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While Martha is mostly unable to articulate her anxiety, it becomes visible when she learns that Rose has asked her to babysit on Friday night so that Rose and Kyle can go out on a date. When Kyle arrives to pick up Rose -- he's borrowed his mom's car -- Martha's cheeks flush. He observes the "weird vibe" to Rose, and decides not to go back inside when he drops her off after their dullsville date: drinks at a bar, a brief visit in Kyle's bedroom while his mom watches tv in the next room, Rose stealing Kyle's money while he goes to fetch beers.
But if Martha can't speak it, her frustration is reflected variously -- in a brief heated exchange between Rose and her ex (K. Smith), in her own father's fatigued acquiescence to his routine, in her brief moment in church, as the camera shows her suddenly isolated and bathed in harsh white light. This last image is especially haunting, as it recurs, under different circumstances, later in the film. Martha remains inscrutable in these frames, her blank face left open to your interpretation, a working-class, unglamorous, intensely limited version of those more famous faces similarly bathed in light yes yes I tht of this ~ film as woman's face ~ iconic ~ light and shadow, seemingly aching to be read: Garbo, Dietrich, Jennifer Jones (as in, The Song of Bernadette). Martha, unlike these icons, offers no hope. Martha inspires only despair and maybe derision. The film doesn't push you to identify with her, or admire her, but only to be glad you're not her.