 |
| Source: Wikipedia |
Humor deserts me.
Even Hans Zimmer's ordinarily zesty strings are subdued.
This guy loses his wife, kids, house, even his name. Thanks to the giddy top-hatted fops who abducted him, our hero suffers under rich white jerks of varying degrees of racism. They range from gently insensitive to violently abusive.
Worse, the hero knows of a better life. Not that it does him any favors. Intelligence? Reading? Enough character to suggest more efficient work methods? Punishable offenses. Only his violin skills procure him special jobs, which designate him as the unfitting cheerful accompaniment to deplorable horrors.
Such horrors include picking cotton; cutting sugar cane; attending to the master's, ahem, needs; and attending Sunday sermons that twist Scripture to support slavery.
Doing your job and not doing your job can both result in beating or whipping or whatever the white masters feel like today.
The camera, when not panning over emaciated bodies or equal-opportunity full frontal nudity, favors claustrophobic close-ups of faces contorted in agony. It's an apt microcosm of the film: an uncomfortably intimate depiction of human suffering. Nothing sadistic or voyeuristic about it -- just plain pain.
Barely recognizable, producer Brad Pitt inserts himself as an enlightened Jesus-lookalike Canadian. He preaches the unwelcome gospel that blacks are people and deserve to be treated as such. He couldn't have cameoed at a better time -- well, twelve years earlier, but that's that.
This movie, like slavery, is soul-shredding to ponder for any extended length of time. Its impact is undeniable. Obsessing over it won't fix the past; ignoring it won't make it go away. It demands acknowledgement, lest we climb back into our comfort-padded prison cells of blissful ignorance.
134 minutes.
No comments:
Post a Comment