Amistad (1997)

FREEDOM IS NOT GIVEN. IT IS OUR RIGHT AT BIRTH. BUT THERE ARE SOME MOMENTS WHEN IT MUST BE TAKEN.

It’s a little unsettling to consider that back in the heyday of slavery, one of the issues of practicality was the nature of a slave’s stance with the law. Some places regarded slavery as illegal and all those in its chains were people who were taken against their will. Others saw its slave populace as items, literally with no more significance or legal right than a chair or a lamp. Still others would say that it depends on where they came from. What happens, then, if a boatload of slaves were to rise up and kill their captors? Would you accuse a cow of murder if it killed its owner? Would the issue be as to who owns these now ownerless slaves? Or is it about victims fighting back for the freedom that was taken from them? In 1839, just such a case was brought before the US courts as the “cargo” of a Spanish slave-ship broke free from their chains and killed those that chained them.

Based on the true story of the mutiny aboard the slave ship, Amistad, and the subsequent courtroom drama as the American lawyers fought for the slave’s freedom and return home. The case would be a watershed moment for America-Spain relations, and reveal the political motivations behind the North-South conflict that would lead to the American Civil War.

David Franzoni’s script is a work of marvellous texture and depth. It draws on all of the emotive aspects of the story very well, but couples them with a great courtroom drama, and some wonderful characters. It avoids the pitfall of having the slaves, so often regarded as nothing but property, register as nothing more than a solid, indiscernible block. It has at least one real personality in there to identify with, perhaps even two or three. It also has a great dexterity with language. Communication is a great concern for those involved. The imprisoned slaves of the Amistad (Spanish for ‘friendship’) don’t speak the language of their captors, nor their attorneys. English, Mende and Spanish are all language barriers that these characters, and thus the script, must overcome in order to communicate effectively. Until a translator is found, it falls to body language, gesture and images to carry the weight of the initial tentative conversations. Motivations, strengths and weaknesses are considered well, which does enhance the drama to a fine degree. That, in the film, John Quincy Adams still struggles to live up to the example set by his father, former President John Adams, is used very well. That a relatively minor character like Judge Coglin gets some depth, his Catholic faith being used against him, is also refreshing. Indeed, it is obvious that care has been taken to give some balance to many of these characters.

Spielberg, as he would do, makes a great use of the story and his cast. He has always shown himself to be someone to take tackle historical issues with a sense of responsibility, showing a desire to respectfully explore the past and relate them to the present. Here, he utilises the same mix of frankness and sensitivity that served him so well on Schindler’s List. He doesn’t shy away from the horrors of the events (a story recounted by Cinque on a previous slave-ship, The Tecora, is indeed horrifying), but neither does it linger on them. Spielberg is wise enough to know that he need not exploit the pain of these characters, that he need only show you a little of such things for you to be affected, and then moves along. Indeed, he also shows a maturity in his decision to forgo his usually sweeping, fast-paced openings for something slower, but altogether more appropriate. His visual sensibility remains strong, catching such things as a recurring image of Cinque trying to follow the sun, struggling towards the light.

The cast assembled for this film is astounding. Anthony Hopkins, Morgan Freeman, Matthew McConaughey, Stellan Skarsgård, Anna Paquin, Djimon Hounsou, Nigel Hawthorne, Jeremy Northam, Pete Postlethwaite, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and many more besides that you’d recognise the instant you saw them. This superb cast, along with the sprawling nature of the story and characters, is really set to ensure that no one person is given The Lead. Everyone supports everyone, so it’s really anyone’s game to stand out. Indeed, two stand out remarkably. Djimon Hounsou is excellent as Cinque. Due to the language barrier that rests against us as much as it does the other characters, much of what we get from Cinque comes just from his presence and his expression. Thankfully, Hounsou, a former model, has a firm screen presence, proud, intense and strong. He carries every bit of the emotional weight of himself and the other men and women from the Amistad. The other performance of great note is Anthony Hopkins as John Quincy Adams. His Adams has every appearance of an awkward old man, scattered and tired, more concerned with his flowers than matters of State. However, he is more than capable of rising to any challenge set before him, carried off with a dignity and erudition that is really rather inspiring. It’s Hopkins who is given the most singularly wordy scene, a full eleven-minute long monologue on the subject of freedom and all the things it guarantees. Hopkins delivers it, not with over-dramatic scenery chewing, but with the true greatness that we know he’s is capable of. Others carry themselves admirably, with another mention for Pete Postlethwaite, who makes great impression with the relatively small role he inhabits.

The film is a fine one, though it should be understood that it does owe as much to fabrication as to historical document. The deviations from fact are somewhat regular, and can have something of an effect how some characters are portrayed. It works well within the context of the film, creating a tangible sense of tension and drama, but the fact is that the real people being represented don't always get their due. The character of Theodore Joadson, played by Morgan Freeman, is a fictitious creation, essentially brought in to present a former slave, now well-to-do free man fighting for the abolition of slavery, and his reaction to walking through the Amistad, haunted by the chains and scratches and blood smears that cover the lower decks. The scene has some poignancy, but is also somewhat superfluous. I get the feeling that the part was included more at the behest of Spielberg, perhaps simply wanting to work with Morgan Freeman, but more likely to compensate for a backlash against his The Color Purple, which was criticised for its negative portrayal of black men. As such, space has been created for the character at the expense of others, such as Professor Gibbs, who comes across as rather inept instead of the competent linguist that he really was.

Also, the attempts to draw the events into a context more identifiable to its contemporary audience, particularly American audiences, does create a more compelling sense of motivation for characters, but this is also at odds with the facts. President Martin Van Buren, played by Nigel Hawthorne, comes off as rather weak-willed, a typical politician more concerned with re-election than fighting for the cause of freedom. That he encroaches on legal proceedings for fear of a war (the Civil War) that would not come to pass for another two decades presents something of difficulty for a film purporting to represent history.

However, this is not a problem unique to Amistad, but something that all historical films must contend with: historical fact vs. dramatic storytelling. Many would argue that the allowance for alteration of fact lies in proportion to good storytelling – it’s okay to change some facts, so long as they make for a much more compelling story. Plus, if the spirit of the piece remains essentially respectful to the heart of the matter, then we can’t judge it too harshly. Alternately, many would say that any kind of alteration of fact is dishonest and that if the true story really were so compelling, then alteration would not be required. Otherwise, you may as well just make up a completely new tale and say it was "inspired by...". I’m certainly not going to try and settle this argument, I can only speak to what impact this film may have, or at least had on me.

I believe that Amistad is a very good film, an important film, and one that should be seen. Spielberg was pretty much preaching to the choir if he sought to convince me that slavery was bad. I’m already with him on that. If there is one overall concern with this film, and many others of Spielberg’s oeuvre, it’s to hold up examples of good people that others can learn from. No iconoclast, Spielberg knows the value of a hero, particularly from the past, and seeks to bring this idealism to the world. What Amistad really does is try to shine a light on instances in the past where a few have fought for a just cause in the face of overwhelming odds. It’s not really important as to whether or not John Quincy Adams actually had Cinque over to his house for tea. It’s just important to know that John Quincy Adams spoke with dignity and passion for Cinque’s freedom.

Amistad is very affecting film, well-written, directed and acted throughout, with particular credit going to Anthony Hopkins and Djimon Hounsou. There may be a consideration in the fact that it does take more than a few historical liberties, which does have an effect on characterisation somewhat, but it really takes little away from the dramatic nature of the film. It remains a poignant, emotive, occasionally difficult watch, but still an important one.

American Beauty (1999)

... LOOK CLOSER

There’s something about the notion of the perfect American family living in the perfect American suburb that has made it be the regular focus of plays and novels and films. Blue Velvet, Happiness, Revolutionary Road, The Stepford Wives, Safe, even The ‘burbs… they all proffer the idea of suburban living as something unsettling, a fragile veneer covering a dark secret, that there’s something ugly beneath that perfectly manicured lawn. Well, what happens when the people living there simply can’t take it anymore? In 1999, writer Alan Ball and first time director Sam Mendes had their crack at the subject with American Beauty.

Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) is a depressed suburban father who is completely ignored by his wife Carolyn (Annette Bening) and daughter Jane (Thora Birch). When Lester enters a mid-life crisis, brought on by feelings for his daughter’s friend, he decides to turn his life around and try to recapture whatever it was he lost in his life.

I’m a big fan of Alan Ball, and I would feel pretty happy saying that even if all I’d seen of his work was True Blood. Working in sitcoms through the 90s, American Beauty was his first feature film script, and it is an excellent start. It’s a black comedy that’s really very funny, it’s a poignant drama musing on the human spirit, it’s a satire with elements of a mystery, and it’s a love story. Several, in fact. Far from being an unfocused story, swinging wildly at multiple genres for lack of real structure, it’s also incredibly concise and literate. There is so much that can be drawn from or discussed in the film - the apparently hollow nature of suburban life; the crushing sense of being trapped in one’s job or life; the meaning of beauty; the benefits of crime; the importance of conformity; the implications of sexual repression. These are classic themes and, to those that know his work, pure Alan Ball. The characters are also treated with great care, free from judgement or any crude lack of depth. One of the film’s great strengths is the courage it has to let the characters be alone. Seriously, have a look at just how often they are just left by themselves doing nothing, where they can let their mask slip away. It’s a less common practice than you might think.

Like Alan Ball, this was Sam Mendes’ first film. Already a very well-respected theatre director, he took great care in selecting the script for his debut. American Beauty was his selection and he directs it with a superb visual style and a great sense of meaning. Mendes was clearly very aware of the subtext of the piece, and brings them to life with ease. For example, just look at the first time we see Lester at work. Look at the drab surroundings, recognisable to all of those who have worked in an office. Then there’s a shot showing Lester reflected in his computer screen, where the columns of numbers seem to create an image of Lester behind bars. Then there’s the moments when he’s in Brad’s office, with Brad the supervisor appearing giant and powerful and Lester looking positively tiny in his chair. There is an absolutely superb level of dexterity going here and throughout. The sense of colour in the film is also excellent, where bland walls and furniture of greys and whites are punctured by small shards of red or blue or green, inviting you to notice the small glimpses of life in the lifeless world. Conrad L. Hall’s cinematography here is equally rich and solid.

I’m also a big fan of Thomas Newman’s music. He’s got a very distinctive sound, and always manages to capture a kind of soft ache, a longing wistfulness in his work. Here, his echoing piano, gentle woodwind and eerie strings beautifully capture the nuanced play of the characters and overall feel of the film. Just listening to it on its own is enough to lull you into an introspective mood.

Performances throughout are excellent. Kevin Spacey is on top form. His face is one that just exudes the kind of humour and sadness and disappointment that characterises Lester. The look on his face when he looks across the room at a party to his wife laughing wildly at a joke just encompasses everything he’s feeling about her, himself, this party, their life. He also has, and this is kind of important, a particular smile that creeps in at specific moments as Lester rediscovers his old self. Annette Bening is superb as Carolyn, who has invested so much of herself in an image that she finds it difficult to live up to and tries so hard not to let the cracks show. Her reaction to another day of an unsold house is both heart-rending and a little unnerving. There’s great support from elsewhere in the cast, too. Mena Suvari brings out every inch of the moderately Lolita-esque nature of Angela Hayes. She’s vampy and trampy, but she is so clearly still a child covering a supreme level of low self-esteem. Thora Birch and Wes Bentley give wonderfully understated performances as Jane Burnham and Ricky Fitts, respectively. Jane begins so placid, so used to being ignored, but slowly comes out of herself as the film goes on. Ricky is equally unassuming, but it’s an affect grounded in a great self-confidence. He knows how to handle himself, illustrated by his manner of dealing with authority, especially his father. Listen to the way he says what his dad wants him to say, firm and yet without conviction. He says it because he knows it’ll get his dad off his back. Speaking of Fitts Senior, Chris Cooper is a menacing presence in the role, an overbearing bully, tough and severe. His is a way of discipline, doled out by force if necessary. Allison Janney’s Barbara Fitts is perhaps the most saddening character of all. Someone so utterly strangled of life that she is a ghost in her own home. Janney is more familiar to many in more vibrant and outgoing roles (she is superb in The West Wing), so to see her smothered like this gives a real glimpse as to how worn down the character really is.

American Beauty actually reminds me a great deal of a poem by Elizabeth Bishop called Filling Station. It’s a wonderfully vivid description of an ordinary filling station that Bishop once happened upon. She describes the dirt and oil that marks it all, the rather dull visage it makes, the overall lacklustre effect of its initial impression… but then she notes the small details that stand out from it - an individual plant, a single doily, a small taboret, the specific arrangement of the oil cans. From these peculiarly delicate additions to the otherwise gruff and boring surroundings, Bishop notices the small graces that someone has put into the scene to make it more pleasant for others. It may be an ordinary and rather dreary place, but if you look closer, you’ll see the little glimpses of beauty and heart in it. This is exactly what rests at the heart of American Beauty. It’s not about simply looking into the American Dream and satirising it for its iniquity and spiritual malaise. It does see these things, but it goes that extra step and sees through even that to the flashes of life and colour and love that rest beneath that. Other films are content with showing the life of the suburban family as being secretly dark, ugly, or even crazy; American Beauty wants to show what lies beneath even that.

For all of its moments of tension, cynicism and frustrated anguish, American Beauty really is a gorgeous, gentle and rather uplifting film. It’s a wonderfully subtle blending of genres, both sad and funny, and carries itself with a superb artistry and elegance. It doesn’t shy itself from elements of bitter darkness and despair, but it ultimately rests with its firm and sincere belief that there is just too much beauty in the world to ignore.