I have many feelings and thoughts towards 12 Years A Slave -- most of which are contradictory and confusing -- and I will try to dissect them. But first, a caveat: My reaction to this movie largely stems from exhaustion. It is relentlessly horrifying and sad, its heavy material oppressively shown in explicit detail over and over again. In this manner, the film makes its statement by sheer force, pounding the audience repeatedly with images of bloody flesh, sorrowful eyes, and cowering bodies. It’s highly effective, but at what cost?
This exhaustion speaks to a larger theme in filmmaking concerning the black community. I’ve long found the topic of race in Hollywood confusing. Indeed, it wasn’t so long as a few months ago that I was convinced the success of Fast 6 was largely due to its racial diversity. The Fast and Furious franchise includes a racially diverse cast, but it eschews focusing on racial differences and instead, however shallow, chooses to highlight a common love for cars. Its potential for entertainment -- its very existence -- is not contingent upon its racial identity. But aside from Fast 6, what other films have used racial diversity as anything beyond the groundwork for human suffering?
This is my primary question concerning not just 12 Years A Slave, but all movies in the modern age. How does race play into the primary conflict of the story? Or rather, would your story exist if it wasn’t for the inherent differences and difficulties brought up by racial inequality? The Help, the 2012 film that won Octavia Spencer an Oscar for her depiction of a black maid, milks all of its dramatic conflict from the racial inequalities between whites vs. blacks. In other words, The Help would not and could not exist if it wasn’t for the necessary inclusion of black actors. Lee Daniels’ The Butler, the 2013 film about a black butler overcoming racial divides in America, is similarly contingent upon the inherent racial differences of its characters; its story would not exist if the titular butler were white.
Is there anything wrong with such films? Absolutely not, but it doesn’t mean that movies about the black community aren’t shamefully uniform. It seems there are two basic camps: One explores the black culture comically, largely through the Tyler Perry marketing corporation of the “Tyler Perry Presents” movies. The other variety is the type of stories that only deal with the suffering and injustices faced by African Americans. These are the stories that posit, “Look how hard African Americans have it. Don’t you want to relive the atrocities white people forced upon them? Feel sympathy. Feel remorse.” To some extent, these movies are backhandedly racist.
12 Years A Slave is a strong movie. It doesn’t shy away from the suffering of the slaves; it doesn’t belittle the threats and dangers of slavery. It’s powerful, provocative, and genuinely interested in exploring the atrocities of the American past. I do not doubt that director Steve McQueen, a black director, views this story in the highest regard possible. To this extent, he seeks to and indeed, manages to investigate the emotional turmoil of the slave South that a film like Django Unchained could never even imagine. And yet, I was not impressed. Aside from the fact that this is a tale told from the autobiographical viewpoint of Solomon Northrup, a free man who was wrongfully enslaved, this narrative doesn’t introduce anything new to the American slavery narrative. Surely, it’s viscerally provocative and emotionally wrenching; but is evoking emotion the same as feeling emotions?
In a recent op-ed by Roxane Gay, titled Where Are the Serious Movies About Non-suffering Black People, she questions this very same reaction, noting “I cried more than once, but I was not moved. I was simply broken, the way anyone would be broken by witnessing such atrocities.” What is driving this type of ambiguous reaction to dark material? As important as slavery is to explore, why do I feel a sense of worn commonality behind it, at least cinematically? Gay posits that part of the explanation lies in the “Oscar bait” mentality of dramas that deal with such provocative material. She notes, “There seems to be so little room at the Hollywood table for black movies that to earn a seat, black movies have to fit a very specific narrative… filmmakers take note of this and keep giving Hollywood exactly what it wants. Hollywood showers these struggle narratives with the highly coveted critical acclaim. It’s a vicious cycle.”
The black community, just like the Asian or Hispanic or Italian community, deserves creative voices of all variety. They are collections of people that have such a depth of experience, such a vast spectrum of struggles, sure, but also accomplishments, hopes, fears, doubts, and ambitions that it's not only beneficial, but necessary to share such feelings. Isn’t it about time we explored stories from these communities that do not specifically deal with racial inequalities? Isn’t it about time we heard from creative voices of all backgrounds telling stories concerning all of humanity?
This exhaustion speaks to a larger theme in filmmaking concerning the black community. I’ve long found the topic of race in Hollywood confusing. Indeed, it wasn’t so long as a few months ago that I was convinced the success of Fast 6 was largely due to its racial diversity. The Fast and Furious franchise includes a racially diverse cast, but it eschews focusing on racial differences and instead, however shallow, chooses to highlight a common love for cars. Its potential for entertainment -- its very existence -- is not contingent upon its racial identity. But aside from Fast 6, what other films have used racial diversity as anything beyond the groundwork for human suffering?
This is my primary question concerning not just 12 Years A Slave, but all movies in the modern age. How does race play into the primary conflict of the story? Or rather, would your story exist if it wasn’t for the inherent differences and difficulties brought up by racial inequality? The Help, the 2012 film that won Octavia Spencer an Oscar for her depiction of a black maid, milks all of its dramatic conflict from the racial inequalities between whites vs. blacks. In other words, The Help would not and could not exist if it wasn’t for the necessary inclusion of black actors. Lee Daniels’ The Butler, the 2013 film about a black butler overcoming racial divides in America, is similarly contingent upon the inherent racial differences of its characters; its story would not exist if the titular butler were white.
Is there anything wrong with such films? Absolutely not, but it doesn’t mean that movies about the black community aren’t shamefully uniform. It seems there are two basic camps: One explores the black culture comically, largely through the Tyler Perry marketing corporation of the “Tyler Perry Presents” movies. The other variety is the type of stories that only deal with the suffering and injustices faced by African Americans. These are the stories that posit, “Look how hard African Americans have it. Don’t you want to relive the atrocities white people forced upon them? Feel sympathy. Feel remorse.” To some extent, these movies are backhandedly racist.
12 Years A Slave is a strong movie. It doesn’t shy away from the suffering of the slaves; it doesn’t belittle the threats and dangers of slavery. It’s powerful, provocative, and genuinely interested in exploring the atrocities of the American past. I do not doubt that director Steve McQueen, a black director, views this story in the highest regard possible. To this extent, he seeks to and indeed, manages to investigate the emotional turmoil of the slave South that a film like Django Unchained could never even imagine. And yet, I was not impressed. Aside from the fact that this is a tale told from the autobiographical viewpoint of Solomon Northrup, a free man who was wrongfully enslaved, this narrative doesn’t introduce anything new to the American slavery narrative. Surely, it’s viscerally provocative and emotionally wrenching; but is evoking emotion the same as feeling emotions?
In a recent op-ed by Roxane Gay, titled Where Are the Serious Movies About Non-suffering Black People, she questions this very same reaction, noting “I cried more than once, but I was not moved. I was simply broken, the way anyone would be broken by witnessing such atrocities.” What is driving this type of ambiguous reaction to dark material? As important as slavery is to explore, why do I feel a sense of worn commonality behind it, at least cinematically? Gay posits that part of the explanation lies in the “Oscar bait” mentality of dramas that deal with such provocative material. She notes, “There seems to be so little room at the Hollywood table for black movies that to earn a seat, black movies have to fit a very specific narrative… filmmakers take note of this and keep giving Hollywood exactly what it wants. Hollywood showers these struggle narratives with the highly coveted critical acclaim. It’s a vicious cycle.”
The black community, just like the Asian or Hispanic or Italian community, deserves creative voices of all variety. They are collections of people that have such a depth of experience, such a vast spectrum of struggles, sure, but also accomplishments, hopes, fears, doubts, and ambitions that it's not only beneficial, but necessary to share such feelings. Isn’t it about time we explored stories from these communities that do not specifically deal with racial inequalities? Isn’t it about time we heard from creative voices of all backgrounds telling stories concerning all of humanity?
