Five stars. Rated PG-13, laudably but a bit generously, despite considerable grim violence, dramatic intensity and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.9.15
The images are sickening, their
motivation heinous.
Only two decades removed from the
post-WWII revelations of how atrociously German-based Jewish citizens had been
treated by their own countrymen — up to brutal slaughter — the United States
was turning an equally blind eye toward the similarly appalling behavior of
Alabama cops who, protected by the imprimatur of authority, assaulted and
killed their black neighbors with the gleeful enthusiasm of jack-booted Nazi
thugs.
If that isn’t sufficient irony,
consider this: Much of America first learned of these contemptible circumstances
on March 7, 1965 — remembered, to this day, as our own “Bloody Sunday” — when
ABC interrupted an evening movie to show live footage of peaceful black
citizens being tear-gassed and beaten by state and local cops in Selma, Ala.
The film in question? The television premiere of Judgment at Nuremberg.
The source of all this
white-cracker rage?
The audacity of these black citizens,
who insisted on exercising their right to vote. The situation was particularly
pernicious in Alabama, and notably in Selma, where only 130 of its roughly 15,000
black residents had successfully become voters. Most had been foiled by local
registrars who routinely demanded answers to absurdly difficult civics
questions.
Director Ava DuVernay opens her
riveting new film, Selma, with just such an encounter. A quietly dignified
Annie Lee Cooper (Oprah Winfrey) makes what we realize is the most recent of
many such trips to the county registrar’s office, only to be thwarted anew by a
sneering white clerk who, irritated by her correct answers to his first two questions,
responds with an impossible third.
It’s a brilliantly clever
prologue by DuVernay and scripter Paul Webb, and not merely for the unsettling
calm with which the scene is staged: the immediate implication that this is
disenfranchised business as usual. DuVernay also secures calmly understated
performances from both actors: the determined but wearily pragmatic Winfrey on
one side, the pugnacious Clay Chappell on the other.
It’s a landmark cinematic moment:
a scene destined to be memorialized, and oft resurrected, for decades to come.
And it succinctly depicts the
fetid racist swamp into which Martin Luther King Jr. waded in early 1965, fresh
from receiving the Nobel Peace Prize and having been named “Man of the Year” by
Time Magazine, which dubbed him “the American Gandhi.”
DuVernay’s film covers a short
interval in King’s career, beginning with the September 1963 bombing of a
Baptist church in Birmingham, Ala., which killed four girls and instantly
galvanized the Civil Rights movement; and concluding with the events in the
winter of early 1965, which led to the historic march from Selma to Montgomery.
This 18-month snapshot is a
shrewd move on the part of DuVernay and Webb, reflecting the reality that no
single film could adequately depict King’s entire life. This is similar to the
approach taken by Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln, which concentrated solely on
that president’s activities in January 1865, as he struggled to secure passage
of the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. Which, needless to say, had the
similar goal of rights for black citizens.
While the story being told in Selma is by turns enlightening, riveting and horrifying, the film gains its
grace and authority from British actor David Oyelowo’s astonishing starring
performance. It’s a deeply layered and wholly engaging tour-de-force of acting,
as fully immersive as Daniel Day-Lewis’ work in the aforementioned Lincoln.
DuVernay and Oyelowo convey
King’s charisma, intelligence and innate nobility without putting the man on a
pedestal; he also has his doubts, failings and vulnerability. Webb doesn’t shy
from details that lesser projects might find uncomfortable; indeed, they’re
confronted head-on, which merely amplifies our admiration of Oyelowo’s
performance.
One particularly telling scene
between King and his wife, Coretta (Carmen Ejogo), concerns his philandering: a
subtle exchange of dialogue prompted by their having received the infamous FBI
surveillance tape of sexual grunting that threatened to “reveal” him as “an
evil, abnormal beast.” The scene is taut, as we wonder how Coretta will handle
this latest atrocity, in light of what she knows about her husband; Oyelowo and
Ejogo are quietly electrifying, as husband and wife retreat to different
corners, each wounded but unwilling to let this incident interfere with the
important work at hand.
This scene — and many others —
gain an additional snap of authenticity from our knowledge that King and his
followers were surveilled constantly by the FBI, acting under orders from the
odious J. Edgar Hoover (Dylan Baker, appropriately loathsome).
Indeed, Webb had access to the
17,000-page FBI file that traced both the banal and decisive moments of King’s
life, and DuVernay further collaborated with longtime civil rights leaders John
Lewis and Andrew Young: now career politicians, and both young men during the
events depicted here.
DuVernay also employs a clever
gimmick that suggests the verbatim authenticity of many dialogue exchanges. We
become seduced by this implied veracity, to the point of believing that all the
dialogue is genuine.
That’s the hallmark of an
ingenious script: one that persuades us of rigorous historical accuracy, even
when common sense suggests dramatic shading.
Webb’s narrative is populated by
numerous villains, both firmly entrenched, upper-echelon politicians and
ground-level monsters. The former include Baker’s Hoover and, most
particularly, Tim Roth’s smug and unapologetically evil depiction of Alabama
Gov. George Wallace. Chief among the latter is Stan Houston’s grimly vicious reading
of Sheriff Jim Clark.
Then there’s the fence-sitter:
President Lyndon B. Johnson, depicted with blunt, often profane candor by the
always outstanding Tom Wilkinson. As suggested here, Johnson makes no secret of
his willingness to parlay with King, because the dignified reverend is the
preferred “safe” face of the civil rights movement: a valued alternative to the
far more combustible and potentially violent Malcolm X (Nigel Thatch).
Although Wilkinson does much to
convey the dilemma that Johnson faced — the legitimate fear that moving too
quickly on civil rights could result in a backlash akin to what prompted the
Civil War, a century earlier — there’s no question that DuVernay and Webb
subtly indict the president’s behavior. Historians have suggested that this is
unfair, and perhaps a flaw on this film’s part; that aside, Oyelowo and Wilkinson
deliver several riveting debates as events move inexorably to the impending
march.
The supporting cast is uniformly
strong. Cuba Gooding Jr. has a brief but memorable role as civil rights
attorney Fred Gray, already famous for having represented Rosa Parks, and now
constantly at King’s side. Martin Sheen is just as compelling in an equally
fleeting part, as Federal District Judge Frank M. Johnson, who issues a key
ruling on the marchers’ rights.
Giovanni Ribisi is quietly persuasive
as Johnson’s civil rights consultant, Lee C. White; and Wendell Pierce stands
out within King’s inner circle, as the Rev. Hosea Williams.
Production designer Mark
Friedberg evokes a strong sense of the era and its Alabama setting, and
cinematographer Bradford Young lends impressive atmosphere, particularly with
his staging shots of Selma’s infamous Edmund Pettus Bridge.
Composer Jason Moran delivers a
subtle score, reserving orchestral motifs for particularly dramatic moments,
and otherwise relying on evocatively inserted source music and protest songs.
One telling scene occurs as King, needing some spiritual solace, makes a
late-night phone call to legendary gospel singer Mahalia Jackson (played here
by Ledisi Young), who obliges with a full-throated hymn.
Selma is a powerful and deeply
important cinematic document: a depiction of horrific events that we would do
well to remember, particularly in light of recent headlines. History aside,
it’s also a must-see for Oyelowo’s stirring performance.
But be prepared: It’s a
gut-wrencher.
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