Four stars. Rated R, for violence, cruelty, rape and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.7.16
It’s telling — likely for all the
wrong reasons — that the Nat Turner slave rebellion hadn’t yet been dramatized
in an American film.
Aside from earning a chapter in
the 1977 TV miniseries Roots — which
got a few key details wrong — the event has gone unacknowledged by mainstream
visual media.
Until now.
Nate Parker’s The Birth of a Nation was the darling of
this year’s Sundance Film Festival, taking both the Audience Award and the
Grand Jury Prize; without doubt, its arrival is timely. But tapping into the
current combustible zeitgeist is ephemeral; relying on that sort of serendipity
has consigned many films (and books, and plays) into the basement of forgotten
relics.
The question is whether Parker
has made a truly good film: an
honorable, balanced and historically truthful document that will stand the test
of time, and resonate with future viewers. On balance, the answer is yes: This
shattering drama falls somewhat short of the bar set by 2013’s 12 Years a Slave, but it’s worthy
competition. Thanks to these and other recent entries such as Selma and Fruitville Station, we’re experiencing an alternate — and equally valid
— depiction of events which, in some cases, have remained shamefully overlooked.
ALL drama is compelling, particularly
when experienced from differing viewpoints. Variety — as ever — is the spice of
life.
Granted, Parker’s Birth of a Nation occasionally is guilty
of grandiloquent excess. (The angel imagery is a particular overreach, as is
his tendency toward unnecessary close-ups.) The indiscriminate butchery
fomented by Turner is glossed over; no matter how justified the rage, it’s
difficult to condone the slaughter of children (a detail Parker simply disregards).
From a narrative standpoint, I
also wish Parker — who, in addition to directing, producing and starring, also
co-scripted, with Jean McGianni Celestin — had done a better job of establishing
historical context and extenuating circumstances. Why this particular Virginia
county, at this particular moment? Indeed, why Turner himself?
Parker does establish a
foundation for Turner’s messianic ascension, during a prologue that finds his
boyhood self “destined” to lead; that’s certainly as reasonable as the biblical
fervor that the historical record accepts as his primary motivation. But
viewers lacking a solid foundation in early 19th century American history likely
will wish for more background. Passing references are made to the rising
abolitionist movement, and a drought that diminishes crop output, but the
latter’s impact on the overall economy of Southampton County — as opposed to
just the plantation where Turner lives and toils — is left to our imagination.
It therefore could be argued that
Parker is guilty of a rigidly narrow focus, in order to best suit his
intentions and dramatic sensibilities. But that’s nothing new; filmmakers have
followed their personal muses since the dawn of cinema.
And there’s no denying the
sweeping grandeur of Parker’s vision, and the expressive intensity of his
starring performance. His raw anguish, during one scene that finds Nat trying
to comfort his wife, Cherry (Aja Naomi King), is palpable. And ferocious. And
memorable.
It’s one of many scenes likely to
linger, at great length, after the lights come up. Some are horrific, most
notably a white landowner’s enraged “solution,” when one of his slaves embarks
on a hunger strike.
Cinematographer Elliot Davis’ sweeping
vistas of cotton fields, plantation grounds and sun-dappled meadows are equally
striking: simultaneously beautiful and, somehow, slightly sinister. We can’t
help wondering what bodies might be buried within such fields.
Parker’s symbolic use of insects
also is intriguing, from flies that wander unexpectedly into a frame, to the disconcerting
shot of a gorgeous butterfly, resting undisturbed on somebody’s shirt, as Davis
slowly pulls his camera back against Nina Simone’s bleak rendition of “Strange
Fruit.”
We meet Nat as a boy (Tony
Espinosa, blessed with an expressive gaze), living with his family on a cotton
plantation owned by Benjamin Turner (Danny Vision). Benjamin’s wife Elizabeth
(Penelope Ann Miller) discovers that Nat has a yearning to read; she encourages
this — with the reluctant acquiescence of his mother and grandmother (Aunjanue
Ellis and Esther Scott) — by teaching him to read from the Bible.
Nat therefore grows up with a
preacher’s sensibilities, able to exert a calming religious influence on his
fellow slaves. This is appreciated by Samuel Turner (Armie Hammer), once a boy
who casually played alongside Nat, and now — following Benjamin’s death —
responsible for the plantation.
Samuel’s character is hard to pin
down. At first blush, he seems a compassionate, almost reluctant slave owner: a
position he maintains less by choice, and more by local custom. Hammer shades
him as a man troubled by the reflexively cruel attitudes of his friends and
neighbors; on more than one occasion, Samuel saves Nat from harm.
But Samuel also is weak, prone to
drown his anxieties in alcohol; it’s necessary — for the purposes of Parker’s
narrative — that Samuel gradually surrender to less honorable behavior. Whether
by virtue of unpersuasive scripting, or Parker’s inability (as director) to
coax sufficient subtlety from Hammer’s performance, it doesn’t come off.
Samuel’s actions, at a critical third-act juncture, feel unwarranted and
contrived.
Parker does much better with his handling
of the many other characters. Colman Domingo is memorable as Hark, a fellow
slave who becomes Nat’s trusted right hand. Domingo’s best moments are silent,
when his superficial “yassuh” expression doesn’t quite conceal the quiet rage
that smolders behind his eyes. Gabrielle Union is equally strong as Hark’s
wife, Esther, whose defining moment — truly shattering — comes when one of
Samuel’s neighbors “requests” companionship one night.
Miller is marvelously subtle as
Elizabeth, suggesting a rebellious and abolitionist streak that she might
exercise more blatantly, were she not a woman. Scott, the pluperfect
grandmother, shares a heartbreaking memory of awful times past, while tending
to Nat’s injuries at one point.
Mark Boone Jr. raises a smile as
the crafty Rev. Wathel, who recognizes the value of Nat’s preaching skills, and
suggests that Samuel might earn some outside income by allowing his
Bible-quoting sage to visit other farms and plantations, in order to “calm”
potentially “uppity” slaves. (A proposal that ultimately backfires, in that it
helps spread Nat’s suggestive influence.)
Jackie Earle Haley, finally, is
seven shades of monster as the vicious Raymond Cobb, a slave patrol captain who
frequently abuses his authority to find and punish runaways. His predatory gaze
is the stuff of nightmares.
Despite the grim setting and
constant atmosphere of peril, Parker is careful to provide relief via lighter
moments. Nat’s growing fondness for Cherry, and the wedding that results, is
particularly joyous: a poignant reminder that hope can endure almost anything,
even the uncertainly of what the next day, the next moment, might bring. Parker
and King are sweet together, and their wedding night is quite touching.
The technical credits are
top-notch, with production designer Geoffrey Kirkland depicting the vivid
contrast between antebellum splendor and the squalor of deprivation ... and not
merely with respect to the slave quarters. A few of Samuel’s less prosperous
neighbors exist in an environment of ghastly filth.
Henry Jackman’s orchestral score
is understated but always effective, as are the occasional spirituals —
“Couldn’t Hear Nobody Pray,” “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” — that enhance various
dramatic moments.
In the short term, Parker’s film
is likely to widen the current racial chasm, particularly among viewers who
will argue that the nastier consequences of Nat Turner’s revolt have been obscured.
In time, though, this Birth of a Nation
— Parker deliberately having reclaimed the title from D.W. Griffith’s 1915
silent epic, forever polluted by its sycophantic view of the Ku Klux Klan —
deserves to be recognized as a righteous attempt at historical
course-correction.
And as a compelling film.
No comments:
Post a Comment