Poor “12 Years a Slave.” In just three short months this film has fallen prey—if not to its own excellence—than least to critical perception of that excellence. Earlier this fall the film debuted at a series of North American festivals to near-universal praise. By my count, no fewer than 10 critics have declared the film this year’s presumptive Oscar Best Picture winner, and this was all long before the public was able to see the film.
Recently the film has drawn a swell backlash. Instead of “is it good?” critics are now asking, “how good is it, really?” Is director Steve McQueen’s depiction of slavery politically insightful or simply aesthetically detached? These are fruitful questions; this film is not perfect. But my point is that the sheer volume of judgment and critiques that preceded viewers’ experience robbed them of the opportunity to encounter it—for better or worse—it without preconception.
It’s dangerous and ultimately pointless for a critic to deem a film an Oscar winner in any context outside of an Oscar preview; the statement tells us nothing about the film’s content of intrinsic value. And given the past few years’ winners, such a prediction could even be considered a minor insult—if “12 Years a Slave” does take home an Oscar for Best Picture, it will be far and above the most intelligent and immersive film to do so in at least six or seven years, perhaps much longer.
The latest in a recent number of films exploring America’s history of racial oppression, “12 Years a Slave” is set in 1841 and follows an African-American freeman named Solomon Northup (played with true brilliance by Chiwetel Ejiofor). He had a wife and three children and was a skilled carpenter and fiddler before all is lost, when he is deceived, drugged and sold to a plantation as a slave. With surprisingly coherent visual imagery, McQueen brings impressive narrative clarity to the tale. Flashbacks are structurally logical and highlight key events in Solomon’s life. When Solomon moves from holding cells to various plantations, we don’t simply witness these events, we understand how ethically fraught such exchanges are.
Don’t mistake McQueen’s film for your standard awards-fare biopic. Although he falls into sentimentality in the last moments, McQueen largely provides a dexterous look at the wide range of slavery’s social implications. The film differs in motive from the similarly themed “Django Unchained”—irony and artifice are not part of McQueen’s style, but rather aesthetic purity and patient compositions.
Nor does the immersive “12 Years a Slave” sit neatly alongside Steven Spielberg’s “Lincoln,” a film devoted to the political ideologies of slavery as interpreted from a distance. Ideological banter enters late in “12 Years,” with Brad Pitt giving voice to the obvious strain of injustice that pervades the narrative. And I feel it should be noted that this film is certainly a far cry from “The Help,” a true misappropriation of the melodramatic mode that wound up cheapening its themes of difference and oppression.
In short, here is an art film concerned more with history’s representation than its satisfying narrative arc. And like many art films of our time, McQueen doesn’t make the experience easy on the viewer; in three feature films, physical brutality has emerged McQueen’s calling card. In contrast to gory slasher flicks, though, McQueen’s depictions of violence are abstracted and displaced—a bar of white soap laying on the ground punctuates a brutal lashing—and many of such scenes feature faces rather than mutilated flesh.
While he follows chronology for the most part, McQueen is particularly strong at constructing isolated moments of existential despair. He’s fascinated by circumstances that challenge Solomon to sacrifice his humanity, and by the moral and psychological consequences of such sacrifices. Solomon makes an excellent protagonist, as he is pretty much morally perfect. He exhibits a pragmatic endurance and shows the ability to fight back where his peers cower in fear.
Michael Fassbender—McQueen’s muse of late—portrays Solomon’s second owner, a brutal plantation owner named Edwin Epps. He is pure evil, a man holding on to bygone standards with great helplessness
One potential criticism of the film is that it posits a series of moral absolutes, and this is perhaps why it has become so popular despite its graphic nature.
No character truly betrays us and no one really surprises us either. Even when Solomon is forced to whip his friend, he does so only after she herself has begged him to, and it’s overwhelmingly obvious to the audience that refusal would only engender more serious consequences.
The only character who operates by ambiguous moral code is Benedict Cumberbatch’s Master Ford, a slave-owner who feels pity for Solomon and provides him opportunity to display his skill as a carpenter and musician. But Ford’s kindness barely undercuts the fact he sees Solomon as property, and this makes Ford just as corrupt as Epps—he understands the presence of injustice but continues to perpetuate the system.
McQueen’s films recall his experience as a visual artist, whose works were displayed in museums on loops. This construction of isolated images intended to provoke is part of his identity as a director. And perhaps this is what provides the tension in “12 Years a Slave.” McQueen is such a visually proficient artist that occasionally his shots arrest the narrative and demand the audience bear witness to the spectacle.
He constructs many difficult moments with an aesthetic purity; unlike Tarrantino’s “Django,” this film constantly signals tasteful restraint. Arguably the most powerful image in the film is its most unnecessary: Solomon hangs from a noose as his toes barely touch the ground below him while fellow slaves move ever so slowly move in the background. It’s an audacious shot, and McQueen keeps it there for quite some time, but the patience with which the image lingers ends up making McQueen, not Solomon, the figure of the moment.