MUDBOUND B
USA (134 mi) 2017
‘Scope d: Dee Rees
They’re just gonna win
every time.
—Hap Jackson (Rob Morgan)
A blistering portrait of the Jim Crow South, yet also an excruciatingly
slow-paced film that feels mired in the misery of being dirt poor farmers in
the Mississippi Delta region following the Great Depression, adapted from the
Hillary Jordan novel of 2006, emblematic of John Ford’s equally dour The
Grapes of Wrath (1940), which was itself an adaptation of John Steinbeck’s infamous
Pulitzer Prize winning novel. Receiving
a standing ovation at the Sundance premiere, this openly wears its heart on its
sleeve, unfortunately, and is a more difficult film than it might appear, which
includes how difficult it is just to find this film, screening for a single
week in an obscure suburban theater in Chicago, otherwise only available to
Netflix subscribers. Using an unusual
technique of introducing multiple characters through their own inner narration,
the film balances a searing realism with a kind of inner poetry, offering
different points of view, often altering our perceptions, as mouths are not
necessarily in synch with the words being spoken, or musical interludes include
the sounds of spirituals or quiet piano music, adding a hint of illusion to an
otherwise reality-based film. What this
does is add a uniquely different sensory element to what we are watching, like
the effect of music often transcending what we see, providing an alternate
reality that is closer in spirit to the emotional realm being depicted. The first half of the film sets up what
happens long afterwards, as the central conflict takes over an hour to finally
appear onscreen, with hints left along the roadside to help viewers find their
way. The film is an intersection of two proud
families, one white and one black, initially revealing different customs,
family bonds, and familial expression, revealing how they are uniquely and
societally different, including their reaction to racial slurs and personal
indignities, with the camera adding a black perspective inside their home when
unwelcome white visitors arrive at their door, never with good news,
personalizing the arrogance of white privilege, never questioning the system
that keeps blacks down, as everything must come to a stop to appease the white
folks, with both sides showing signs of empathy, which becomes a crime that
must be ruthlessly punished in Jim Crow Mississippi, eventually becoming a
full-fledged drama about grotesque race hatred and savagely inflicted KKK violence
in the Deep South, showing its pronounced impact on both families, each torn
apart in ways they could never anticipate.
Much like Jacques Audiard’s Dheepan
(2015), the finale feels more imaginary than real, evading historical realities
with a dreamlike sequence, creating an alternate epilogue that feels much more
hopeful and optimistic, which appears to be a present day viewpoint tacked onto
an earlier historical time period when a more dire outcome would have been
inevitable. That being said, this is a
fictional view of one of America’s most deep-seeded problems which has its
origins in the slave trade, where for hundreds of years no one lifted a muscle
to stop the inherent cruelty of treating blacks as an inferior subspecies of
the white race. Mind you, despite all
scientific evidence to the contrary, millions today currently believe in the
superiority of the white race (from a recent poll in 09/2017, more than 2.5
million, or about 8% of the U.S. population currently believes in white
nationalism, while 100 million, or 31% believe “America must protect and
preserve its White European heritage,” from Most
Americans Oppose White Supremacists, But Many Share Their ...).
The opening burial sequence in a deluge of rain is
eye-opening for its minimalist suggestion, showing the tenuous line between
life and death, and just how easily it can be broached. It is a parable for the larger story ahead,
serving as a cautionary warning. Initially
we are introduced to Laura (Carey Mulligan), an intelligent and well-read woman
in her early 30’s from Memphis, Tennessee, a city slicker with a cultivated
taste, who plays the piano, for instance, but is still a virgin, suggesting the
first man she meets will be the one, introduced by her brother to his boss,
Henry McAllen (Jason Clarke), at a jazz club (with a distinctly American black
origin), though he’s hardly a charmer, but he’s a forthright and upstanding man
who pursues her, asking for her hand in marriage, so she obliges, preferring
not to die a spinster. If their accents
sound weirdly unsouthern, Mulligan is British while Clarke is Australian, never
quite getting the inflections right. Henry has a brother Jamie (Garrett Hedlund)
who is everything he’s not, handsome and charming, something of a ladies man,
who frowns on his brother’s dreams to live close to the land. Coinciding with this romantic interlude is
another close-knit black family arduously working the land headed by Hap
Jackson (Rob Morgan), a local preacher and his wife Florence (Mary J. Blige),
along with their family. Hap angrily
describes how easily blacks in Mississippi have been robbed of their own land,
where deeds to property that took blood and sweat to accrue have simply been
torn up by white families that basically took what they wanted, sending them
away to fend for themselves. As
sharecroppers, the land they work is not really theirs, but is a reminder of a
debt they constantly owe white owners, having arrived at this plot of land
where they have been tenant farmers since slavery days, still trying to pay off
their debt, vowing one day to own their own land. Men exclusively make the decisions in these
families, where out of the blue, Henry decides to tell his wife they’re moving
to Mississippi, having bought some land there that he figures to farm. Swindled out of the initial home he thought
they’d live in, they’re forced to move into a broken down shack, a rude
introduction to a primitive life with holes in the roof and no electricity or
indoor plumbing, forced to live under the same roof as Henry’s virulently
racist father, Pappy (Jonathan Banks), sharing the same farmland not far from
where the Jacksons live. This common land
is defined by a bridge into town that washes out when it rains, stranding the
families in a sea of mud. Laura’s two
children end up with whooping cough, sending for Florence to help nurse them
back to health, offering her a regular job as their housekeeper
afterwards. What’s painfully obvious is
how Henry talks to Hap, always expecting he will obey his every request, as if
their passive servitude is taken for granted.
This dehumanization defines the times in Mississippi, as blacks who act
otherwise typically end up dead.
Perhaps the one that has it worse is Vera (Lucy Faust), a
white sharecropper neighbor who lives in the same extreme poverty as the
blacks, living pitifully close to madness, as her marriage is in shambles,
devastated by extreme deprivation. World
War II calls two men into action, where Jamie becomes a decorated fighter pilot
who completes harrowing bombing missions in Europe, while Ronsel (Jason
Mitchell), the oldest Jackson, drives a tank in an all-black military unit
known as the Black Panthers serving under the command of General Patton, one of
the most effective combat units in the war despite their segregated status away
from white soldiers. Ronsel reveals that
unlike back home, Europeans welcome blacks, where they are viewed as more human,
including white women, thankful they are protecting their homes and
communities, ending up in a relationship with Resl (Samantha Hoefer), a pretty
German girl who welcomes him into her home.
While obviously taking a toll on both men, both return home under
differing circumstances, as Jamie is a war hero, but he’s jittery and drinks
heavily covering up symptoms of trauma, while Ronsel has newly discovered
confidence in himself, as he’s backed away from no one, standing up to all
enemies that stood in their way. Upon
returning back home to Mississippi, however, he’s just an n-word to the locals,
who treat him as such, facing the same bigotry he’s known all his life. “Over there I was liberated…Here I’m just
another nigger pushing a plow.” It’s Hap
who tells his son not to stir up any resentment in white folks, to apologize
even if he’s the harmed party, expressing the prophetic words, “they’re just
gonna win every time.” However, Ronsel and
Jamie hit it off, as a black pilot once saved his back in the air, showing
gratitude afterwards, allowing Ronsel to ride in the front of his pickup truck,
sharing a drink, where they can get personal and share stories, spending secret
time together away from all the rest, actually developing an unlikely
friendship with mutual respect. But this
doesn’t go unnoticed, which does not bode well in this town, in this era, with
the stench of blood and violence lingering in the air, where they are
eventually outed by his own Pappy, who calls him a traitor and a “nigger
lover.” This escalates into a full-scale
KKK assault on both men, beaten and tied up by dozens of men in white hoods, with
Ronsel stripped naked, facing the sadistic onslaught of racial hatred, which is
an abomination from which there is no return.
This level of cruelty is mirrored perhaps by the brutally harsh demands
of the soil, creating a communal burden of unending poverty from harvesting
cotton, a failed economy dependent upon slave labor, causing resentment towards
blacks since the Confederacy days. Filming
this untold story offers a window into our own depraved Jim Crow era history,
which is especially relevant today with a President of the United States that
refuses to condemn white supremacist groups, as a surge of white nationalists make
up much of his support. Easily more
ambitious than her earlier film, Pariah
(2011), though not necessarily better, it has a broader historical reach and
feels more impactive, though it still feels rough around the edges. Beautifully expressed in wide vistas and
close-ups on worn out faces by cinematographer Rachel Morrison, who also filmed
Ryan Coogler’s Fruitvale
Station (2013), where much of the raw material hits a nerve, but could use
a subtler hand when it comes to achieving greater artistry.
No comments:
Post a Comment