Compensation

Director Zeinabu irene Davis

COMPENSATION                B+                  

USA  (95 mi)  1999  d:  Zeinabu irene Davis

Because I had loved so deeply,
Because I had loved so long,
God in His great compassion
Gave me the gift of song.

Because I have loved so vainly,
And sung with such faltering breath,
The Master in infinite mercy
Offers the boon of Death.

Compensation, from Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow, by Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1905,  Compensation by Paul Laurence Dunbar - Poems | poets.org

Inspired by the Paul Lawrence Dunbar poem, Davis sets the film in Dunbar’s time, in the style of early 20th century pictures, complete with title cards and original ragtime piano accompaniment by Reginald R. Robinson a few years before he won his MacArthur Genius Grant.  Perhaps more importantly, the story is told using vintage historical photographs that effectively tell a story of black history, written by the director’s husband March Arthur Chéry, complimented by recreated scenes with live actors which are notable for a written storyline accentuating the world of the deaf, set in two different time periods, 1906, leading to the great migration north to Chicago, as well as the present day, using many of the same actors in both time periods.  Seamlessly integrated throughout, made on an indie film budget for only $125,000, the black and white film shot by Pierre H. L. Desir Jr. on 16mm accentuates the historical look, shot in and around Chicago and the Calvary Baptist Church in Evanston, including notable scenes shot on the grounds of the Northwestern University campus, while the beach scenes, made to resemble the look and turn-of-the-century eloquence of Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust (1991), were shot at the Indiana Dunes, where industrial smokestacks from the nearby city of Gary are visible off in the distance.  Dash and Davis are both part of a collective of black students from UCLA called the L.A. Rebellion, originating in the late 60’s and 70’s following the aftermath of the Civil Rights and black liberation struggles, the war in Vietnam, and the full-blown destruction of the Watts riots, telling stories about black people that hadn’t been told before or disappeared from cultural erasure, reclaiming control over their own identity, creating a new black cinema, mentoring and paving the way for new young black directors, both male and female, reclaiming black cultural symbols, highlighting aspects of black history omitted from Hollywood depictions, while determined to offer a transformative vision of a better society.  Daughters of the Dust, the first feature by a black woman to be commercially released in the United States, exemplifies a new black aesthetic, as does this film, using silent film techniques to explore new ways to communicate and view the world around us, amusingly reenacting The Railroad Porter, one of the earliest black silent films that has been lost, along with 75% of the silent film archives, intentionally mixing black history with a deaf culture, explicitly accessible for both deaf and hearing viewers, offering a surprising tenderness in tone. 

According to the director, the film was not written originally for a deaf woman, but she happened to be in Minneapolis searching for some interesting live theater to see and wandered into a deaf theater production of Waiting for Godot, finding Michelle A. Banks in a starring role and immediately knew she was right for the part, appearing here as Malindy in 1906, college educated and highly literate, but working as a professional seamstress, attending Kendall School for the Deaf until blacks were expelled in 1904, reserved exclusively for whites, with blacks sent across the country to find another deaf school, remaining segregated until the landmark Supreme Court decision in 1954, Brown v. Board of Education.  In this way, segregated blacks could easily understand and relate to colonized people occupied elsewhere, developing similar psychological patterns, as evidenced by Frantz Fanon in his book White Skin, Black Masks.  While the deaf culture is marginalized as well, Malindy is a strong advocate of education and knowledge, regularly seen writing in her diary, as it gives her strength and helps embolden her, always comfortable in her own skin, developing the confidence necessary to enter into a relationship with a hearing boyfriend, Arthur, John Earl Jelks, getting little support from those in the deaf community who have learned to distrust the hearing culture.  What’s particularly poignant are the extremes taken in attempting to communicate, which may include sign language (which the partner would have to learn), writing on paper (where the partner would have to learn to read), and also the facial and bodily expressions, which are quite revealing in themselves, as they accurately convey the mood.  One of the recurring motifs is watching Malindy on the beach dancing to music that she hears in her head, while flute music written by African percussionist Atiba Y. Jali plays for viewers, creating a sense of empowerment, but also grace and beauty in the delicate movements.  This sense of appealing to the Other, to someone outside one’s culture is impressive, not only for the developed sense of intimacy, but the discovery of new attitudes and ideas, which are a key component to acquiring knowledge, contrasted against demeaning archival photographs reflecting a steady stream of racial intolerance.  The film is impressive in exploring Pan African spirituality, including symbols and various trains of thought, all contributing to Malindy’s independence, confident of her own view of herself.

When the film moves to the present, freely moving back and forth in time, Malindy becomes Malaika, both played by the same actress, now with a job as a graphic designer in a printing shop, visibly seen wearing more contemporary clothing.  While she has a deaf friend Billie (Christopher Smith) that works with her, seen performing a dance at a café to the sounds of the poem Compensation, she is enchanted by the effort made by Nico (John Earl Jelks) to appeal to her, actually learning some introductory sign skills, causing her to jump with delight (“You’re speaking my language!”), enthusiastically exploding with multiple phrases, none of which he understands, but it reveals the untapped reservoir of emotions just waiting to share.  Nico is particularly interesting, as he’s a burly man with a big physique, yet defying racial stereotypes, he works as a librarian in the children’s section of a black community, showing warmth and sensitivity, usually greeting the kids with a spontaneous joy, happy to put a smile on their face, but he’s especially engaging with the kids in a call and response version of Dunbar’s A Negro Love Song, energetically repeating the refrain, “Jump Back, Honey, Jump Back,” Bobby Norfolk - Jump Back YouTube (1:31).  Davis throws in derailing afflictions from each era, pneumonia in the earlier time period and contracting the HIV virus in the 90’s, both having a devastating impact, offering the context of impending death in both parallel relationships, which elevates what’s at stake.  This confused state of mind is expressed through fractured images, using an experimental film montage of images overlapping into one another, overexposing the film, creating a psychologically disorienting effect, yet a sense of urgency is established throughout, where the extraordinary performance by Michelle A. Banks is poignantly affecting, not willing to waste her time on just anybody, but placing great faith in these individual men who are taking a chance on her.  The directing and storytelling are equally impressive, as this is a radically different kind of feature, even for an independent film, with remarkable use of archival photographs, where the sophisticated sound design is a beautiful counterpoint to the quietness of the film, yet the storyline pulls the audience into their vastly different world, where viewers are more than willing to embark upon what feels like a genuinely authentic journey, where the payoff is experiencing a superlatively designed film that actually produces a new consciousness, directed, co-edited, and produced by Davis.  Surprisingly, the influence of this film is all over the recent Todd Haynes film 2017 Top Ten List #6 Wonderstruck, both set in two different eras, both featuring deaf characters, using deaf actresses, both prominently featuring silent film era techniques, yet there are no acknowledgements in the credits from Haynes offering thanks or “compensation” to Ms. Davis. 

2018 Top Ten List #9 Night Comes On

Director Jordana Spiro

 

Actresses Dominique Fishback and Tatum Marilyn Hall prepare for a shoot

 

Actress Tatum Marilyn Hall

 

Actress Dominique Fishback

 

NIGHT COMES ON             B+                  

USA  (87 mi)  2018  ‘Scope  d:  Jordana Spiro

A true indie film, very personal, featuring extraordinary performances from two newcomers, Dominique Fishback as 18-year old Angel Lemere, whose bookended voiceover offering poetic thoughts of her mother both opens and closes the film, and her younger 10-year old sister Abby (Tatum Marilyn Hall), both victims of a foster care system that devours young black girls before spitting them out as damaged goods.  An excoriating portrait of growing up in foster care, the film balances clarity of vision with compassion, getting under the skin of each character, where both unbelievably come alive onscreen, offering uncommonly penetrating insight into their world, where according to government statistics (Youth Involved with the Juvenile Justice System | Youth.gov) girls are the fastest growing population in the American juvenile detention system, with minority youth more likely to be detained, where blacks are over-represented, comprising the highest entry rate in juvenile detention (38%) as well as adult prisons (58%), though blacks are only 14% of the U.S. population, while looming in the background is a rearrest rate of 55% for released juveniles.  Brilliantly written by a writing team of the white director, taking a break from her acting career, and black co-writer Angelica Nwandu, much of it mirroring Nwandu’s own life story, told with a delicate hand, creating an astonishing portrait of lives that are set up to fail, with little education and no work skills, usually ending up on the street living lives of crime, prostitution, and homelessness, yet those living in the system must persevere, usually with little or no guidance, left to fend for themselves, primarily off the radar, leading invisible lives that no one sees or cares about.  In this case, both girls were thrown into the foster care system after their mother was murdered by their father, where he was sent to jail and ultimately acquitted, while they languished in a prison-like atmosphere for nearly a decade, where the criminal justice system failed to prevent Angel from being sexually abused, then forced her to abandon her sister, punished for crimes they did not commit.   With Angel in and out of 13 foster homes, never once treated for the obvious trauma of the incidents, both sisters carry scars and wounds that may never heal, yet to the film’s credit, it is a brazenly honest depiction of getting out, brilliantly exposing one woman’s inner chaos, finally having the freedom to make her own decisions, to set things straight, and find that purpose in life.  After a harrowing visit before a judge that couldn’t care less about her, she’s forced to visit a probation officer who cares even less, with neither authority figure having the slightest inkling of understanding of just who they’re dealing with, viewed instead as interchangeable parts.  In this film, we meet the person underneath, filled with insecurities and signs of desperation, yet forced to exude a façade of strength and confidence, never allowing anyone or anything to get to you, stoically handling your business, including disappointments, as if nothing shakes you, as that’s the only way you’ve managed to survive.  As her name suggests, Fishback, in one of the performances of the year, is an avenging angel hell-bent on settling matters with her father, but as the film unfolds it reveals how easily she gets sidetracked. 

Set somewhere in Philadelphia, Angel’s first order of business is recharging her phone, her lifeline to the outside world, which isn’t as easy as it seems, refused by multiple vendors, followed by a visit to the local gun dealer (Max Casella), having to provide a sexual favor for the price of a handgun.  Only then does she pay a visit to Abby, a bubbly, live-wire girl living with a foster family more interested in the income it brings than the welfare of any of the kids, who are left alone unattended, basically raising themselves.  Even though there’s a special connection between them, and an especially tender moment when an infant strolls onto the scene and just clings to them both, Abby senses Angel’s urgency to find their father, where that above all else is what matters.  As Abby has met with him a few times since his release, that raises Angel’s suspicions, as she doesn’t want her to have anything to do with him, as he’s the man who killed their mother.  Yet she is on a mission to find him, a single-minded purpose that drives the film, as it’s behind each and every action that takes place, all secondary to a revenge that feels inevitable.  But this film is never heavy, or depressing, despite a series of disappointments, as both sisters are too busy living their lives to dwell on such things, as there are always matters to attend to, and choices to be made, such as finding a place to stay.  Angel is a girl with an attitude, where she’s not afraid to use her mouth to intimidate in order to get what she wants, yet despite her fiery temperament, she’s all mixed up inside, trying to put the pieces together to form a life that she can recognize as her own.  Instead she’s still on borrowed time, running into an old girlfriend Maya (Cymbal Byrd), thinking she can stay with her, but that plan is aborted when she’s apparently found another lover to replace her, turning the situation awkwardly weird, having to save face, suggesting there’s plenty of “bitches” out there that want her.  But she ends up alone in the entryway of a randomly chosen apartment complex, sleeping on the floor, rising early before anyone notices her.  It feels like this is not the first time she’s had to resort to these extreme measures, finding protection from the outside elements, and even a bit of secrecy.  What follows is a trip to the ocean, as Abby indicates their Dad lives near the beach in Jersey, bartering for the cheapest rate, with Abby finding another multiracial group of girls her age on the bus, who eagerly invite her along, as if that’s what they’re used to, with one suggesting her mom could drive them the rest of the way to the beach.  As they all make their way to her safe, middle class suburban home, filled with the kinds of family comforts they’ve never had, Angel senses trouble, especially when one of the girls Google’s their father, trying to get a bead on his address, instead discovering he’s a murderer, so they make a hasty exit.  This dichotomy of the life they could have had with the one they’re left with couldn’t be more profound, feeling explosive, like a slap in the face, leaving them both hurt and angry, as things just never go their way. 

A powerful story about women of color in particular, with sisters that have an instrinsic effect on each other, this film has a searing realism that catches viewers off guard, connecting us to things large and small, demonstrating an eye for restraint, while always remaining detailed and observant.  When Abby explains the truth, that their Dad lives nowhere near the beach, but she just wanted a day they could happily spend together, just one special day, but that exploded in monumental disarray, suddenly on the run again, as if they’ve done something wrong.  Angel, of course, is furious to be misled and sent on a wild goose chase, but Abby’s motives couldn’t be more achingly real, as she just needs a friend.  Making their way to the beach, which is absolutely deserted, they splash in the waves, playing like kids, actually having a moment of fun.  When Angel tries to tell her she’s not a good influence, that she’s more trouble than it appears, Abby takes our collective breath away by telling her straight up, “I think you’re the greatest thing in the world.”  The pause that occurs afterwards is well-deserved, where there are quiet, probing moments, with a terrific score from Matthew Robert Cooper that underplays the raw emotion on display, further accentuating the effectiveness of its intimacy.  With beautifully composed cinematography by Hatuey Viveros Lavielle, the healing power of the sea recalls 2016 Top Ten List #1 Moonlight, as if all sins are washed away, only to resurface again instantly afterwards in a terrifying moment when Abby finds the gun in Angel’s purse, knowing she’s going to do something terrible, bringing the wrath of despair back down upon their openly exposed lives, suddenly carrying the weight of the world again on their shoulders.  In the long bus ride home in the dark, Angel slips off the bus while Abby is asleep, abandoning her once again, though everyone in the theater knows why, as it’s the final showdown with her taciturn father (John Earl Jelks), who invites her in, still living at their former residence where the incident occurred, yet plainly hasn’t much food or economic opportunity following his prison stint, barely scraping by.  It’s an exquisitely written scene, blisteringly honest, with few words, but very telling responses to each other, as they couldn’t be more squeamishly uncomfortable.  Her Dad isn’t the scary monster we’re led to believe, obviously pummeled down to size from his imprisonment and the humiliating rejections that follow, stained by his own actions, forever associated with a horrible crime, where he’s a pathetic sight, wallowing in his own impotence.  Just exactly how she handles the situation is the stuff of poetry, yet unabashedly real, as she literally reclaims her life in the process, finding that grace note that has always eluded her, discovering a unique kind of clarity, as if a storm cloud has been forever removed from continually pummeling her with a neverending torrent of rain.  The finale couldn’t be more optimistic, where despite all the infractions associated with missed appointments and various rule violations, they seem insignificant in the grander scheme of things, as she’s finally free to build a life of her own, no longer adrift, eradicating all the anger that was holding her back, suddenly light as air and free as a bird.  It’s a brand new day, and one of the most deeply felt films seen all year.