Review: "Selma"

Director: Ava DuVernay
Runtime: 104 minutes

It seems unthinkable that a figure like Martin Luther King Jr. hasn't been the center of a major film until this year. If Hollywood can greenlight a movie about the woman who invented Tupperware, surely they can make room for one of the most iconic activists in history. After much needless back and forth (because apparently vast sections of the industry see Martin Luther friggin' King as a subject with slim appeal), King has finally be granted his moment in the cinematic sunlight. Yet unlike so many historical biopics, Ava DuVernay's Selma opts for a limited focus, which only magnifies its emotional and intellectual power. In confining her film to a period of six months, Selma achieves what decades-spanning historical dramas wish they could do.

DuVernay's previous two features, including 2012's excellent Middle of Nowhere, have always been intimate, so it's no surprise to see her avoid a purposefully epic scope. And yet what she has pulled off with Selma is thrillingly expansive as it unpacks the myriad angles of the later stages of the Civil Rights Movement. Selma only covers the run up and duration of King's march from Selma to Montgomery, but the film still feels like a comprehensive drama without turning into a history lecture.

The most obvious comparison that springs to mind is Steven Spielberg's Lincoln, a film that also deconstructed an iconic figure. Selma, like Lincoln (which went behind the scenes of the 13th Amendment's passage), opts for humanity rather than hagiography. Dr. King (David Oyelowo) gives his share of rousing speeches, but DuVernay is more interested in picking apart the reasons behind King's speeches and his leadership. Co-written by Paul Webb (DuVernay did a second draft but was, sadly, not able to earn her own credit as a writer), Selma is at its finest when it portrays King as a shrewd, media-savvy tactician. King is met with hesitation by Pres. Johnson (Tom Wilkinson), and must take matters into his own hands to keep the Civil Rights Movement in the limelight. Having already delivered the "I Have a Dream" speech and won the Nobel Peace Prize, King sees that it's going to take more to grab the attention of the public and the White House to make meaningful change across the country.

Selma opening scenes feel a bit stale, and they represent the most traditional aspects of the story. But once King's movement relocates to Selma, Alabama for the next stage of their fight, DuVernay's direction blossoms. In one of King's speeches, he remarks that there are intersections of history and injustice where action is the only option for the oppressed and the marginalized. This would be an important point in any year, but the timing of the film's release causes this sentiment to register two-fold. The march to Montgomery was the action of the moment, and Selma has proven to be the film of the moment. DuVernay's staging and shooting of the police brutality against the march is plenty harrowing as a historical dramatization, but it also acts as a solemn reminder of how slowly things have progressed in the decades since.

Though King is undoubtedly the story's anchor, Webb and DuVernay cover an impressive amount of territory without contriving unnecessary subplots. The scenes at the White House lend a complexity to Pres. Johnson and his mixed feelings about how to help King despite the "101 issues" he's also dealing with. Wilkinson starts off a bit cartoonish, but over the course of the narrative he emerges as a fully-formed character. Also quite removed from the central plot is Coretta Scott King (Carmen Ejogo), but the script never forgets her. The film only touches on King's infidelities once, but the scene is a masterclass of dramatic tension and subtlety centered on Ejogo and Oyelowo's powerhouse performances. Even one-off scenes, like Malcolm X's (Nigel Thatch) encounter with Coretta, are inserted with intelligence and restraint that bolsters, rather than distracts from, King's development.

The film wouldn't be complete, however, without a solid leading man. Oyelowo is more than up to the task of capturing King and making him a multifaceted, flawed leader. Even when he speaks, often with great force, to his followers, Oyelowo's performance never devolves into hollow theatrics. Recent events lend an added context to Selma, but King's speeches (DuVernay doesn't have the rights to the originals, and had to create her own) are tremendously powerful and inspiring. 

With such sensitive subject matter, Selma could have easily become manipulative in its historical recreations. Yet the most moving moments in the story come from characters we barely know, like a young protester (Short Term 12's Keith Stanfield) viciously targeted after standing up to Sheriff Jim Clark (Stan Houston). The specific tragedies that befall members of the Civil Rights Movement are just as impactful as King's actions, and lend an even greater emotional weight to Selma's narrative. 

Ironically, the only times when Selma stumbles are when DuVernay tries to shoe-horn in more "modern" filmmaking techniques. In one instance, as protester Annie Lee Cooper (Oprah Winfrey) is slammed to the ground by police, the film cuts to a shot where it looks as though the camera has been mounted on top of the character, following her movements with an off-putting stillness that undercuts the chaos of the scenario. In another scene, slow motion is used to capture the death of a minor character hitting the ground with a thud, and it looks like something out of a boxing movie. There's a distracting artifice to these brief snippets that seems at odd with the rest of Selma's naturalistic, deep-in-the-trenches visual approach.

Ultimately, these are minor quibbles in an otherwise gripping and insightful drama. DuVernay has said that she doesn't usually care for historical dramas, but she sure as hell proves that she knows how to make a good one. Selma is topical and noteworthy for a whole host of reasons, but none of these should get in the way for praising the film's legitimate artistic merits. Selma's skillful integration of scenes beyond its setting have a way of opening the story and magnifying its impact without straining to be something more. With her third feature, DuVernay has not only made a powerful and socially-conscious drama that registers far beyond its limited scope as it caps off a dynamic year for films written and directed by black artists (and, notably, black women). In striving for intimacy, she has created an unintentional epic that, like King's legacy, is about more than simply having a dream.

Grade: B+/A-

Review: "Dear White People"

Director: Justin Simien
Runtime: 100 minutes

"What's the big deal, we have a black president!" "Racism is over!"  "It was years ago! Move on!" "We live in a post racial society!" All of the above are statements that have been used to combat charges of modern day racism. We've all heard them. Hell, many of us have probably even used one at some point. Sometimes, they are used out of well intentioned ignorance. And other times, they're just a crappy cover for a desire to get away with saying something awful and pretend that racism in America was switched off like a light switch after the Civil Rights marches of the 60s. Dear White People, the feature debut of writer/director Justin Simien, is here to say otherwise. And even though his film - which started as a mock trailer for a film about modern race relations - has plenty of hallmarks of first time filmmaking, it's an uncommonly sharp and articulate take on an uncomfortable topic that many often wish to sweep under the rug. 

No doubt, the film's title got your attention. It should. Dear White People has something to say for everyone about identity, but above all it's a biting dissection of a perfect microcosm of socio-economic and racial privilege. Leading the charge of social change at Winchester College - the film's fictional Ivy League setting - is biracial student Sam White (Tessa Thompson), whose campus radio show is the source of the film's title. In it, she intelligently and sarcastically confronts the type of racial micro-aggressions that generally fly under the radar when it comes to pointing out racism. Example: "Dear White People, the number of black friends required to not seem racist has been razed to two." On top of this, she's recently been elected president of the campus' predominantly black dorm, heads the black student union, and is secretly involved with a charming T.A. Who happens to be white.  

Simien could easily just make the entire film about Tessa calling out ignorant or insensitive behavior, but his goal with Dear White People goes beyond a simple wake up call to our collective complacent mindset. Among Winchester's other notable residents are the strapping Troy Fairbanks (Brandon Bell) who's currently dating the white daughter of the school's president, Coco Conners (Teyonah Parris) an aspiring Youtube star living in Sam's shadow, and painfully shy Lionel (Tyler James Williams), who defines himself more by his sexual orientation than by his race. Dear White People is very much an ensemble piece, and its messages benefit immensely from this approach. 

As Simien's screenplay picks apart the emotional and ethical ambiguities of his characters, he turns Dear White People into a relate and universal experience. The surface conflicts may be about tensions between blacks and whites, but the way Simien's characters discuss image, race, and identity politics transcends the specifics of the story. He also deserves credit for integrating a concise lesson on the difference between racism and prejudice.

The racism vs. prejudice message comes from Sam, and as delivered by Ms. Thompson, it epitomizes the pithiness of Simien's writing. Of his young cast, it's likely that only Williams (from the sitcom Everybody Hates Chris) will look familiar, but all of the student roles are handled with aplomb. It's one thing to write good characters, and another to find people capable of bringing them to life. Simien and his casting director have done a superb job in this department. 

Thompson, whose role is closest to the film's own perspective, is especially effective at tackling Simien's serrated wit along with the film's genuine emotional core. Williams does a fine job of charting Lionel's growth from passive bystander to socially conscious leader, and Bell captures Troy's conflicting traits while maintaining consistency. Teyonah Parris also deserves special mention for elegantly portraying Simien's most ambiguous character. Coco (short for Colandrea, which she feels white people won't respect) is caught between wanting to exist as a black woman, yet also gives in to the idea that she should cater to what white peers expect her to be. If forced to choose between being herself and a shot at fame....well....it's hard to figure out exactly what choice she would make, and whether or not she'd feel a significant amount of regret. 

Through all of this, Simien never goes overboard with his social commentary or his attempts at humor. For a first feature, Dear White People is remarkably restrained. It's neither a condescending lecture nor a strained attempt to throw out jokes in favor of character development. When Simien's jokes arrive, they are carefully considered and impeccably-timed. Oh, and they're funny. Very, very funny. And when the film wants to make you uncomfortable? Well, it sure as hell succeeds at that. If you think the film's climactic "ghetto" themed party is cringe-inducing, just wait until you see the real-life examples cited in the end credits. There's a point where an attempt at satire becomes the very thing that it wishes to mock or undermine. By the end of Dear White People, you'll likely have the difference memorably etched into your brain as you squirm in your seat.

However, it ought to be noted that Simien the writer and Simien the director aren't always on the exact same page. Though there are some stylistic homages to the 70s and the early films of Spike Lee, Simien's execution is a bit too muted for its own good. The writing and acting are often enough to compensate, but Dear White People veers toward sluggishness despite the emotional dynamism displayed by the talented cast. And, as good as the the actors are in their roles, Phillip Bartell's editing doesn't always do them justice. Subplots are pieced together in ways that bring characters together for important moments which feel out of the blue. Williams is supposed to write a profile on Sam's student leadership, but does so mostly from afar. And then, all of the sudden, he's in her dorm room having a heart to heart, even though it feels like they've spent the whole movie on separate continents. 

These grievances, however, should not deter one from seeking out Dear White People as it begins opening this month. Issues of race are uncomfortable to deal with (that's putting it mildly). It's even tougher to deal with them elegantly. In Dear White People, Simien has announced that he's more than capable of carrying the torch as we chart our course through the 21st century. With a voice like Simien's, hopefully our navigation will start to finally improve.

Grade: B+