I first made my acquaintance with McQueen's cinema when I watched his breathtaking arthouse debut, Hunger, which reinstated my faith in the power of cinema. McQueen's films basically put paintings on celluloid - they amaze you with their dazzling imagery, and then make you dwell on the philosophical elements of a man's lusts. And because of my infatuation with independent cinema, McQueen's films are regular features on my Friday Midnight playlist.
He followed up Hunger with Shame, a shocking drama on sex-addiction, a film I've seen only in flashes. It impressed me a great deal to see a dogged filmmaker put a brash subject on the big-screen and then squeeze art out of it. And I judge from the lumps of Shame I've seen when I say that it's a remarkable piece of cinema. And grueling to sit through.
The good news is that 12 Years A Slave is a great film, and McQueen still manages to awe.
The bad news is that it's sadly - and surprisingly - not his best film yet.
And I so wanted it to be. Based on the extraordinary true story of Solomon Northup, a violinist and free black man living in Saratoga, who is drugged, kidnapped and sold into slavery whilst on a music tour. McQueen's sweeping epic grabs you hard, messes with your mind and leaves you rattled. It's a dandy addition to the list of films on American slavery, though I'm not quite sure if it's the best.
While I was watching Hunger, and I was watching it with those nettlesome subtitles because I'm bad at discerning heavily-accented English, it took me twenty minutes to figure that I had forgotten to put the subtitles on. Because, for twenty minutes, no one in the film said a goddamn word. Silence spoke louder in Hunger, a film whose twenty-five minute gabby sequence saved it from being a silent film. But 12 Years A Slave is different, and this is a film whose script is conspicuously verbose.
And brisk. Two minutes in, and Solomon is with his family. Ten minutes into the film, and Solomon has already been kidnapped and chained. To tell you the truth, I wasn't expecting this film to be this pacy, for McQueen is a filmmaker who bids his time to get the mood right. And right there, I understood that this isn't the regular McQueen film I was hoping it would be. This was different, this felt different. This wasn't the artist McQueen at work, this was his storyteller side. A side of him that was trying to break the mold of an indie filmmaker taking on the moneyed side of the industry.
Alright, let's see how that pans out.
It doesn't take long for us to sink our teeth into the film's melancholic aura. There's a quietly horrifying sequence early on in which a chained Northup is flogged with a bat till it breaks and then is lashed with a belt because he refuses to be called a slave. And with each lashing, the life out of Northup's face momentarily drains out. It's an inhumane sequence that shows us the beauty of being humane.
And what follows next in Northup's life is twelve arduous years of unspeakable horrors. Going from slave owner to slave owner, Northup is subjected to barbaric treatment, from being confined in a dark room to throwing bodies into the sea. He takes it all in, not saying a word. In a scene, when a fellow slave talks about survival, Northup retorts, "I don't want to survive. I want to live." Words that quelled me. Words that'll quell anybody.
For a good part of two hours, 12 Years A Slave absorbed and appalled me. I wanted to soak up much of the brilliant filmmaking on display, but I didn't know whether to keep my eyes open or closed. Sadism as a subject makes for a compelling viewing, but there's a downside to it too. I didn't want to miss out on anything, but there's so much skill packed into it that I had to compromise. So, I chose to watch the filmmaking rather than the film. There's a difference, you know. But I didn't miss out. This is a film about people acquitting themselves against other people.
Northup's second master, Edwin Epps, is the epitome of evilness. A closeted monster revealing shards of humanity through acts of forced kindness, Michael Fassbender, the volcanic, magnificent Michael Fassbender, stuns you. Epps fears God and sin, and he tries to conduct himself as a likable loony who punishes and whips only when provoked. Epps is at war with himself, with his neglected wife who is jealous of a female slave, Patsey, the sole object of his affections. Epps, overtly protective of Patsey, abuses his wife who calls him a wuss on numerous occasions for his sexual infatuation with a slave. Lupita Nyong'o, a newbie who plays Patsey, is phenomenal. In a year of great acting debuts, this one surely ranks as one of the finest. Just watch the young 'un in a perturbing sequence in which she begs Northup to drown her because she can't take the abuse anymore. It's acting of rare craft, and Nyong'o makes no mistake. Good job, girl!
Till the very end, 12 Years A Slave remains consistently engaging. It's flawlessly crafted, marvelously acted, breathtakingly shot and aptly scored, a genuinely perfect film on paper. But I was left a tad underwhelmed because I had set my expectations sky high. Or maybe because I'm not used to watching a Steve McQueen film that doesn't surprise the dark side in me. The artistry is all there, but there isn't any fanged surprise awaiting that'll stagger you. Maybe that's a downer, maybe it isn't. Depends, really, on what kind of a viewer you are.
In the lead role, Chiwetel Ejiofor reveals great depths as an actor, handing in the finest performance of his career. Northup is an object of hope and humanity, and Ejiofor talks more with his sunken eyes than he does with his mouth. It's a performance that left me bereft of words. Sarah Paulson excels as the jealous wife, a monster, no less, but a much more humane one. About the performances of Nyong'o and Fassbender, I can only say one thing - give them the damn Oscars. Give them all the damn Oscars.
There's a handful of quick cameos, but what cameos they are! Paul Giamatti, Benedict Cumberbatch and Brad Pitt - the producer and the ultimate good guy in a movie about bad guys, how ironic! - make a nifty lot. And when Hollywood doesn't get a punching bag, what do they do? They bring in Paul Dano. I really wish they'd stop doing that, and appreciate the lad for the explosively talented youngster that he is.
12 Years A Slave isn't the best film on American slavery - and I do hope you haven't forgotten Amistad - but it's a significant film that ranks among last year's best. This is my also prediction as the potential winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture this year, I kid you not.
He followed up Hunger with Shame, a shocking drama on sex-addiction, a film I've seen only in flashes. It impressed me a great deal to see a dogged filmmaker put a brash subject on the big-screen and then squeeze art out of it. And I judge from the lumps of Shame I've seen when I say that it's a remarkable piece of cinema. And grueling to sit through.
The good news is that 12 Years A Slave is a great film, and McQueen still manages to awe.
The bad news is that it's sadly - and surprisingly - not his best film yet.
And I so wanted it to be. Based on the extraordinary true story of Solomon Northup, a violinist and free black man living in Saratoga, who is drugged, kidnapped and sold into slavery whilst on a music tour. McQueen's sweeping epic grabs you hard, messes with your mind and leaves you rattled. It's a dandy addition to the list of films on American slavery, though I'm not quite sure if it's the best.
While I was watching Hunger, and I was watching it with those nettlesome subtitles because I'm bad at discerning heavily-accented English, it took me twenty minutes to figure that I had forgotten to put the subtitles on. Because, for twenty minutes, no one in the film said a goddamn word. Silence spoke louder in Hunger, a film whose twenty-five minute gabby sequence saved it from being a silent film. But 12 Years A Slave is different, and this is a film whose script is conspicuously verbose.
And brisk. Two minutes in, and Solomon is with his family. Ten minutes into the film, and Solomon has already been kidnapped and chained. To tell you the truth, I wasn't expecting this film to be this pacy, for McQueen is a filmmaker who bids his time to get the mood right. And right there, I understood that this isn't the regular McQueen film I was hoping it would be. This was different, this felt different. This wasn't the artist McQueen at work, this was his storyteller side. A side of him that was trying to break the mold of an indie filmmaker taking on the moneyed side of the industry.
Alright, let's see how that pans out.
It doesn't take long for us to sink our teeth into the film's melancholic aura. There's a quietly horrifying sequence early on in which a chained Northup is flogged with a bat till it breaks and then is lashed with a belt because he refuses to be called a slave. And with each lashing, the life out of Northup's face momentarily drains out. It's an inhumane sequence that shows us the beauty of being humane.
And what follows next in Northup's life is twelve arduous years of unspeakable horrors. Going from slave owner to slave owner, Northup is subjected to barbaric treatment, from being confined in a dark room to throwing bodies into the sea. He takes it all in, not saying a word. In a scene, when a fellow slave talks about survival, Northup retorts, "I don't want to survive. I want to live." Words that quelled me. Words that'll quell anybody.
For a good part of two hours, 12 Years A Slave absorbed and appalled me. I wanted to soak up much of the brilliant filmmaking on display, but I didn't know whether to keep my eyes open or closed. Sadism as a subject makes for a compelling viewing, but there's a downside to it too. I didn't want to miss out on anything, but there's so much skill packed into it that I had to compromise. So, I chose to watch the filmmaking rather than the film. There's a difference, you know. But I didn't miss out. This is a film about people acquitting themselves against other people.
Northup's second master, Edwin Epps, is the epitome of evilness. A closeted monster revealing shards of humanity through acts of forced kindness, Michael Fassbender, the volcanic, magnificent Michael Fassbender, stuns you. Epps fears God and sin, and he tries to conduct himself as a likable loony who punishes and whips only when provoked. Epps is at war with himself, with his neglected wife who is jealous of a female slave, Patsey, the sole object of his affections. Epps, overtly protective of Patsey, abuses his wife who calls him a wuss on numerous occasions for his sexual infatuation with a slave. Lupita Nyong'o, a newbie who plays Patsey, is phenomenal. In a year of great acting debuts, this one surely ranks as one of the finest. Just watch the young 'un in a perturbing sequence in which she begs Northup to drown her because she can't take the abuse anymore. It's acting of rare craft, and Nyong'o makes no mistake. Good job, girl!
Till the very end, 12 Years A Slave remains consistently engaging. It's flawlessly crafted, marvelously acted, breathtakingly shot and aptly scored, a genuinely perfect film on paper. But I was left a tad underwhelmed because I had set my expectations sky high. Or maybe because I'm not used to watching a Steve McQueen film that doesn't surprise the dark side in me. The artistry is all there, but there isn't any fanged surprise awaiting that'll stagger you. Maybe that's a downer, maybe it isn't. Depends, really, on what kind of a viewer you are.
In the lead role, Chiwetel Ejiofor reveals great depths as an actor, handing in the finest performance of his career. Northup is an object of hope and humanity, and Ejiofor talks more with his sunken eyes than he does with his mouth. It's a performance that left me bereft of words. Sarah Paulson excels as the jealous wife, a monster, no less, but a much more humane one. About the performances of Nyong'o and Fassbender, I can only say one thing - give them the damn Oscars. Give them all the damn Oscars.
There's a handful of quick cameos, but what cameos they are! Paul Giamatti, Benedict Cumberbatch and Brad Pitt - the producer and the ultimate good guy in a movie about bad guys, how ironic! - make a nifty lot. And when Hollywood doesn't get a punching bag, what do they do? They bring in Paul Dano. I really wish they'd stop doing that, and appreciate the lad for the explosively talented youngster that he is.
12 Years A Slave isn't the best film on American slavery - and I do hope you haven't forgotten Amistad - but it's a significant film that ranks among last year's best. This is my also prediction as the potential winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture this year, I kid you not.
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