It’s rare that a single word accurately describes an entire
movie. But in the case of The Birth of a Nation, Nate
Parker’s dramatic reenactment of Nat Turner’s 1831 slave rebellion, one word
keeps springing to mind: raw. And I mean raw in damn near every sense I can.
Subject matter wise, this story is brutal, devastating, and
exceedingly poignant, like a raw, exposed nerve connected directly to central
nervous system of modern American society. Visceral and passionate, wearing
emotion and conviction defiantly on its sleeve, the intensity and energy are
undeniable. It’s as much comment on the racial violence that gave rise to the
Black Lives Matter movement and entitled rape culture as it is historical
period piece.
On the other hand, as Parker’s feature length debut as both
writer and director, it’s readily apparent that, while full of promise and
vision, The Birth of a Nation is the work of raw filmmaker
and storyteller. Though sharp and electric at times, the pace often plods, most
of the villains are one-note cackling cartoons, and the script struggles to find
deeper meaning below the surface violence. And while it tells a powerful tale, it
tells a powerful tale in an expected, straightforward, rudimentary way—the
narrative progression unfolds in standard form, with a few ill-advised, overly
symbolic dream sequences thrown in that feel very first-year film school. Then
again, it’s obvious narrative pyrotechnics aren’t The Birth of a
Nation’s primary concern, and Parker’s fire and fervor burn through.
Prophesized from a young age to be special, to be someone to
listen to, young slave Nat Turner (Parker) grows up to preach the gospel in the
rundown church on his Virginia plantation. Having fallen on hard times, Samuel
Turner (Armie Hammer), the plantation owner and Nat’s childhood playmate, rents
out the man-of-god’s services to surrounding farmers looking for biblical
backing to quell unrest and rebellion amongst their own slaves. On the road,
Nat bears witness to all manner of atrocities, including a gruesome force
feeding—an act of savagery made all the more unnerving for the casual manner in
which it’s perpetrated—the same time as he preaches obedience. Usually on the
verge of weeping, static shots of Nat’s tear-filled eyes blast across the
screen as he extolls the virtue of subservience under the whip.
From the perspective of the oppressed, The Birth of
a Nation tells a story about people with no agency, no control over
their lives. Even during Nat’s childhood, when the plantation mistress
(Penelope Anne Miller) decides the boy’s gift for reading must be nurtured, she
moves him to the main house, ripping him from his family. It’s a clueless move,
as indicative of the entrenched system and the way slaves were viewed—as
property, things rather than people—as any act of physical violence. Even as
Nat’s mother (Aunjanue Ellis) weeps and has to be restrained, this woman never
gives a thought to the fact that she’s tearing apart a family.
Nonchalant brutality lays on the other end of the spectrum
from this oblivious indifference. Borderline caricature white antagonists
(especially Jackie Earle Haley, who gives a performance that could have been
lifted from Blazing Saddles) beat and bludgeon slaves for
the slightest offense. Again, they have no control over their bodies or lives,
which goes double for the women. Gabrielle Union doesn’t say a word, but her
Esther devastates when she’s brought in and given to one of Samuel’s drunken,
lecherous guests. And the brutal gang rape of his wife, Cherry (Aja Naomi
King), serves as the inciting spark for Nat. A generations-long slow build,
when a people are so long repressed violently, violence becomes the only
response.
As timely as The Birth of a Nation is,
it’s also a movie driven by ego and in love with it’s own purported importance.
Nate Parker’s ego hovers above the entire picture, and he continually frames
his character as a messiah figure, posing like Jesus at every opportunity.
(This isn’t entirely Parker’s invention. Before he was hung, the real Nat
Turner was asked if he thought he made a mistake, to which he replied, “Was not
Christ crucified?”) It doesn’t help matters that Nat is the only character,
black or white, with any depth or texture. Samuel almost gets there, at times
showing his distaste and unease with the ubiquitous system that also confines
him, but the film ultimately eschews this for other concerns and any arc cuts
off stunted. Everyone else falls into one or another category of stock
character.
For all of its flaws—exasperating and wearying at
times—The Birth of a Nation is one hell of a debut. The
sheer power and passion overwhelm. On an artistic spectrum, it’s more hardcore
than classical music; a primal explosion of rage more than finely tuned
craftsmanship. Unpolished and ferocious, it seethes and pummels
unapologetically, the kind of movie that engenders a visceral, gut-level
reaction.
Outside the confines of the movie, this has been a
fascinating story to watch unfold. The Birth of a Nation
blew the doors off Sundance back in January, sparked a bidding war, and raked
in a festival record $17.5 million sale. Topical and weighty, Fox Searchlight
positioned it for a big Oscar push, and it appeared primed to collect a haul of
award season hardware. Then the sexual assault allegations against Nate Parker
and co-writer Jean McGianni Celestin surfaced—not a secret, Parker addressed
them before while promoting earlier films, but never with this kind of focus
and spotlight—and the narrative changed.
On a purely cinematic level, this doesn’t lessen the impact
of the picture, but movies don’t exist in a vacuum. And given the
context—especially as the rape scene that spurs Nat Turner to action, and that sets
him up as an avenging angel of sexual assault, is reportedly a total
fabrication—it leaves an icky sensation.
Then again, so does the savagery, the offhand violence, and pervasive
racism that’s all too eerily prescient. On no level and in no realm is
The Birth of a Nation an easy watch, and there exists little
room for casual viewing comfort. Reaction is going to depend a great deal on
whether or not people can, or are willing to separate the art from the artist.
Definitely a first movie, Parker boasts both fervor and
promise, and whatever happens, The Birth of a Nation could
be the impetus to a number of hard, increasingly vital conversations we need to
have, both those it intended and otherwise.
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