The film follows the story of four “extraordinary ordinary” women making a bid for office in the 2018 midterm elections in four very different political landscapes.
The 2018 midterm elections delivered quite a few new, inspiring members to the U.S. House of Representatives, at a time when many of us were in true need of inspiration.
Alongside the joy of those victories, though, was the disappointment of candidates unable to topple the status quo. Three of these failed campaigns—and one successful one—are the focus of director Rachel Lears’s compelling Netflix documentary Knock Down the House, which begins streaming on May 1. The film brings hope for the future, frustration at progress not yet made, and considerable food for thought regarding the impact that one person can have on our country.
Knock Down opens with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who in a short period of time rocketed from determined underdog to household name. As she prepares for a campaign appearance, she reflects on what’s required of women who step into the public eye—the first words we hear her say prove prophetic: “Getting ready.”
Ocasio-Cortez and others came to politics via the Brand New Congress, an organization that encourages political newcomers who will “put people and policies over party,” reflect and work for their communities, and reject corporate and lobbyist money. “You have to be fearless,” says the Reverend Darryl Gray, a Brand New Congress adviser, to a group of political hopefuls in Knock Down, “because they’re gonna come after you.”
“You have to be fearless because they’re gonna come after you.”
It’s almost shocking to see footage of Ocasio-Cortez, whom we are used to seeing in power suits behind microphones, working as a “young bartender”—as President Donald Trump sneeringly described her in a recent speech. Yes, that was her job before she took office—and, she points out, it helped her prepare for campaigning and even for the life of a politician. “I’m used to being on my feet eighteen hours a day,” she says in the film. “I’m used to receiving a lot of heat. I’m used to people trying to make me feel bad.”
Another destination for the film is Las Vegas, where businesswoman Amy Vilela is seen immersed in her own campaign for Nevada’s fourth Congressional District. A few years ago, Vilela’s daughter Shalynne, experiencing symptoms of a blood clot, went to the emergency room. She was uninsured, and her care was delayed while the hospital attempted to determine how she would pay for it. She died shortly thereafter. Vilela vows to help pass Medicare for All.
In Missouri, close to Ferguson, Cori Bush runs for Missouri’s 1st Congressional District in response to the police shooting of Michael Brown in 2014—and the haunting questions and protests that followed. A nurse, pastor, and parent, Bush frequently takes her campaign to the streets, trying to establish herself with passersby and show that she shares their frustrations. She’s eager to make area residents see that their voices can be better heard and their concerns more fully acknowledged via new and energized representation.
Back east in West Virginia, we accompany candidate and environmental activist Paula Jean Swearengin—an actual coal miner’s daughter—as she surveys missing mountaintops and other destruction done to her home state by the coal industry. “I’m mad as hell,” she declares.
Swearengin notes that big business has been allowed to sicken the people of West Virginia in ways we’d readily fight to prevent an enemy nation from doing. Driving through her childhood neighborhood, she points out home after home of people with family members who survived, died of, or are in treatment for cancer.
She hopes for restorative justice: “It’s time,” she says, “for ordinary people to do extraordinary things.”
Preparing to debate primary opponent Joe Crowley in New York, Ocasio-Cortez swings her arms while reminding herself—almost beseeching herself—to “take up space.” (Crowley declined their first debate opportunity, sending a representative instead, but did debate Ocasio-Cortez months later.)
Vilela’s campaign staff discover that Crowley has donated to her opponent in Las Vegas. The Nevada primary will take place shortly before New York’s, and her campaign workers wonder aloud if he hopes a Vilela defeat will diminish Ocasio-Cortez’s momentum.
In Missouri, we watch as Cori Bush hands out fliers and introduces herself to would-be constituents, only to hear that they’ll probably support her known-entity opponent—he’s flawed, but he’s familiar.
It’s painful to see, by film’s end, the results of the three failed campaigns of these dedicated women. But the film serves as a visceral lesson in what it takes for women to move into new spaces of power. The point is not only the victory at the end, we learn, but what you discover as you strive for it. This knowledge will support women candidates in the future.
All the candidates featured in the film are continuing to engage in public service—and have full careers ahead of them.
And all the candidates featured in the film are continuing to engage in public service—and have full careers ahead of them. Amy Vilela, exhausted and hugely disappointed as her election results are finalized, nevertheless vows, “I will never stop.” Her determination for justice, we understand, is what compels her to fight for political power. It is her, and our, only real choice.
In one scene, Ocasio-Cortez stands on the street with her young niece, handing out campaign literature. Most pedestrians walk past, ignoring them. Undeterred, or at least attempting to be, Ocasio-Cortez advises the girl, “For every ten rejections, you get one acceptance. And that’s how you win everything.” Words to claim a country by.