12 Years a Slave

As has been already stated, 12 Years a Slave is the movie we have been waiting for. In some ways, it is the movie we have, in fact, been waiting for for decades. No other tale of slavery has done such an agonizingly brilliant job of portraying the story of one man as the story of a people. 

I will not offer any spoilers here, as I agree that each should experience this film clean and clear. But, as films should be judged, this one passes every test.

McQueen’s direction is soulful – long takes and moving landscapes are juxtaposed against sub-human routines which draw out over years. Ejiofor’s Northup is easily the most complete character in recent memory – a man who keeps fear, faith, and disbelief welled in his eyes all at once. And Lupita Nyong’o’s Patsey leaves you aching for an end.   Offering Michael Fassbender accolades seems almost crass, which speaks to his brilliant villainy.

Although this is Northup’s tale, and we are clearly and specifically invested in it, we remain keenly aware that it was his prior freedom that made his story unusual, not the existence he experienced during those 12 years. This was the shameful fate suffered by generations. 

During one excruciating scene, four people got up and left the theater I sat in. One of these, over her shoulder, said to her companion, “I will never xxx prejudice again.” I didn’t catch the 4^th word. “Be”? “Tolerate”? “Understand”? Either way, she came into the movie one way and left another. I don’t know what affected me more – that she was changed, or that it took this movie to change her. After all, it’s been 173 years since Northup was kidnapped.