perry’s Straw opens with a grim domino of misfortunes,  a day so cursed it makes you want to cry, laugh, scream, and maybe stage a quiet protest. 

Taraji P. Henson stars as Janiyah Watkinson, a single mother juggling an impossible number of burdens in a society that offers her no cushion, no lifeline, no room to breathe. 

Within the first 20 minutes, she’s dodging shame at her daughter’s school over unpaid lunch debt, fighting off eviction, getting into an altercation at work, and witnessing a robbery that turns fatal, all while carrying the weight of a child’s fragile health and a system that’s already made up its mind about her.

Yes, it’s a lot, maybe even too much, but Perry seems to know that. Straw isn’t subtle or restrained. It’s a fever dream of desperation, injustice, and exasperation, stitched together with a blunt needle. 

The story eventually tumbles into a hostage standoff in a bank, as Janiyah tries to cash a paycheck that, in her mind, might save what little she has left. What follows is a chaotic negotiation not just with the police, but with the limits of survival.

If that sounds excessive, it is, but that doesn’t make it ineffective.

What distinguishes Straw from Perry’s usual output is not the polish or even the plot, but its pulse. This is Perry attempting something rawer, more socially attuned.

Performance of a lifetime

This is a Taraji vehicle. And she drives it like her life depends on it. Janiyah is exhausted, vulnerable, fierce, and frantic, sometimes all at once. 

There’s a scene where she breaks down in the middle of the bank, clutching a photo of her daughter, and you can literally feel the audience stop breathing. It’s not performative pain. It’s lived-in. 

Henson’s Janiyah isn’t just a character in crisis; she’s a symbol of the economic and emotional tightrope many Black working-class women walk every day. 

Her spiral feels uncomfortably familiar, the system punishes her for needing help, and then criminalizes her for snapping under the weight.

If there’s any justice, this is the role that gets her back in the Oscar conversation. She deserves it.

Teyana Taylor plays Detective Raymond like a woman who’s seen too much, but still chooses grace. 

Taylor is surprisingly grounded as Detective Raymond, the rare figure in uniform who sees through the noise. ]

Sherri Shepherd as Nicole, the empathetic bank manager, brings a quiet strength to the chaos. She’s not just a background player, she’s Janiyah’s mirror. 

She’s caught in the crossfire, the film delivers a rare trifecta of Black women trying to understand, protect, and, in many ways, humanise one another. Their dynamic is the film’s most compelling thread.

Sinbad as Benny gives us the calm, soulful neighborhood wisdom that reminds us community still matters, even when the system fails.

Flaws? Of Course. 

Let’s not act brand new. The script still leans heavily on exposition. Some transitions are abrupt. The dialogue doesn’t always land. 

And yes, Perry is still allergic to nuance. But this time, the melodrama fits. Life for people like Janiyah is melodramatic. Every phone call is life-or-death. Every no is a door slammed shut.

Perry piles on the tension with heavy hands and louder dialogue. But, this film feels like it’s reaching for something real, something messy, something ugly, something urgent. Even its missteps carry the sting of intention.

It helps that Henson gives a performance that stretches far beyond the limitations of the script. She plays Janiyah with exhaustion etched into every movement, every scream, every moment of fragile resolve. 

When she pleads with bank customers or stares blankly at news footage of her own unravelling, you don’t see a caricature. You see a woman who’s been running on fumes for years.

The film doesn’t offer solutions, but it does ask a devastating question: What happens when the people who are told to keep going finally can’t?

Straw might not be a perfect film, or even a traditionally “good” one,  but it’s certainly one of Perry’s most potent. It’s a scream into the void, a rallying cry from the edge, and a rough-edged love letter to the women who wake up every day and survive in spite of it all.

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What Straw is really saying

This movie isn’t subtle, and it’s not trying to be. Perry is SCREAMING through every scene:

• Poverty is violence. Not having money is treated like a crime.

• Being a Black mother in America is a constant war. Against landlords. Against bosses. Against institutions that dehumanise.

• Grief is a ghost. And sometimes, it’s sitting in the backseat eating cereal.

Perry, often accused of sacrificing depth for drama, finally strikes a more meaningful balance here. The trauma isn’t just trauma for plot; it’s layered, haunting, and tragically real.

Should you watch it?

Straw isn’t flawless, but it is fire. It’s Tyler Perry’s most emotionally resonant film yet, carried by an actress who gives it everything she’s got and then some. It’s a film that demands empathy. It forces you to ask what desperation really looks like and what it costs. 

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