Shame

12 Years a Slave

12 Years a Slave conflicted me greatly before I ultimately mustered the mental fortitude to buy a ticket.  Strength of content aside, I knew the film would be a difficult watch probably requiring ample Kleenex.  Based on the biography of the same name, the film tells the story of Solomon Northup (Chiwetel Ejiofor, Salt), a free Black man from New York who was abducted and sold into slavery in 1841.  Director Steve McQueen (Shame) expertly crafts a horrific glimpse into a very ugly aspect of our shared American history.  The graphic depictions of abject cruelty rocked me to the core, but the film is undoubtedly an amazing piece of work.

When the movie begins, we see Solomon as a slave already.  Through flashbacks we learn that he was happily married with two children and that he owned his own home.  He maneuvered through his environment with independence and comfort, which must’ve been a rarity for the day.  A gifted violinist, Solomon often played his fiddle for White audiences at parties and other small events.  His talents drew the attention of two transient musicians who claimed to be seeking an addition to their circus show.  They convince Solomon to make a short trip to Washington to discuss the matter further.  After dining with the pair and having a few glasses of wine, Solomon awakes a short time later to find himself shackled and chained.  Overwhelmed with horror and disbelief, Solomon screams out for help, to no avail.  He has been sold to a slave trader, and a frightening new reality is revealed.  His life as Solomon Northup is over; he is now a fugitive slave named Platt and any reference to his former life will be met with swift and brutal consequences.

As a viewer, my sensibilities were assaulted throughout the course of the film.  The indignities Solomon suffered after being sold into slavery were unfathomable.  Any notions of modesty or basic human pride were stripped immediately, and I’ve never witnessed such a graphic depiction of the evils of the institution.  It was difficult to watch humans treated as property or animals, and I had to avert my eyes several times.  Children ripped from their mother’s arms, physical torture, psychological degradation and verbal humiliation were a daily way of life.  Solomon in particular must have been decimated psychologically, having tasted freedom and knowing nothing of the perils of subjugation.

The film is sweeping, covering Solomon’s life as he is sold from a slave trader to a relatively benevolent plantation owner named Ford (Benedict Cumberbatch, Star Trek Into Darkness), and ultimately as he ends up in the hands of a slave master named Edwin Epps (Michael Fassbender, Prometheus).  Epps was a man so evil that I imagine only Lucifer himself could have a soul any blacker.  Fassbender was a monster, literally and figuratively.  His cruelty is particularly highlighted in his treatment of Patsey, a striking young slave woman who has unfortunately garnered his sick affections.  She is a thing to be possessed, perversely favored yet singularly tortured.  Newcomer Lupita Nyong’o marks her silver screen debut in the role, and her performance was a revelation.

12 Years a Slave is an overwhelming film.  I was overwhelmed watching it, and it is nearly impossible to dissect or encapsulate in a small blurb.  Should you see it?  Well, it’s an outstanding piece of cinema, but it’s not for the faint of heart.  Chiwetel Ejiofor gave the performance of a lifetime.  It was wrought with emotion and I believe that the actor laid himself bare, displaying astounding cinematic vulnerability.  The psychological transformation he brought to life was mind-blowing.  When we stand around the water cooler talking about movies and the actors “making noise” right now, his name needs to come up more frequently than it does.  This was a tour de force performance.  Director Steve McQueen has demonstrated an ability to elicit raw, soul-baring performances from his lead actors.  He did it in Shame and he’s done it again.  Aided by stark, austere cinematography and a visceral score, he brought the horrors of slavery to life in a manner heretofore unseen.  Grade: A.

This article first appeared at Poptimal and was reprinted with permission.

 

Gatsby

It’s been a long time since my high school English class, but I remember that The Great Gatsby was one of my favorites.  It’s been dramatized a few times, including a 1974 version starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow.  That version was a rather dull, literal interpretation of the book that offered little in the way of artistry.  Now, director Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge, Romeo + Juliet) reunites with Leonardo DiCaprio (Django Unchained) in a beautiful adaptation of the Fitzgerald classic.

The movie begins true to form with the introduction of Nick Carraway, played here by Tobey Maguire (Brothers).  Nick is an observer, a spectator in a world to which he doesn’t actually belong, and our gateway to Gatsby.  He lives on Long Island, renting a modest cottage across the sound from his cousin Daisy (Carey Mulligan, Shame) and her husband Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton, Zero Dark Thirty).  Their estate dwarfs Nick’s, as the “old money” Buchanans are well established.

The Island is divided into two sections, with Daisy and Tom on East Egg, and Nick on West Egg.  As Nick acclimates himself to his new environment, he begins to hear whispers around town about Jay Gatsby, a mysterious resident of West Egg known for his lavish, opulent parties.  He lives next door to Nick, but the two have never met.  In fact, Gatsby is such a shadowy figure that for the first 20 or so minutes, we don’t even see him, we only hear about him in excited, hushed whispers.  This is particularly true at one of Gatsby’s own parties, to which Nick is invited – but wading through the rumors only adds to Gatsby’s mystique.  Is he a bootlegger? How did he make his fortune? As the speculation reaches a fever pitch, finally Nick meets his enigmatic host.

Gatsby’s noveau riche trappings initially do very little to entice the object of his affection, Daisy Buchanan.  They had a brief dalliance before she married, but circumstances precluded their union.  After returning from war, Gatsby did not have the means to provide for a woman such as Daisy, and this fact both drove and haunted him.  Fast-forward five years to 1922, and Gatsby’s love for Daisy has intensified in its yearning.  She is his motivation for everything: the parties and the decadent monument to capitalism that his mansion represents.  The pair is ill fated, and the revelation of this immutable fact is  beautifully tragic.  I don’t want to say much more about the plot, because I hope you’re already familiar.

Baz Luhrmann is a true artist, and the cinematography was breathtaking.  Certain scenes looked as if they could be paused, printed, framed, and hung on a wall.  When Nick gets drunk for only the second time in his life, it is during a raucous party in the city with Tom Buchanan, Tom’s mistress, and her friends.  Nick is torn between his loyalty to his cousin and friendship with Tom, but eventually casts his inhibitions aside.  Luhrmann creates an unforgettable scene, a beautiful bombardment of color and sound unlike anything you’ve seen.  It was like a Romare Bearden painting come to life.

Much ado has been made about the film’s anachronistic score, provided by Jay-Z.  Luhrmann has employed anachronism in previous work, and I found it mostly effective here.  “Who Gon Stop Me,” “No Church In the Wild,” and “100$ Bill” were completely on point in terms of their placement.  I can’t say enough about this film, and I honestly don’t see what’s to dislike.  Gatsby was a magical movie that juxtaposed the great opulence of a gilded age with the hollowness of hedonism and unrequited love.  The performances were brilliant and haunting, particularly those of DiCaprio and Maguire.  DiCaprio infused Gatsby with the requisite charisma and panache, affecting the aristocratic transatlantic accent of the day with perfection.  This was one of the best movies of 2013, so far.  Grade: A.

42

A few days ago I had the pleasure of watching 42, the historical account of Jackie Robinson’s integration of major league baseball in 1947.  Robinson is a central figure in Black History, but he was an American hero whose story can be championed by all.

The movie starts without a single opening credit, with director Brian Helgeland (The Order) providing an account of the historical context of American life in 1947 and by extension, baseball.  Segregation was the law of the land, but Brooklyn Dodger president Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford, Cowboys & Aliens) had the progressive inclination to add a Negro player to the team.  Robinson (played by newcomer Chadwick Boseman) possessed a blend of athleticism, youth and pedigree that made him the clear choice over other talented Negro League players, like Satchel Paige.  Although Robinson is a legend, it took a visionary like Rickey to provide the platform for change.

Robinson faced profound and insidious discrimination.  When he stepped up to home plate he was jeered by fans as well as opposing teams.  Opposing pitchers threw at his head, and while playing first base during his first year an opponent intentionally speared him with his cleats.  Throughout this abuse, Robinson maintained his dignity and composure.  One couldn’t even say that a lesser man would have retaliated, because any man would have.  Rickey carefully explained to Robinson that he would never be able to react to the abuse or else the “experiment” would fail.  He bravely served as baseball’s test case to end segregation, enduring ceaseless racism at every turn.

Despite my overwhelmingly positive thoughts about the film, I do have a few minor criticisms.  Harrison Ford’s portrayal of Branch Rickey was very blustery.  He could have pulled back a little bit; but maybe that’s how Rickey really behaved.  If so, I should give him credit.  But if that was Ford’s own interpretation; I found it annoying.  Another minor quibble is that the filmmakers started the movie with a recitation that some may find boring.  I was interested, but it did come across as something you’d see on PBS or some other educational channel.  I do think it was important to set the appropriate historical context for the movie, but it felt like a perfunctory start.

42 balances the ugliness that occasionally marred Robinson’s baseball career with the warmth and purity of the love he shared with his devoted wife Rachel (the talented Nicole Beharie, Shame), a young woman he met while enrolled at UCLA.  Rachel kept Jackie grounded and was a source of peace and solace in an otherwise tumultuous world.  Despite the abuse that Robinson suffered, his time on the diamond was characterized by great triumph as well.  On the most fundamental level, Robinson was an outstanding athlete who wanted to be judged on his merits rather than his skin color.  This simple tenet is the cornerstone of our democracy, but 66 years ago Robinson struggled to receive the most basic allowances that we take for granted now.

Robinson portrayed himself in his own biopic decades ago, but this is the first dramatization to give proper attention and dramatic effect to his story.  Boseman’s big screen debut ostensibly came with lofty expectations, but I think he more than ably captured the humility and quiet strength that Robinson personified.  I think all Americans should see this movie about one of the most transformative figures in our shared history.  Grade: A-