12 Years a Slave (2013)

A 

There's a moment in the brutal film "12 Years a Slave" that I can't get out of my head. After defending himself against the harassment of a jealous overseer (played by Paul Dano), an enslaved Solomon Northup (Chiwetel Ejiofor) has retaliated but ultimately fails and is soon left hanging from a tree branch as the overseer and two companions pull the rope taught. Though Northrup is quick to receive a reprieve from his almost certain death when the overseer is reprimanded for the attempted hanging, Northrup is left to dangle mercilessly from the tree for what feels like an eternity. Director Steve McQueen cuts between close-up shots of his feet, caked in mud and positioned in ballet-like points in an attempt to relieve the pressure, and wide shots of him hanging while slaves carry on about their business behind him. The adult slaves tend to their chores; the young ones play in a field. None concern themselves with the activity in the foreground of the shot. If they had, they'd be hanging, too.

This moment took my breath away. It was so simply executed and so undeniably profound, and the message it communicated was so resonant, painful and direct. I wanted to pause the film and reflect, even though the frame remains on screen for an uncomfortably long amount of time already. But "12 Years a Slave" is as relentless as the life of its main character, a real-life free black man from New York who is tricked into captivity and then sold into slavery in the antebellum South and separated from his family for over a decade.

We want so badly as film-goers to use words like "great" and "enjoyable" interchangeably, but movies like "12 Years a Slave" remind us of the simple folly in that endeavor. Some films, as the learned know, exist to confront us, to make us squirm. And yet while there is almost nothing "enjoyable" about "12 Years a Slave," its "greatness" is present frequently and in many forms.

At the time of its publication in 1855, Solomon Northrup's slave narrative "Twelve Years a Slave" was overshadowed by Harriet Beecher Stowe's fictional narrative, "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Northrup was born free in New York, where he lived with his wife and two children. While his family is away on a trip, Northrup is approached by two circus promoters who offer him a well-paying job to showcase his formidable violin playing skills in a travelling circus. Northrup accepts, figuring the short-term job will give him something to do and bring in some income while his family is away.

When the men arrive in Washington D.C., Northrup is drugged and shackled in a slave pen, then quickly sold into slavery. He quickly learns that his attempts to reason with the men buying and selling slaves will potentially bring more harm upon him than good, and soon decides to withhold the information that he is a free man who is educated and can read. His carpentry skills afford Northrup a lifestyle that is at times a step above that of more unskilled slaves, but he endures unspeakable cruelties nonetheless, cruelties that run the gamut from his own hanging (as already mentioned) to his being forced to whip one of his fellow slaves himself. It is not until Northrup's path crosses with that of an abolitionist from Canada (played in a brief but impactful performance by Brad Pitt) that the wheels are finally put into motion to free him and return him to his family.

Many films have successfully documented aspects of the horrors of American slavery during the 19th Century, but I suspect that "12 Years a Slave" will now be considered the gold standard. Like Steven Spielberg's "Amistad," this film conveys the awful conditions in which the slaves must live, and the brutality with which they are treated. And it not only matches but surpasses the level of violence and hatred illustrated in movies as wide ranging as the miniseries "Roots" to "Django Unchained."

But perhaps what makes "12 Years a Slave" so painful and potent is its overall lack of forced sentimentality. This is what was, period. McQueen tries to downplay the typical film making tricks. Hans Zimmer's score threatens to interfere in spots but is checked in others. Overly flashy camera work from cinematographer Sean Bobbitt is dismissed in favor of emphasizing very simple and shockingly effective frame compositions, such as the previously mentioned hanging scene. McQueen's visuals linger on the screen, often at the expense of the film's momentum (a slight but relevant quibble I had with the film) and always at the expense of the audience's ability to find any level of comfort while viewing. To say I squirmed in my seat is an understatement.

As a director, McQueen continues to hone his craft here, and though I don't know his work well yet, it's clear that one noticeable element - however trivial  it might seem - is that he frequently relies on the nude human form as an integral part of his art. And as he did with his last film, "Shame," he uses nudity explicitly and without any hint of erotic charge. It is clear that he requires his actors to lay themselves bare in every sense of the word, and that he'll ask audiences to receive it, however discomforting.

It's also clear that McQueen understands violence and does not want to see it sentimentalized or downplayed. Yet for as painful as the scenes of violence against the slaves were - and they were really, really bad - I might not have been more affected than in a simple moment where Ejiofor is left to stare directly into the camera, McQueen holding the frame for much longer than the audience can tolerate. Because Ejiofor is so brilliantly understated in his sure-to-be-Oscar-nominated performance, the moment screams at the audience through its deafening silence. "How could you let this happen? To me? To us?" It is pure cinematic conviction. And "12 Years a Slave" elevates itself within its genre by generating its power more from its quiet moments than from its violent ones.

Perhaps the most shocking surprise of "12 Years a Slave" is the diversity of its cast, as McQueen pulls together a group more diverse than any director short of Woody Allen can assemble and, like Allen, draws out spectacular performances from them all without a moment untrue to the film's tone and intention. Of course I was aware of the presence of Michael Fassbender, who starred in "Shame," and is fast becoming the director's muse. Fassbender plays Northrup's second slave owner, and his presence is haunting. But equally effective is Benedict Cumberbatch, always in his element in period work, as the first slave owner. Both are excellent and well-cast.

What I didn't expect, though, was the stellar work in smaller roles by a surprising array of diverse performers. Oscar nominees Brad Pitt, Paul Giamatti and Quvenzhane Wallis leave lasting impressions, as does Sarah Paulson as Fassbender's chilly wife. And yes, that's "Saturday Night Live" star Taran Killam, of all people, in a small and serious role as one of the men who delivers Northrup into slavery. Somehow, McQueen is able to include moments for both legendary dramatic film actress Alfre Woodard and nutball television star Garret Dillahunt (of "Raising Hope").

"12 Years a Slave" is sometimes stiff in its historical presentation, and frequently paced very slowly. In a few moments, its tone goes a little wacky, such as in the kidnapping scene, which feels a little light.

But its acting performances help to elevate the film to greatness. The film has two truly unbelievable performances in the work of Nigerian-born Chiwetel Ejiofor and Lupita Nyong'o as a slave named Patsey who will be forced into service as her white owner's mistress and endure the most savage whipping I have ever witnessed on a movie screen short of the one in "The Last Temptation of Christ." Though both actors have names that are difficult to pronounce, entertainment journalists had better start practicing their names, because both will be everywhere in the coming weeks, I suspect.

As I reflect on the experience of watching "12 Years a Slave," I find myself comparing it to "Gravity," the last film I saw in a theatre and one that I went wild for. I suspect that these two films are the front-runners for this year's Best Picture Oscar, and in most ways, they could not be more different. One friend of mine even commented that the very attempt to draw comparisons between the two is essentially ludicrous. And yet that's what award voters are forced to do, year in and year out.

For me, "Gravity" gets the edge because of its groundbreaking technical work and potent spirituality. Both films physically affected me like few movies I can remember. In both cases, my body was exhausted and tense from the experience of having been a spectator. But I could see myself watching "Gravity" again. I'm not sure how many times I'd want to see "12 Years a Slave." Like Spielberg's "Schindler's List," this is a film that belongs on a shelf as one of the most powerfully rendered cinematic documents of our collective history as a people. It's the kind of movie that belongs in educational curriculums and should be viewed by all.

But "12 Years a Slave" is not an enjoyable movie to watch. Of course, it has no right in the world to be an enjoyable view. Its brilliance is that it justifiably scars the audience, helping us to see just why this whole slavery thing just doesn't go away, even after all of these years since it was abolished. You watch "12 Years a Slave," and you get it, no matter whether or not you got it before. No matter what color you are. And for that alone, you know you've witnessed a blustering and blunt masterpiece of a movie.

Room 237 (2012/13)

B

For 13 years now, I have been teaching a film studies course at one of the high schools in my town. and a comment I've made to students during that time that has been repeated frequently enough so as to have developed into a mantra, which is that "most of you are passive viewers of film. You treat them like carnival rides or things that just happen to you or wash over you, and then they are done. When you leave this class, you are going to be active viewers of film. Whether you like a movie or not, you're going to learn to ask and answer the question 'why?'"

The biggest compliment I feel I've ever been paid as a film teacher is when a student returns to visit years later and says, "Mr. Carlson, you ruined the way I watch movies." I take great pride in teaching high school kids to think critically about how film makers control the way we as an audience think and feel by manipulating what we call the "elements of composition," which include camera work, lighting, editing and sound, among other aspects.

So for me to say that Rodney Ascher's documentary "Room 237" is almost too much for even me to handle is telling.

I had been looking forward to seeing this film for a long time, excited to watch a feature-length dissection of Stanley Kubrick's classic horror film, "The Shining," a movie I have taught at least 20 times by now. And I can't tell you how many times throughout the movie's 102 minute running time I had one of the following rotating reactions:
1. "I can't believe I didn't notice that! I've seen the movie 30 times! I feel so stupid!"
2. "Whoa. Mind blown with the Nabokov/Hitler/"Jesus Christ Superstar"/T.S. Eliot/insert reference here reference."
3. Echoing the response I often get from my students when I dissect a film in class: "Okay, that's a little bit insane. You're trying a little bit too hard now."

Say what you want about "Room 237," unless you want to say that it isn't interesting. Too much? Yes. Ridiculous? Frequently. Intellect-expanding? Oh, yes. But damn, this is fascinating stuff. The documentary is really more of a video diary of sorts, assembling five film geeks (and there's no phrase that's more appropriate here) theorizing about what they have found to be the true and typically deeply hidden meaning of "The Shining."

The theorists range from college professors to journalists, and just as each theory grows more ridiculous than the last, each fan of the film, through voiceover, stakes his or her claim (mostly his, of course...film geeks, remember?) by talking over slowly forwarded images from the film and bringing in historical references and outside sources. Is it possible, for example, that the Calumet baking soda can on a kitchen pantry shelf behind Halloran is a reference to Native Americans? The argument is that Kubrick was so meticulous about every single thing that went into every frame of his films that he would have been conscious of how the label was facing. Frankly, I'm willing to buy that.

How, then, can I explain what appear to be continuity errors regarding the color of Jack Torrence's typewriter changing and a chair against the wall in those scenes appearing and disappearing? After getting over my shock in having those errors proved to me - because in years of watching the film, I noticed neither - I was challenged with trying to accept that Kubrick, as meticulous as I've mentioned, could have either missed those mistakes or allowed them to happen. Which means they had to be intentional. And if so, why? Mind, blown.

I thought the giddy height of over-analysis was occurring when a segment of the film brought in the use of an animated map to prove how the floor plan of the Overlook Hotel contained implausibilities, like a window in the office that couldn't possibly have a view of the outdoors. But then came the most deliriously ridiculous idea of all, when near the end of the film, someone decided to loop the film so that we'd watch from the opening frame forward and from the closing frame in reverse simultaneously. No doubt the very suggestion arrived in someone's marijuana-induced haze, likely brought to you from the same guys who first decided to set the needle on Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" at the start of "The Wizard of Oz" to watch what happens. And I'll be damned if -despite the insanity of the very thought of it - I wasn't captivated by what I was seeing. I had dry mouth, in fact, from my mouth being agape for so long.

"The Shining" was a veiled commentary about the atrocities of the Holocaust. "The Shining" was a statement about the genocide of Native Americans. "The Shining" was simply filled with deeply buried inside jokes because a genius film maker was bored. All of these theories and more are put forth in "Room 237," a reference, of course, to the infamous room to which the supernaturally gifted child Danny Torrence is eventually led and in which Jack has an encounter with a mysterious woman.

Oh, and that room is a metaphor for the Apollo moon landing, which, by the way, Kubrick was hired to fake for the government, the film his way of confessing to what he had pulled off.

Are you interested yet?

If you love movies, you have to allow yourself the opportunity to take in "Room 237." Because while the film is obviously a dissection of an undeniably great film, it's even more a love letter to loving movies themselves. Sure, you will shake your head and most certainly laugh at the zealous commitment of a chosen few who clearly seem to have too much free time on their hands. And you will dismiss much of what you hear as bunk. But I am certain you will also pick up a detail or two that you are wiling to believe.

Best of all, you will be reminded that the intentions of the artist are only important at the moment in which the art is created, because all that matters after that is the history and perspective we bring to our consumption of that art. What a wondrous thing our senses are; all of them vital to our being and each one purely subjective. Yes, even our sense of sight. "Room 237" serves as a reminder that we can look at the same thing but see things completely differently. It's one of the reasons why I love film so much and hope to develop in students a fire for seeing for themselves instead of just waiting for me to force an interpretation on them.

I don't see how I can get away with NOT showing "Room 237" from now on after I teach "The Shining" in my film class. The film is the ultimate in film criticism, and the best example I can think of to support what I tell my students almost every day, which is that everyone is entitled to his or her opinion, but you have to be able to provide evidence to support that opinion if you want to be respected. Even with evidence, much of "Room 237" is outrageous. But if nothing else, showing the film to my students is going to make me look a lot less crazy.

Bridegroom (2013)

B+

This isn't going to be a conventional film review.

I'm not in a place where I feel like I want to dwell on anything about the documentary "Bridegroom" that is negative, so I'll start by getting my criticisms out of the way first.

For a documentary film, this love story of a young gay couple and how one man copes with the unexpected loss of his partner and is subsequently denied the right to attend his funeral is almost absolute in its one-sidedness, a definite no-no in my book for a documentary film.

...but that's because the makers of the film reached out to the family of the late Tom Bridegroom and they refused to participate, shutting us out of the opportunity to understand their perspective, whether or not we wanted to, just like they shut out their son's partner.

I could argue that the film is shockingly naive and simple in its depiction of a relationship being so free of conflict and tense, honest negotiations that it borders on the airbrushed depictions in romantic comedies. Because every relationship has its challenges, and even a rom-com has an obligatory fight scene.

...but then, this is a relationship between two gay men, so the challenge with the relationship is so inherently external that it's no wonder that these two men forged such an internal cohesiveness. Why should they fight inside their home when they could open their front door and witness the fight coming to them?

And certainly, I could make a case for the fact that television writer Linda Bloodworth-Thomason ("Evening Shade," "Designing Women") is not able to accomplish much in the way of sophistication in terms of how she presents the story told in this film.

...but this film is aiming for your heart, not your head. For the time of rationalizing is over, and the film's message of love being louder than any other external or internal forces is its ultimate goal. And there's also the fact that this film exists in the first place because of the generosity of private citizens who thought it deserved to be more than just a 10-minute YouTube video.

I managed to see "Bridegroom" without ever having seen the viral video posted on YouTube by the film's surviving subject, Shane Bitney Crone, called "It Could Happen To You." While writing this review, I finally checked out that video (which I've linked here) and discovered that over four million people had already viewed it. In some respects, the 10-minute video posting by Crone has even more impact than the film itself, as the documentary expands on what is tightly and powerfully presented in a much shorter, more compressed clip. Clearly the video had a powerful impact, because over six thousand people donated money to a Kickstarter fund used to finance the full-length documentary film.

The feature-length documentary, like the original YouTube clip, tells the story of two young men. Shane Bitney Crone grows up in rural Montana, which is not a place to be gay. And so, in spite of support from his family, Shane grows up to be passive and reclusive, exhausted by the daily hardships he faces. He escapes to Los Angeles as soon as he graduates, and is eventually introduced to Tom Bridegroom, who would become his domestic partner, co-home owner, and co-business owner for six years.

Bridegroom shared Crone's small-town, not-so-gay-friendly upbringing, having been raised in Indiana and then attending a military academy before college. But unlike Shane, Tom is unabashedly confident and magnetically attracts people toward him, the center of attention where Shane strives to be anything but. And the biggest contrast between the two men is the one that delivers the story's deepest pain. Tom's family does not support his lifestyle and not only will not accept his partner but accuses Shane of corrupting their son. And when at the age of 29 Tom dies in an accidental four-story fall from a rooftop while taking photographs of a friend, his family quickly and methodically blocks Shane out from everything from the funeral arrangements to even being mentioned at the memorial service at all. And because marriage is not yet legal in California, Shane doesn't even have the right to see Tom's body at the hospital. Nor does he have the right to stop Tom's mother from taking things from their house. Nor does he have the right to fight the family's request that he stay away from the funeral, or the leverage to report the threat of violence against his own life if he should attempt to attend.

In light of how the story turned out, "Bridegroom" is completely one-sided, with interviews of every member of Shane's immediate family and video footage of his six years spent with Tom. And while the film is deeply sad, Crone and Bloodworth-Thomason manage to steer it clear from being so heavily drenched in ethos that it neglects logos. Which is a fancy way for saying that it is just emotional enough to make any sane viewer realize that something is wrong with this world.

The time for a film like "Bridegroom" is most certainly now. Fourteen states have legalized gay marriage, while five additional states offer some form of civil union privileges.

I happen to live in one of those five states with civil union privileges, Illinois, one of 35 states in which gay marriage is banned by either constitutional amendment, state law, or both. Just a few months ago, Illinois came rather close to changing that fact, but ultimately, failed. And I was struck by one interviewee in "Bridegroom" who spoke about how it's no human being's wish when he or she is little to grow up and be in a domestic partnership. We dream of marrying.

When I got married in 1997, I asked a gay man to stand next to me at the altar as my best man. I was fully comfortable in that decision because he was my oldest, dearest and closest friend. But it is with some shame that I admit that the thought crossed my mind on numerous occasions that if the situation was reversed and I was asked to be his best man, I wouldn't know if I could do it. This is not the forum for a religious debate, but I spent many years rationalizing, and what I had decided was that I supported my friend being gay, and I supported his relationships, and I even supported the rights of gay couples to have the same legal guarantees that straight couples have. In fact, I found anything less than that civic equality to be downright senseless. "Bridegroom," in fact, confirms my worst fears of how a world without those rights is daily denying loving, decent people from their rights.

But "marriage" was, to me, was purely a church thing. And I just didn't see any scriptural evidence to support the concept that a marriage was designed to be anything other than between a man and a woman. To be clear, I have never, ever been a homophobe. I have never been unsupportive of people being who they are. I have never bought into the notion that being gay is something you can choose or wish away. I have loved and cherished and supported my gay friends. I've had more fun in gay bars than in straight bars and I've matched my gay friends in quoting movie lines from "Soapdish" and "Steel Magnolias." And I sobbed so heavily the first time I saw "Brokeback Mountain" that I thought I was going to crack in half.

Yet for whatever reason, I felt strongly that being a couple was a secular thing and being married was only an institution of the church. 

Times have changed since then. A few conservatives are coming around to discover, I believe, that support of gay marriage might just be in line with Republican values, not in opposition to it. If the Republican party is the party of less government interference (though that is surely debatable today), then GOP supporters like Clint Eastwood certainly speak for what I believe is fast becoming the new normal when he said, in 2011, that we should "give everybody the chance to have the life they want. Let's spend a little more time leaving everybody else alone." And since I never felt that the union of a gay couple was ever any threat to my own marriage, it's time for me to express my agreement with Eastwood's statement. I should probably go even further than that, but it's a start.

I still don't see any scriptural evidence to support that marriage can be between two people of the same sex. I also cannot find anything in scripture to support that Jesus was anti-anyone. And I have always been raised to believe that Jesus was the perfect earthy embodiment and manifestation of the purest form of love itself. 

Marriage IS a sacrament of the church. But it's not like I never believed that there weren't gay people who went to church and believed the same things that I do. So this is me saying that I still don't have it all figured out, but I have figured out that I am finished with any scenario that provides a fork in the road where heterosexuals go in one direction and homosexuals must go down the other. And regardless of any lingering questions I might have, that includes marriage.

Please understand that "Bridegroom" was not some sort of conversion experience for me. I'm merely using it as an opportunity to put some cards on the table that I've kept close to the vest for too long because I know some very wonderful and amazing people who deserve at least that from me. "Bridegroom" is a blessing to viewers who are skeptical about whether or not true love can come to everyone, and Shane Bitney Crone and Tom Bridegroom were an inspirational couple. And maybe, if I'm very lucky and deemed worthy enough, I will one day be invited as a guest to a wedding here in Illinois to witness one of my gay friends accomplish what Shane and Tom were robbed of.

I think I'm prepared to accept the fact that my review of this film is going to upset some of my friends and even some of my family. And to those of you I might be offending, let me be clear that I don't love you any less. But I'll bet you haven't watched "Bridegroom."

I have. Love is louder.