There are many broken and beaten bodies we come across in famed Chadian filmmaker Mahamet-Saleh Horoun's Hissein Habre, A Chadian Tragedy. Some individuals sport scars around the neck area, some walk with a limp or have lost any stability. Some cannot even walk at all and must be carried. The state of these individuals' bodies is only the beginning of understanding their broken and beaten souls having to endure decades of pain. Souls waiting for any sort of retribution uncertain of arrival. Chad is a country I am substantially ignorant of except for its distinct name that shares its usage with a slightly common English name. Admittedly, I don't peruse the annals of infinite knowledge on the internet or anywhere in between to better understand Chad; it is a nation and culture that has never entered the orbit of my own awareness. Thankfully, the Dryden Theatre is celebrating the art of Horoun all throughout February. If there is a chance for me to grab a fleeting glimpse of something incredibly unfamiliar...it is now. A Chadian Tragedy is Horoun's most recent film, a documentary, which steps outside the director's norm of fiction films. He enters the charred and battered history of the Hissein Habre dictatorship which ran from 1982-1990. During the rule, which was backed by the USA and France in response to Lybia's Gaddafi regime, some 40,000 people were killed for being thought of as ideological opposition.
This sort of story for a documentary is becoming more common. Think carefully, and you may connect this film with another indicting excursion into Cold War hellfire; The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence beat strongly with unthinkable chaos and torment. You can also link it to Nostalgia For the Light and The Pearl Button. Like The Look of Silence, A Chadian Tragedy is all about the victims. Those men and women, crippled with physical and mental abuse so many years ago, are living shells of their former lives as survivors. And through surviving there is this agonizing suspension where they must wait to see if the perpetrator will ever be punished. Clement, himself a survivor, is our surrogate, our conduit of sympathy. Running a program that brings together the people left tarnished by the dictatorship, Clement is also the main character in the film that we follow from one subject to the next. Though I would not know the alternative but it might be the reason why conversations with the victims are so casual yet so revealing. Interviews are barely in traditional format but more constructed conversationally. The camera is a concerned observer but we figure out that even the camera is not the important part. Incredible stories of survival are woven in anecdotes of permanent damage. One man in particular, who was a hotshot smuggler with five wives, can hardly move and speak now, using a cane to fumble from one place to the next. Whatever the brutalizing police had done to him ignited an earthquake to rip the fabric of his own perception of life. Yet he keeps on living and, even more so, he strives to walk without the use of a cane. What we witness him do in the end of the film, despite his past debauchery, is uplifting, a showcase of how much justice means even twenty-six years later. Another woman talks of her husband who was taken from her and her family one night, never to return. It is a disgusting thing to happen, never to say goodbye, never realizing a sense of finality let alone dignity for someone you love and respect. These people saw death all around them, and some of them contemplate on the nature of the brutal death and the way it severs the souls of the departed from those that want to mourn. Sometimes it is even tempting to question their resolve through the perception of our privileged state: I don't understand how one can live like this, with such terrible memories...I don't know if I would be strong enough. Yet, their presence, their words and thoughts, their tears and yells, resonate with an affirmation that good things can happen even in the most grueling of situations. One scene seats a victim on one side of a bench and a former policeman who arrested the victim on the other side of the bench; Clement sits in the middle. We watch as an awkward, dramatic, and powerful moment erupts as perpetrator weakly begs for forgiveness. The first process to help someone is to listen so that we can understand where they come from, where they are now, and where they want to go. You will not learn much on the politics and policies surrounding and embodying Hessein Habre and his regime in this film, but you will learn a lot about specific stories and memories. Testimony is powerful and it is cemented in Horoun's documentation. As mentioned earlier, the camera, though capturing these moments, is not important, what is important are these survivors talking to each other, connecting, and strengthening a bond. Although on the outside, we may still see those broken and beaten bodies as those scars will remain. Nevertheless, we may leave the theatre knowing that some minds may be at ease, some souls reaching a calming posture. We then can carry that hope and reinforce our sense of self...that's the least we could do in our position.
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No matter how tumultuous, both personally and objectively, a year can potentially be, there will always be films to watch from some corner of the world that may or may not be oblivious to the problems right in front of you or me. 2016 was particularly harsh to me in many respects but was also incredibly rewarding. In a sense, the harshness experienced clarified my own sense of vitality, a Proustian observation, which was therapeutically in dialogue with the many great films I experienced in the year. As I have said in previous entries on the many blog sites I have colonized at some point in the last five years, it is difficult to generalize whether a certain year is 'good' or 'bad.' That requires a much more thorough measurement for another post. When is comes to the moviegoing I practice and continue to improve upon, there is this pleasant realization that more I search for a particular film the more films I end up discovering in the process, ultimately concluding that there are always too many films that I need to see that I never manage, at least in a timely manner. For that, I remain steadfast on my hesitance to compare one year to another year and my focus narrows between January 1st and December 31st of 2016. A lot can be discussed in terms of the types of movies I saw, for example the surge of documentaries involving North Korea as the subject and the many ways the nation can be represented. It is a peculiar and fascinating issue that can be expanded upon in a separate post but you will be introduced to it more formally later on. Some surprisingly versatile years from growing directors like Jeff Nichols (The Midnight Special and Loving) and Denis Vilenueve (Arrival) as well as Damien Chazelle retaining a certain artistic momentum from his debut of Whiplash with La La Land. Internationally, a not-so surprising array of incredible films popped up from France to Brazil to Thailand to South Korea, offering many more ways to tell stories that give an intriguing perception. But let us foray into the intricacies of this list, providing a context and criteria for what is being selected and what is not being selected. The list that formulates is not so much a testament to how good the year was but more so about the availability of certain films to me. Some Films That Almost Made ItAnd there were a lot of them, all formidable stories that offered indelible experiences. As I mentioned in my Tales From the Dark post, The Neon Demon, though certainly not a perfect film, created an unusual impression in my mind that has only grown in intrigue and fascination. Although much praise was rightfully given to Vilenueve's Arrival, there was some errors of simplicity that marred my full immersion into the delicately complicated world the film offers. Same thing goes for Nichols' Loving, which provides many great moments between the two leads but sort of evaporates in the name of ending within a loose two-hour time frame. An animated film like Moana was a great experience but I realized, having not seen a Disney sans Pixar film in a long time, the simplicity of the story and all-too familiar beats locked itself from even more grandiose narrative. Along with Moana, another critically acclaimed animation, Kubo and the Two Strings, provided probably one of the most beautiful visuals this year, yet the writers made questionable decisions with the protagonist in regards to theme that left me more troubled than anything else, although I sincerely admire the ambition. Love & Friendship rekindled a lost fondness for Jane Austen stories partly because Kate Beckinsale's biting performance whose gossip and wit are as sharp as a newly forged blade. Acclaimed documentary filmmaker, Babara Kopple, intimately looks at the powerhouse musician, Sharon Jones, as she fights cancer in Miss Sharon Jones!!. Knowing the untimely death of Jones, this film has a heightened importance and the cathartic scene at the church where Jones sings to the small congregation will remain as one of the most memorable scenes in any documentary. Looking abroad, renowned Thai filmmaker Apitchatpong Weerasethakul's Cemetery of Splendor is tantalizing with its minimally profound moments and fragility. Admittedly, it was hard for me to immerse myself at points but this film requires a second viewing from me and I am more than happy to indulge. The Mermaid hails from Chinese comedic director Stephen Chow (Kung Fu Hustle) and it is as wacky as you can imagine, so wacky that the preachy third act became more of a letdown than anything else. Otherwise, the film is wildly entertaining. Though emerging from Canada, Guy Maddin's The Forbidden Room might have snagged the most bizzare experience of the past year where the film sort of self-destructs on itself as you watch a series of neurotic stories-within-stories-within stories-within...you get the idea. It is a film worth watching if you seek an unbounded sense of zaniness and confusion (Everyone is, right?). Not to be outdone, my personal favorite directors, Joel and Ethan Coen, created yet another delicious tale of absurd intellectualism with Hail, Caesar! which dissects early 1950s American society through the traditional Hollywood studio system. An effective ensemble and hilarious moments reinforce an otherwise busy production. I would like to give a shoutout to a small film I had the pleasure of watching in the ImageOut festival in Rochester, NY, highlighting a plethora of LGBTQ films from around the world titled Pushing Dead by Tom E. Brown. A hilariously cynical film that balances a morbid topic with kind sensibility; an HIV comedy that surprisingly works. Martin Scorsese returned to his interest in religion, faith, and the moral challenges associated. In the case of the recent Silence, the main characters' faith is put to the test in an environment that feels no need to adapt. It's an incredibly hard film to watch, torturous in almost every sense of the word, but it is a powerful testament that few filmmakers would attempt; a faith film that does not fall into the stereotypical genre are few and far between and it is great to see a film like this being made. There are many more I can talk about but I'd like to move on, so the following list lays out all the films that are good (some really good) that I just didn't include in my final best-of list: Moana Pushing Dead Hail, Caesar! Cemetery of Splendour Elle Silence La La Land Loving Arrival Miss Sharon Jones!! Love & Friendship The Neon Demon Lo and Behold A Man Called Ove Sing Street American Honey Under the Shadow In case this is your first time perusing my lists, these films are considered to be the .5 of my list. Quite exemplary, yes? Additionally, as I have already stated, there are many films I did not get to or the availability was too limited for any possible screening, so these films are ones I did not see in time and may be considered for the 2017 list: A Monster Calls Paterson The B Side Abacus: Small Enough to Jail Toni Erdmann 20th Century Woman I Am Not Your Negro Of course, there are titles that I might not even considered, that might not have ventured into my limited scope of accessibility. Each and every year I hope to broaden that scope. Most Honorable of Mentions2016 was an intriguing year in that there were many re-releases of older films. The most brazen and shocking of them being the release of Belladonna of Sadness, an X-rated Japanese animation made on the fringes of the American counterculture movement about sexual liberation in a medieval world. Although it was beautiful and grotesque all at once, I still found myself unsure of what to think the film was to express. Two other films re-emerged, thankfully, back into the cinematic world for people, like the younger generation, to experience. These two films are both incredible in their own right and, if they had been released this year, officially, they would have easily made their way into the top list. The first film being Isao Takahata's masterful Only Yesterday (originally released in 1990), the film I described as this beautiful rumination of what it is to live, to grow, and to look back. My love for this film, which admittedly blossomed years before even seeing this for the first time, has only grown...a story I can only hope to aspire to in my own writings...its themes so personal and so delicate in my subjective history. This film, along with Grave of the Fireflies and The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, provides a convincing testimony that Takahata should be considered Miyazaki's equal, both artists analytical in craft and sagacious in expression. The other film is by one of my favorite documentary filmmakers, Les Blank. A Poem is a Naked Person chronicles the concert tour of Leon Russell as well as the cultural environment surrounding Russell, his band, and anyone who has worked with him. Basically, in true Blank form, it is a cornucopia of authenticity mixed with a humorously contemplative eye from the filmmaker. A film gushing with great music, littered with multitudes of small, special moments of bizarre elegance, and never venturing to over-complicate itself, it is almost unbelievable that the film was held unreleased for over forty years because Russell was unsure of his own depiction in the film. Now, after Russell's passing, an urgency has risen within this otherwise lax film. But there is a lesson to be learned here: never hesitate to display yourself through Blank's lens. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- With all that said, the preface is over. Who knows if you've managed to lock your eyes at this portion of the blog without resorting to look at the real list. Anywho, this is the list of my top films. I hope this finds you intrigued, wanting to explore more of the film world and the infinite amount of stories formulated by men and women across the globe. Frankly, that is probably the most foundational reason for making such a list...I don't even like lists for the most part. Despite such confessions, these films are my favorites and, I think, are very much worth your time. Thanks and enjoy! 14. A Boy and the World (Ale Abreu)Although using musical cues to preface crucial narrative change and character growth, A Boy and the World could have done with more music. That was my biggest complaint with one of the earliest films I saw in 2016. And while that gripe still holds true as I look back, I remember the ambition and perplexing nature it holds so confidently. Directed by Ale Abreu, a Brazilian filmmaker and animator, the colors, shapes, and sounds easily invite a expansive demographic, but that does not inhibit the artist to settle for an easy story, let alone a simplistic structure for telling such a story. Rather, the film is incredibly complex in its visual symbolism, connecting the external mayhem with the internal conflict of the main character who seeks to find his identity. A cityscape that can be marveled by those who love Blade Runner and Dark City, A Boy And the World forces the eyes to explore each and every frame, to pick up on both the large and small details of real-world influence. And while some of it my be heavy-handed, the moments where we nosedive into human complexity, or the human necessity to why Abreu tells this story, is when a magical power erupts before us and the animation vibrates a lyrical, albeit melancholic, celebration. 13. Our Little Sister (Kore-eda Hirokazu)Said to not be one of Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Kore-eda's best films. Nonetheless, his recent film, Our Little Sister, lingered within the personal realm of my mind. A lengthy film all about familial schisms and politics, there is an interesting and somewhat unobserved question of what makes a family a family. The formidable group of sisters who rally together in the face of parental discontent is altogether fun, endearing, and puissant in its effectiveness, as they take in a younger sister of theirs that was born from their father's second (or third?) wife. Enjoyable insight uncovers a hypothesis that offspring carry with them characteristics of their parents, no matter how much they hate them. Thus, if the offspring is not careful, they will become what they so vehemently hate. Such an observation, partly driven by assumption but something I can totally relate to (minus the hate), is what makes watching the eldest sister struggle as she wants to distance herself from her family history but try to support and care for her new, much younger, sister. Many moments, mostly involving food, create a gentility asking for the audiences sympathetic involvement and we begin to care as if we were another sibling. In addition, much can be analyzed by the way setting and mise-en-scene quietly interplay to help evoke a sense of personal restraint, visualizing the aforementioned assumptive observation that, maybe, we can never get away from our family, for better or for worse. We simply need to make do and grow into a person that can acknowledge where you come from and where you are going. 12. Songs From the North (Soon-mi Yoo)Amusingly, this is the first of three South Korean films on this list. Of course, I never planned on my lists taking shapes in these sorts of manner but it is all well deserved, beginning with Soon-Mi Yo's essay film Songs From the North. 2016 saw the release of several documentaries exploring the estranged nation of North Korea, the other two notable films being Under the Sun and The Lover and the Despot. While the latter two features uneasy problems stemming from perspective and questions of motive and endgoals, Songs From the North is the only one directed by a Korean filmmaker...South Korean, that is (the distinction must be made). Having been given permission to film under the patrol of an officer, Soon-Mi quietly points the camera at large, concrete buildings, at lines of children, at shop owners and in effect points the camera at a mirror to the rest of the world in order to ask the tough questions. All films are a struggle to make, but few films consistently exemplify that struggle. Soon-Mi, for the most part, needs to film in secret, which means she is hiding the camera in her bag or briefly panning to some subject only to pan away before we can fully digest the image. It may become frustrating, but there are still incredible moments of a world so mysterious. And, within the context of her thesis questions, we are shown a people who hold an almost justifiable resentment towards the United States...mixed in with a culture that can be easily interpreted as brainwash. This resentment remains powerful because of the propagandist culture that will continue to feed it. Yet, the worlds that lie outside of the communist country, like America, are just as much a perpetrator...similar to the accusations resuscitated by Joshua Oppenheimer in The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence. So even though this film is quite minimal and possibly even amateurish in its production, it does lend a startling authenticity ultimately giving us a reasonably blurry look into a country we choose to ignore or mock, instinctively positioning ourselves as superiors. To use the now tired Batman euphemism, Songs of the North is the North Korean documentary we deserve. 11. Don't Think Twice (Mike Birbiglia)I am not sure I have seen a comedy about comedy carry as much pathos since Charlie Chaplin's The Circus. While not trying to inflate the comparison, it is a small testament to the effectiveness of Mike Birbiglia's Don't Think Twice, which centers on an improvisational group on their last legs as two of the members are selected to audition for a show not dissimilar to SNL. Let me retract the idea from the first line and say it really is not pure comedy...a dramedy is more appropriate. Either way, the script naturally weaves both comedy and drama to the point when something dramatic is expressed it always calls upon comedy and when something comedic is expressed it always calls upon the story's drama, a symbiosis of great storytelling. The ensemble cast making up the group delivers beautifully natural performances and the anonymity of most of the cast members (save for Keegan-Michael Key and the director) endorses one of the fundamental conflicts of the film in that everyone may be happy for the two selected for an audition but deep down are rampaging in a jealousy that would do anything to take their place. It is sometimes an unnoticeable price you pay for dreaming as such grandeur delusively shapes the way you look at others...most of them you see as competition. The way many of the main characters look at each other suggest they know exactly how much that price was and, just as crucially, the film pulls no stops in delineating the complication of "making it big," or receiving that one big chance. Not everyone could handle the fame and responsibility that consequently emerges with that big break. Don't Think Twice uses nuanced relationship dynamics to cover the many responses to such phenomenon and even though we may smile and laugh through many moments, it is a sort of smile or laugh that is one step away from sadness. 10. The Witch (Tom Eggers)Horror films seek out what makes us uncomfortable, what makes us hesitate and what makes us question our own, normalized perceptions of the world. And many of the successful horror films, like their sci-fi counterparts, weave in allegorical threads into the haunting plot to indict a major problem or issue in contemporary society. The last scene in George Romero's Night of the Living Dead still stings as a shocking slap in the face, clarifying to audiences all over what kind of movie they were actually watching. Tom Egger's The Witch returns to such form, pummeling us through an hour and a half of devastation and ending with a prideful ambivalence that can only be countered with thorough examination. By adhering, quite faithfully, to the real folktales (is that an oxymoron?) regarding witches in 17th century New England, Eggers illuminates horror tradition. Yet, unbeknownst to many, he begins to slowly invert such traditions, bringing these folktales into a modern context, and ultimately subverts the foundation the film was based on. The dissolution of Puritan faith begets the dissolution of the Puritan family which eventually begets fear, and it is through this frightening display of fear, precipitating between each member of an ostracized family, we begin to seethe cost through such paranoia. As the last scene plays, the possibility of a feminist reading is extremely justifiable and all the more surprising, deepening the complexity of a film already loaded with symbolic terror and nauseous moments. 9. Hunt For the Wilderpeople (Taika Waititi)The New Zealand landscape may be globally known as Middle Earth but let us try not to forget that such a landscape is that of a real country. If Taika Waititi's Hunt for the Wilderpeople is an homage to anything its the infinitely beautiful landscape of the island nation. It is great that the two main characters get lost in it for most of the film and it is great that the two main characters are Ricky Baker (Julian Dennison) and Hec (Sam Neill of Jurassic Park fame), an odd couple of sorts who are running from the authorities because society has given up on them. A film with this amount of fun is hard to criticize, let alone neglect. While it is not as rambunctiously funny as Waititi's last film, What We Do in the Shadows, the sense of adventure is there, complete with startling moments of tenderness, fright, and action. Though, with much effort, you could equate it with the Speilbergian films of the 80s, Wilderpeople resembles what today's nostalgic films should aim to be...a look back by bringing something new and refreshing. Dennison's performances is comic acuity, his pacing and range make it seem like he has been doing this sort of thing for decades. Sam Neill's grumpiness is, for lack of a better word, intoxicating and wholly believable, creating a dynamism that makes their adventure inviting. Here is a film that becomes a detriment if you force analytics onto your interpretation, whatever the hell that may be. Like Ricky and Hec, you just sort of run with them not really worrying about what will happen but that you are enjoying the ride. I cannot stress it enough, Waititi is the Edgar Wright of New Zealand, offering impressive comedies full of life and electricity with an almost unequivocal amount of fun. Fun...you want me to repeat it again? I thought so. Fun. 8. Manchester By the Sea (Kenneth Lonergan)Tragicomedy is a subgenre that is challenging for any filmmaker to pull off. To do so with a protagonist who appears as a hallow shell to the whole wide world is even harder. How are we to sympathize with such a man, played by Casey Affleck, who recedes into a shadow of himself with the indication that any sort of affection could be had with someone else? Kenneth Lonergan and his Manchester By the Sea deftly crafts a violent tragedy interwoven with the awkward (or obnoxious) drollery of everyday life. Of course, it is not everyday that a man, whose brother has just died, must assume custody of his son. Nevertheless, through episodic moments that build the relationship between Affleck's Lee Chandler and Kevin Hodges's Patrick Chandler, we get an exhibition of coping from a traumatic experience equal parts scathing and comforting. Like a billowing and hovering cloud of storm and chaos, trauma obstructs the totality of a worldview that can be found as liberating. Affleck perfectly embodies a tainted soul, filled with internal embers and debris from a bygone self destruction. His voice imbues a sense panting, as if he is subconsciously trying to say sorry for the sins he has committed without overtly saying anything. And it is because of the unwillingness to fully take a hold of his past that he settles for automation. We watch the pain grow and grow but we also watch a unrequited love surface. This film is funny and those moments are genuine and such injection only adds to the weight of tragedy and the profundity of humanity. 7. The Fits (Anna Rose Holmer)Coming-of-age stories always provide a fascinating venue for themes that both embody what it means to be young and what it means to grow old yet it cannot escape its own worn-out tropes. I will have to say that I have never seen a coming-of-age story quite like Anna Rose Holmer's The Fits, a film that is as realistically human as it is psychologically surreal. Because of that, it is at times an existent drama and at other times a fantastical thriller. It is almost incredible the way Holmer squishes genres together quite bewilderingly but manages to concoct a film that thrives on its unpredictability while also delivering on its exploration into the fears and hardships of becoming a woman. At times slow-burning but simultaneously crackling with communal celebration, the epicenter of such fireworks is undoubtedly Royalty Hightower who plays lead and who coldly tries to fight off the inevitability of growing up as she sees her friends, one by one, be stricken with a mysterious ailment labelled "the fits." Sometimes she might seem questionably nonreactive, but Hightower commands her ambiguous role with heft and a strength that can only be attributed to being a badass. Between a strict boxing regiment and combative dancing, her austerity is cancelled out by her physicality and her trajectory through the story mapped by the way she moves, or doesn't move. Either way, it is a performance as elegant as any this past year, harking back to the year when Quvenzhane Wallis scorched the screen in Beasts of the Southern Wild. By the end of it, although I was still trying to wrap my head around such an unusual experience, I am wholeheartedly glad this film exists. Maybe, no hopefully, you would be glad too. 6. The Handmaiden Park Cahn-wook)Park Chan-wook is one of the artists who continuously makes me uncomfortable in the best of ways. By gleefully teetering on the edge of what could be called sadism, Park's films rocket into the depths of human fear, depravity, and unhealthy obsessions. Boy, do we venture into some dark places...just witness (yes, witness) his earlier vengeance trilogy which includes possibly his most famous entry, Oldboy, to understand the sorts of crazy stories he tells like neurotic parables that somehow make us feel enlightened and dirty at the same time. So this is why, out of all the filmic elements I could talk about in regards to this taut thriller, I will choose to talk about the focal sex scene. Is it alright for me to do this? I ask earnestly...may I? I don't really get to talk about sex scenes all that much partly due to some of my critical conservatism but also due to the fact that sex scenes in films are never really that interesting. Usually, they are either an ends to a means for plot progression or a superficial attempt at titillation. Granted, Park Chan-wook's The Handmaiden is an erotic film so titillation is an aspect, crucially even. Of course, a film about sexual liberation of two woman in an era of national and cultural occupation (the film is set in Korea during Japanese occupation) needs to show sex as a vehicle for emotional catharsis, of unbridled confidence, and, most importantly, of consensual trust: this trust is both emotional and physical, the zenith of human compassion through sexual passion. Now, without giving too much away, what I really wanted to discuss is the way the sex scene functions as an interesting narrative device, exemplifying change in perspective akin to the mastery exhibited by Tarantino in Jackie Brown. Of course, what do I know being a straight male watching an erotic film by a straight male? I will openly acknowledge that there is an argument to be made about this film possible objectification in light of its empowerment. But I will stand by my adoration for a film that is quite sexy but also thematically and formally exuberant. It is not even close to the level of depravity as Oldboy, but The Handmaiden will still startle and triumph in its exotic, and erotic, depiction of sexual politics. 5. Cameraperson (Kirsten Johnson)Cameraperson could be considered an essay film akin to Songs From the North, though more specifically it should be categorized as a memoir film. Kirsten Johnson re-contextualizes footage from the many documentaries she has shot into an almost referential and personal experiment. Her memories within the many shots and scenes bleed together as her editing confidently constructs a montage of emotional and intellectual consistency, an achievement Eisenstein would be proud of. And within this assemblage, transporting us from Afghanistan to Madison Square Garden to Nigeria, despite the globetrotting, there is this seamless understanding of the power of the camera, the phenomenon of recording testimonies and events. Even without context, there are numerous incredible moments which include a terrorizing montage of old, run down buildings that were edifices supporting some particular genocide. In Nigeria, a baby is born yet the nurses struggle to keep it alive. We watch, Thompson watches, and several moments go by of unfathomable anxiety, where we feel the immediacy of helplessness and urgency that Thompson and her director felt standing in the same room as the infant breathes painfully. Of course, this film is not redlining with astronomical intensity. Johnson episodically settles down into a mediation, a solemn rumination of obscure moments. Some of these shots may not have much meaning....maybe she even forgot what she really felt but the inclusion of such contemplative instances offer the audience to participate in meditation. Ultimately, it is a triumphant vulnerability that Johnson opens herself up to; her cinematographic eye not only witnesses but also exposes, sometimes transforming into a mirror reflecting the memorial thought process of an accomplished filmmaker...we witness a stream of consciousness carrying the burden of time but also the power of cinema. 4. Thank You for Playing (David Osit and Malika Zouhali-Worrall)Admitting to a bias that any film that humanizes the art of video games inherently absorbs my whole curiosity and sympathy, I remain unashamed. There are many films, mostly documentaries, that have opened the world up to the culture or lifestyle of video games. While many of them are solid, some of them are too informational to explore any nuance into what makes video games pleasant instead of a pariah and scapegoat for the supposed troubles of our youth. Then there is a film like Thank You For Playing by David Osit and Malika Zouhali-Worrall, a film both incredibly investing but immensely tragic. No child should have to experience what Ryan and Amy Green's son experienced so early in his life. Living with cancer as a four year old is sadistically inexplicable and the dread for parents to watch their child slowly fade away is something I hope to never experience. Nonetheless, Ryan and Amy decide to find a coping mechanism by creating a video game influenced by their emotional journey through this tempest. With the game's development, art imitates life and then back again as the game functions not just a mirror that is hammered but an active ingredient in an existential conflict with the parents, especially Ryan. Was the creation of this video game cathartic or did it only focus the pain? Has the project become a distraction, and alternate reality projecting a decomposing fantasy? Questions like these are complicated through the film as it becomes more subjective, more surreal and, formally, becomes a first-person documentation. A father films himself with his dying son as much as he can in an effort to maintain some sort of life essence in the digital recordings. A similar motive is applied to their game, named The Dragon, Cancer, where Ryan may try to see the polygonal representation of their boy as his soul, preserved forever in the many programming lines of the game and eventually into the minds of the gamers who interact with such a gossamer experience. This document is a way to help Ryan and Amy bear the burden of their pain. Through art, as in video games specifically, liberation could be found. 3. My Love, Don't Cross that River (Jin Moyoung)There is no other way for me to say this other than I was blessed to watch the film My Love, Don't Cross That River by Jin Moyoung in a packed theatre. An observational film following an elderly South Korean couple is a completely simple premise yet a whole assortment of themes and issues spring up by just practicing the simple act of watching. We can compare it to a real life Ozu film almost down to specific mannerisms and relationships. Indeed, familial scuffle is generated by the unopened case of what to do with this aging couple who otherwise are very independent. Their love for each other almost miraculously gives them strength and their autonomy; their tenderness and humor are intoxicating. Time, unfortunately, erodes independence, and the rest of the family that travels far out of the way to visit their secluded house hardly subdue their tedium in taking care of their parents. Does life become onerous at a certain age? Is life all about a level of independence that, once lost, proceeds to stare straight into the unavoidable conclusion of death? Making quite an assumption, that is what I thought at some point when looking upon the faces of the well-seasoned wife and husband who seem better off without their family anyways but who always enjoy their company. Will I face a similar future? My personal question connotes a cyclical nature permeating within many of the films moments. I will never forget the shot of the ailing husband looking with a childhood fascination at his newborn puppy. It is almost a personification (and anthropomorphism) of life and death, necessary to be together, contently acknowledging the importance of each other. Yet, our innate human frailty to hesitate stepping into the great unknown causes pain especially if you know you will be leaving your loved one behind. It is known that Johnny Cash died shortly after the death of his wife, June Carter and the recent tragic pair of passings saw mother and daughter, Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, die on consecutive days. If you have this strong connection with someone, a connection no one else can break or taint, it must feel wretched and distressing to have that connection finally severe due to death, an unpalatable loneliness. Leaving this movie, though, a vitality rings true long after the drudgery of death recedes. A wonderful film such as My Love reinforces a stubborn optimism against an increasingly pessimistic world. Life does not become burdensome if you keep living it, no matter your age. 2. Moonlight (Barry Jenkins)When I heard Barry Jenkins, the director of Moonlight, admit to his fascination with Wong Kong-Wai's In the Mood For Love, it all made sense to me. Like a pleasant revelation illuminating a path of shared interest, it made it easy to understand why Moonlight had such an impression on me. As I stated in my review, the film boasts a lyrical, or maybe even orchestral, structure and pacing embodying a story of a man coming to terms with his identity in a world that seems to shun him. What we witness is sort of a psychological realism, a world rendered from an unreceptive mind where emotions pervade like the still air and though not much is explicitly said we have an ample opportunity to infer. Jenkins weds style and substance to an extraordinary effect through symbolic motif, powerful closeups of the three incredible actors who play the lead at three points in his life, and a discernment for tangential beauty (that one scene in which diner food is being prepared...deliciously beautiful while being almost blatantly unnecessary). Of course, one of the performances of the year provided by Mahershala Ali as a morally troubled drug dealer exhibits Jenkins's confidence in writing complex characters even in supporting roles. Nevertheless, the perfection of the protagonist comes with the films internal excursion into a mind fortifying itself from all the vitriol as well as the distance the film gives to the protagonist at the same time. In essence, we understand him so much that we know there are places we cannot fully traverse unless we have experienced what he has experienced; mystery is openly accepted in the construction of our lead, Chiron. Gaining momentum as the story unravels into a soft, intimate crescendo, the last scene plays out in this delicate rigidity, a desperate testament chiseling at ostensible masculinity. To travel down a road in life you know, with each and every step, will take you farther away from who you are...it must be terrifying. I applauded this film, that fact that is was made and how it was made. At least it gives me a brief window, or fuel, using the famed Roger Ebert analogy, to power the empathy machine of which my own insecurities and desires can be shared or at least acknowledge upon watching Moonlight. 1. O.J.: Made in America (Ezra Edelman)Yes, it is a five-part series. Unsurprisingly, I could care less. Director Ezra Edelman approached this documentary about famed football star turned nightmarish celebrity, O.J. Simpson, as a ninety minute feature according to the traditions of ESPN's 30 for 30 Documentary Series. Instead, it became a five-part, eight hour treatise on a country chained to blisteringly contradicting problems. Of the eight hours, every hour, no, every minute of the obscure odyssey drips with formidable and, dare I say, objective detail. Documentaries should not be required to be informational, to inform audiences by providing facts akin to a news report; documentaries are more generally just representations of our shared reality (while fiction films are reproductions). Yet, if you are to make a film cogitating the myriad of reasons and circumstances that lead to the awful shit storm that was "The Trial of the Century," your information needs to be reinforced in an alloy of impartiality. Or, rather, an openness to understand the roots of all sides of the issues and to not necessarily fight them or condone them but to just question them with the endowed sense of curiosity we should all exercise. Edelman took on this behemoth of a story with this investigative curiosity, questioning everything he came across, unfettered by where he comes from and what experiences he brings to the table. He journeys into the heart of an American hell with a camera and a plan and what a grand plan it was. The idea to preface the trial with a parallel narrative between O.J's rising popularity in Los Angeles and the racial turmoil that began to boil in that same city is a perfect blueprint that creates an intersection where both stories collide at ludicrous speed. The spectrum of social actors Edelman finds and interviews is refreshing, completely discarded any concessions about a shallow or annoyingly propagandistic tale that would only be preaching to the proverbial choir. No, nothing is sacred in this film and through the hours of interviews by dozens of people, the audience is left in the middle of the aforementioned shit storm, churning up a frustration feeding off the neurotic ignorance that has always been displayed in our country. What Made in America exposes is the consequences of symbolism. Although symbolism naturally functions in art as a tool for thematic expression, applying symbolism to the realities of political and social institutions is downright frightening and those consequences are clearly revitalized. For that, it is truly an American film, effectively making it one of the most important films of late. Let me take it a step further: it is one of the most American films I have ever seen, if that is even a reasonable thing to say, because of its fearlessness in accusing pretty much all of us for blinding divisiveness. Apart from its national ties, it is an ideal film, a special film. I hope this is a revolutionary spearhead for more documentaries, seeking to inform, to really take the time and minimize bias or agendas and just observe the damn story for what it is. Ezra Edelman skyrockets to one of the finest filmmakers in America now and his film, O.J.: Made in America, is a recent film already exuding a sense of incumbent timelessness.
Life could be aligned with a symphony, or at the very least music. Amid its harmonies, melodies, consonance, and dissonance, life has a way of being lyrically complex, with noticeable patterns we can perceive, but subtle complexities we may not understand. Memory of some distant moment is like returning to an earlier phrase in the composition. And in that moment, in which we transport to that historic episode of our life, we might engage with a fluctuating duet with our past self, harmonizing with those feelings and thoughts or offering a counterpoint based on how we've changed. It really does beautify our existence or, maybe, expose its fragility.
Barry Jenkins applies a whimsical musicality to his film, Moonlight, guiding its narrative like a conductor delicately waving the baton that generates note after note. And, like a symphony, he tells his story in multiple movements, a story of a man who is forced to suppress his identity, a man forced to rid his whole idea of love and loving. Chiron is a black man who discerns his homosexuality at a young age, though he has no idea how or what to convey. Nevertheless, he also realizes at a young age that such an identity can get him into trouble, whether it be at school or with his degrading mother who doesn't seem to give a damn about him. The narrative structure, which observes Chiron at three distinct moments in his life as a young boy, a high school teenager, and as an adult, provocatively dissects the machinations the morph our protagonist into the factory-made black male in all of his stereotypical glory as well as the evaporation of homosexual orientation due such societal machinations. Along the way, Chiron, who is given many nicknames as if his name is as interchangeable as who he really is...or maybe the name doesn't even matter (but it does), is given opportunities to open up and thrown into situations to shut down. Jenkins breathes life into many secondary characters, the most spectacular being the drug dealer Juan, played with incredible humanity by Mahershala Ali, who knowingly steps outside his own social norms and expectations to understand a wayward kid who only knows how to keep quiet. His face regards the little Chiron with a cynical protection, acknowledging the irony of supporting him but nonetheless determined to make Chiron feel wanted. It all amounts to the climax of the first movement in a scene with blistering brutality and honesty, yet quiet in almost every other sense. As Chiron grows older, the tender moments become more palpable but so does the opposition and mapping out his trajectory builds a sense of fear and hesitation that seems to dominate every element of the film, from the eloquent musical score (which seems to compliment this anxiety with beauty) to the framing of the characters during conversation sequences. Cinematographer James Laxton not only observes but hovers in an almost dancing sort of way around moments of heightened feelings. But there are times where Laxton restrains himself and such restraint is potently felt by the viewer. It is both versatile and minimal in its visual communication. Much needs to be said about many other aspects: the color is quite delectable, saturated in this disposition that combines naturalism with an active figment of surrealism, a spectral interpretation to a fragmented identity. Moreover, both the editing and sound editing work in tandem, not unlike a duet, to fluidly move us from one scene to the next. There is even a masterful technique used between both during conversations that plays with our expectations, forcing us to regard the human face with more intimacy than usual, and offering a lively alternative to traditional modes. Alas, I must abbreviate such appreciation, because I do want to comment on the three actors who played Chrion in different stages of his life. Maybe it is the deft skill exhibited by Jenkins in directing each actor with such eloquence...and that is certainly true, but I need to isolate the performers. Alex Hibbert, who plays Chiron as a boy (known as Little), Aston Sanders who plays Chrion in high school, and Trevante Rhodes who plays the adult (known as Black) all display elegant power. It is not just the biggest, most dramatic moments that showcase their talents but it is in the fine details, the specific mannerisms, of which loudly announce the instability or uncertainty of the protagonist's struggles in all three movements. Indeed, these quiet, minute spans of time communicate to us a debilitating sense of unease in which the idea of love, or making love are not just fulfilling but frightening, especially in a world that does not care for such exploration and comprehension. Each actor displays their own sense of fright and frangibleness, slowly chipping away at a built up facade of a superficial masculinity. Rhodes character, for instance, seems to have built a reinforced fortress of muscle to help lock away an identity he thinks is meaningless, only to express such an identity, albeit conservatively, with his quivering eyes and mouth. Watching each version of Chiron, their wandering eyes, how they try not to make contact with others, their opened mouths, or their hand movements acting as organic shields, is at the very least a remarkable achievement. Ultimately, though, Jenkins does manage to contextualize these three performances, intelligently conducting each rendition to exude leitmotifs so that each version of Chiron recalls the others. At the same time, he allows a freedom to show a change in each Chiron (like the aforementioned muscles) to act as maybe not so much a counterpoint to the focal melody of our protagonist, but to express change or maybe to express stasis but through different forms though a change is felt, nevertheless. In general, they harmonize almost effortlessly. Symphonic movements are journeys. Rhythmic, melodious journeys. This journey opens my eyes to one man's continuous struggle with being gay, with being gay and black. A struggle I cannot fathom without help from someone who has been there. Barry Jenkins is so confident in his storytelling that the narrative's vitality contributes to its topical urgency as well as its lingering beauty. A cinematic newness is exhibited by this budding director with Moonlight, one that brings a freshness to film form and content, something I do not mind losing myself in. Play on, Mr. Jenkins. A Tour de Force? A Flop? Or Maybe Suppression: The Perception of The Birth of a Nation's Success10/19/2016 I remember that towards the end of the 2016 Sundance Film Festival, news outlets bursted posts and articles hailing Nate Parker's The Birth of a Nation to be a powerhouse of an film, spewing anger of oppression geared towards both systemic racism and a film industry that seems to endorse such segregation. Because it made such a splash, it was picked up, almost with blurring haste, by Fox searchlight Pictures. Indeed, as much of a moral impediment it is to support such a film, it may have also proved to be a good business venture. As the film made a crater-sized impact at the Utah film festival, the Oscars were in the midst of a continuous barrage of protest for whitewashing the ceremony both in the nominees that were picked and the committee that performs such nominations. An underlying, almost dormant bigotry was being exposed and Nate Parker's film was a slap in the face to the current situation of the film industry; the zenith of its own protest being its titular critique of D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation made way back in 1915, illuminating the Ku Klux Klan while simultaneously demonizing the already marginalized black population by intoxicating itself with superficial stereotypes. Thus, the film is not just for the current state of the film industry, but for the incredibly long history that hasn't been addressed. Then something unexpected happened. Reports began resurfacing of a rape case against both Nate Parker and co-writer Jean Celestin in which Parker was acquitted but Celestin was convicted only for such conviction to be overturned. The accuser ended up committing suicide in 2012. Such an unfortunate series of events began overshadowing the dominant and unapologetic force of a film. It is as if the tone of the film, a combination of ferocity and frustration, has been warped to meet the new perception of the supposed film, where now the supposed majority sees the film as an extension of the artists' experience (a reasonable assertion), those good and suspect. Indeed, the allegation of rape creeps over a pivotal scene involving one of the main characters being raped by white oppressors. Nate Parker, who stars as Nat Turner, is fueled by fire and brimstone over such a moment, building a resume of accusations to one day avenge. It is such reactionary heroism that, seen through the lens of unfortunate circumstances, that taints audience perception. A man who was acquitted for a heinous crime is now placing it as a focal point for character change. In other words, the plot progresses at the expense of womanhood. It doesn't help that Parker's reaction to the resurfacing of his past experiences were perceived as ambiguous at best, at least in the sense that if one was expecting an apology then the absence of one may seem startling. Nevertheless, such string of instances have left the film, which may or may not be detached from the artist, in a world of obscurity. Upon the film's nationwide release, the controversy maintained yet it took a different form. Now, there are accusations that the media is inflaming such controversies for the sole purpose of tranquilizing the financial and critical success of the film. Actually, the media is one possible perpetrator, another target was the black feminists coordinated in the dissemination of information used to slander Parker (with an amusing response from Black feminists). It's all sort of a mess but what cannot be ignored is the web of complexity that, once again, is perpetuated by our perception of the wealth of information brought forth in this modern age and the way in which everyone can have an opinion taken as some sort of dogma. That is not to say that is a problem, but the organization of thought and discourse is unstable, and what we are left with is a, "everyone will agree to disagree," situation in which, at this point, Parker's allegations have not been brought up again. In effect, his stature is most likely miniaturized in the film industry though the past allegations are suspended in some limbo forever more. It's the sort of contradictory position common today. Here at Cinedreams, I think there is not much to add to this conversation in terms of moral discussion and the social impact of such a sequence. Nonetheless, it may be important to just approach this in a slightly different manner, emphasizing data as a way to interpret the success of the film. And while such data may detach itself from the potential surrounding problems (numbers are usually not bias), there will be an attempt to repurpose the data into the overall chronicle of Nate Parker and The Birth of a Nation. ---------------------------------------Evaluation Through Comparison---------------------------------------- The Numbers is a great website, along with BoxOfficeMojo, that helps organize financial data of movies so that we can evaluate trends and relationships. Now, I will not purport myself to be a film industry analyst in any respect, but I feel I have some grasp of financial significance when it pertains to movies. Anyways, I will show that The Birth of a Nation can be justified as successful through analyzation of its own merits while comparing the film with film that fall in the same realm of marketing and demographic. Firstly, let us start simply with the profit over time of Birth from its nationwide release to October 23, 2016, which is the third weekend of its opening. the image is from The Numbers: One piece of essential data that is missing here is the number of theatres it has played, which happens to be 4,843. Let me be clear about this number (and the next figure will elaborate as well); it is the number of engagements the film has been involved with or how many times it has played in the number of theatres it is distributed across. the number of actual theatres is 2,105. Now, looking at this graph, we can make the safe assessment that the film as 'fairly poor legs.' As in, nothing immediately dire but not optimistic. Now let us bring in some two important numbers:
Now that we have seen the film's financial impact by itself, let us bring in similar films. Now, these similar films fall are a mixture of Sundance hits and films featuring African Americans in important roles, whether be director or actor or both. Let us maintain simplicity and start with one comparison, that of the 2014 hit, Whiplash, which garnered much enthusiasm at Sundance and soared into the Oscars with plenty of nominations and some wins. Of course, I will mention that no African American artist is featured as a major player but the Sundance comparison holds. So, regard the next figure: Now some subtleties to regard: one is that the cost of rights for Sony Pictures Classics with Whiplash for USA, Australia, and Germany is between $2.5 million and $3 million. Next, the graph only accounts for domestic box office (with the x-axis as number of days screening). If you look at the chart right below, you can see that Whiplash acquired much profit through the international box office. The Birth of a Nation, on the other hand, has not started an international run. So, let us discard international impact for the time being. Of course, it is unfortunate to know how much was spent on marketing and promotion because for Whiplash, as tiny of a film it is, was granted a lot of promotion, especially during the awards season. This also may explain the shape of the curve for Whiplash, in that it started slowly but picked up as awards season emerged and through a strong promotional campaign, improved more and more through February and into March of 2015. Thus, with costs up to $6.5 million, it returned over 100%. With an average rating of 8.6 out of 10, Whiplash did well critically, without a doubt, and only fueled the incredibly long run (with a re-opening after the Oscars). Now, longevity in regards to The Birth of a Nation is hard to discuss mainly because award season is still approaching and Nate Parker's film has only been out for three weeks. In our next figure, we expand the number of films which may or may not produce some intrigue. Nevertheless, the type of films remain as Sundance hits, except that more films now feature African Americans in prominent roles. I have retained Whiplash for further comparison: There is much activity in this graph but we can parse it bit by bit. We already know the situation for Whiplash though we now see it in relation to many more films. Take note that the estimated budget for Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, according to iMDB, is $8,000,000. There is a wide distribution of Opening Weekend Theaters and Theatrical Engagements Let us now compare the domestic box office for each of these films, both comparing Birth with the other films' total domestic box office and then comparing it to their box office using the same amount of days that Birth has been screening. Each bullet point will contain the title, the percentage of the budget that the profit has reached, and the total monetary value of the revenue. At the time of this research, The Birth of a Nation has been out for eighteen days:
So there you go; besides the astronomically great revenue gathered by Ryan Coogler's Fruitvale Station and the solidly successful Dope, Birth is doing very well just in terms of revenue compared to production budget. Of course, it must be stated that this piece of statistical evidence cannot and should not be a key towards a prediction that Birth will end up as successful as the current trend allows, even if I did hint at such earlier on in the piece. What we have is the past. One more figure to regard is the daily box office performance of Birth and the percentage change between each day: Besides the 16% increase on October 18th, the rest of the positive changes occur on the weekends, which is to be expected. And, it is not surprising that the amount of money generated is slowly declining. Yet, as we can see, the biggest factor for such a decline might have to do with the decrease in the amount of theaters from 2,105 theaters for fourteen days down to 633. With the rough average of gross profit throughout the eighteen days being $792,495, we can see that the gross profits since day eleven have been no where near the average.
Speaking more personally, The Birth of a Nation only ran through three weekends at the local independent theater though it is still running at the larger Regal theater here in Rochester, NY. Nevertheless, a decrease in theaters is one thing, but the amount subtracted might speak to the confidence Fox Searchlight really has on the profitability of the film. And so here lies the distinction in data perception. As an independent film with a black independent filmmaker, the results of financial success, especially seen in relation to production budget, is successful, and there is a long understanding that independent films sometimes are not judged my their monetary success (see Blade Runner, Children of Men, and The Shawshank Redemption to start). Even in terms of Oscar nominations (again, look to Whiplash), financial success isn't always a prerequisite. you must peruse the multitude of reviews to see what the critical response amounts to, but it is mostly favorable. But the showcase of this data can be interpreted in many ways, again, Fox Searchlight may have lost a lot of money, and it is the combination of the enthusiasm the film once garnered now rendered subdued and the lack of confidence Fox had with this film throughout controversy. Their promotional campaign miniaturized maybe in an effort to not being more 'positive' light to a man people are suspicious of. This isn't necessarily a quantifiable observation, but it is the sort of thought process that the marketing group probably took into account. Conclusively, as you look upon this data, it can be surmised that The Birth of a Nation is not a flop, though, the next question is would fall under, what, statistically speaking, qualifies as a flop? And, since it is still in theaters and can still make money, no matter what. Yet, what also cannot be ignored was the initial investment based off a hype that certainly was not there upon nationwide release. If there was a measurable approach to observe Nate Parker and Jean Celestin's impact on potential profits, it would be intriguing, even compelling, to look into. But, there is no conclusion to be made and, thus, the idea of flop, success, or the film being suppressed is all up in the air. I think one must decide for themselves how they perceive the film, but they should be aware of the other ways of looking at the situation and why they can just be as valid. In the end, it is also the way in which the film holds up, despite controversy and box office revenue. This is not to say that it is all boiled down to subjectivity (such conclusions suffocate discourse) but, no matter the data, there is still a film that can be analyzed for both its potential merits and potential problems. -------------------------------------- A Small Critique on The Birth of a Nation -------------------------------------- If there is one thing that can be said about the films unfolding of events that kept me at a distance, not a far distance, but a distance nonetheless, is that much of the film, particularly the first three fifths of the film, are told through montage. Not many scenes linger as we observe Nat Turner (played by Nate Parker) growing up and become the slave master's favorite (played by Armie Hammer). Of course, it slows down to show some horrific treatment of blacks that are incredibly effective, yet, the growth of the titular and supremely influential character felt rushed. One of the best moments, eventually truncated, was when Turner was hired to preach to slaves of other plantations by order of their masters in an attempt to quell their restlessness. Upon his first time preaching to a group of blacks, in which he espouses the necessity to do what you are told, there is an incredible sense of manipulation and awkwardness that fuels a tragic sense of irony. But it also brings up the best part of the film, a theme of perception. There is an interesting idea Parker confounds to in which faith, or the word of the Bible, can be interpreted as a means of suppression, which he was a pawn for with his roadshow preaching, and as a means of motivation for the oppressed. And such a theme culminates in a nicely composed, pivotal, shot which places Turner's perception of the Good Book as a fuel of rebellion rather than accept it as a tool of manipulation. It is a potent theme and it is topical, because events, moments, or revelations that exist in our time have the tendency to be interpreted with such wild diversity. It is a shame, because the film is more focused on trying to plot this extensive depiction of Turner's life where simplification could have been beneficial. And such complexity in relation to the number of moments he squeezes in there only end up also trivializing Turner as a strange, brutal, brilliant, and interesting character. There have been reports that some of the scenes present in the film are inaccurate and one can only wonder how Parker and Celestin ended up deciding on what goes into the film and what doesn't but there is a lack of nuance, save the aforementioned thematic element, that neatly fits his arc into a story already told. One inaccuracy is probably the one the conveniently fits with the troubling narrative of Parker this past year and that involves the rape of Turner's wife, Cherry. Now, I will say that the scene, by itself and severed from any contextual obscurity, is handled both with intensity, but without much indulgence. We don't see anything but the brutal aftermath. Now, bringing everything back into focus, the fact that this event did not happened, coupled with Parker's own life, it is just hard for many people to sit comfortably with the motivation behind such a staged scene and one could say that such a scene breaks down any chance for the elusive nuance and places the rape as a convenient plot device to begin the change of Turner. And moreover, there are plenty of other moments that could of easily been used as that fueling plot device. Yet, it is hard to considerably denounce the credibility of the film based off historical inaccuracies, to an extent. Most notably, the idea that returning to historical events allows us to make the story a contemporary metaphor for what we see today, which is why the theme of perception rings well in the film. Just look at The Social Network and the invention of Zuckerberg's girlfriend to see how something like that is employed, and Dvid Fincher and Aaron Sorkin had their artistic right to do so. But my defense does break down when you consider the significance and justification for certain liberties and the girlfriend invention as compared to the rape can be seen as clear. In addition, as stated in The Nation piece, the urgency of not just the topic to appear on screen but a dignified and accurate iteration of the topic comes into play, and Parker makes bizarre choice to ascend Turner into a formulaic hero, culminating in a battle scene that has been portrayed countless times before, particularly in many Mel Gibson films. So we then can only conclude that the life of Turner and the oppressed black slaves in America can somehow be tied closely with the Scottish rebellion in the Middle Ages and the Americans fighting for independence. Those are the major concerns, there are little ones that litter the film here and there. The score is surprisingly traditional and, even though it gives us hints of more ethnic instrumentation, the majority of the time is remains safe and, unfortunately, obvious. Also, it is hard not to compare this film to 12 Years a Slave, which has most of the moments presented here in the film but does it better. If inaccuracies are a potent problem, then one should also wonder why we should want to watch this again when the alternative could have been a more unique and telling story of a man far different from Solomon Northup. Nevertheless, the story itself, as fierce and intense as it is, remains safe. It is still a well-made film without a doubt, but there should have been more room for exploration, more lingering in the thematic element of perception and faith, and more care with the gravity of Turner's choice to become violent. And so where are we at after all of this? It has been a confusing year? The one thing I have tried to do and may have succeeded for the most part is keeping my critique of the film separate from Parker and Celestin. But even I must not be completely ignorant of the context of which this film was made and exhibited in the same way I should always be conscious of the films of Roman Polanski and Woody Allen. My thoughts on it are simple: the film itself can be good or bad regardless of the artist. But if it is good, or even great, I will only diffuse my condolences towards the work, itself, but my condolences towards the artists will not change. In other words, unless circumstances change, there is no reason for me to express more admiration or respect for these people. When it comes to Nate Parker, I will not go as far as to state some solid assumption of what really happened many years ago at Penn State, but I will hold my reservation for any future applause that I could give him. It is obscurity that keeps me from reacting and it will continue to do so. I really don't think there is a campaign against The Birth of a Nation for its blackness, though I will not omit possible trepidation from people not use to the black experience on film. Also, I don't think Parker's insertion, as strange as it is, of the rape scene is in fact an indulgence of a criminal activity he might have been involved with. Yet, this is not to erase the life and memory of a victim who felt helpless long after the incident occurred, even with Parker unaware. And calling this film a flop may just be as subjective as calling it effective. Through the data I have presented, nothing extensive, it should be clear that there are ways where you can call it a flop and you can't; it all depends on the parameters of your perception. Unearthed through these events is maybe a heightened awareness of understanding circumstance, context, and complexity...such is a commonality in our Information Age. |
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