Every year, there has to be a civil rights/slavery film, right? Well, in case you hadn't understood the inhumanity of slavery and/or segregation yet, here's another history lesson to remind and make you cry. Selma focuses on a very, very brief portion of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s life in his valiant march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama so as to protest and pressure Lyndon B. Johnson into finally passing the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Although African-Americans technically had the right to vote during this time, there was nothing stopping the white authorities from intimidating black people far away from voting booths. Martin Luther King, Jr. will not have any of it though, and David Oyelowo, in his remarkable depiction of King, certainly conveys this through his partially melancholic and partially fierce "enough-of- this!" eyes. Aside from the striking resemblance to the esteemed civil rights leader, Oyelowo absolutely brings everything he emotionally has within him to the platform during every one of his profound and furious speeches.
And given the perfect timing of the film's release, relevant more than ever in the midst of relentless police brutality and continuing African-American injustice, the ferocity of the movement here is undoubtedly inspiring and rousing. The wonderful ensemble—including the likes of Carmen Ejogo, Oprah Winfrey, and Common—all know what's at stake in the past and present, but Tom Wilkinson (as President Johnson) and Tim Roth (as the repugnant George Wallace) also add contemplation and determined vehemence, respectively, to the opposing side. The lachrymose 60's soundtrack plays to ferociously shot and edited sequences of the marches and the consequential police brutality that strikes back.
If you can't tell by now, my writing seems to be largely formed by sentimentality and closeness to the horrific predicament at hand in 2014 America. Frankly, Selma is a film that affects more through sentimental bias than anything else. Once everything is said and done— once a colder and more objective perspective that strips the relevance of the subject matter has been established—Selma really is a standard biopic that actually doesn't develop King into that much of a compelling character. The picture does make sure to highlight the usual family drama that occurs behind closed doors in every biopic from Malcolm X to Lincoln, but I just couldn't see enough of the man besides the obviously glorious, saintly portrait in which he's painted.
Moreover, with the exception of the few marches/protests that rivetingly transpire throughout the film's duration, the pacing is unexpectedly plodding, and that's in large part because of how little material the film has to work with. Conversations that drag on for far too long essentially focus on one element of conversation: the planned march and of its hopeful results. Imagine that continuing on for a 2+- hour movie. Add in the fact that Selma suffers from quite a bit of historical inaccuracies, including the more negative representation of Lyndon B. Johnson, solely to implement further dramatic weight and conflict as overly-dramatized Hollywood films typically love to indulge themselves in.
Of course, it'll still be an overwhelmingly celebrated film in its year of release much like 12 Years a Slave was last year (even though The Wolf of Wall Street and Her come up in more discussions a year later). It happens every time with the critics and awards industry players. Ask yourself: will Selma—a finely-crafted film that means well but is narratively and creatively forgettable/safe—honestly be remembered more than fascinatingly daring content this year like Inherent Vice and Interstellar?
And given the perfect timing of the film's release, relevant more than ever in the midst of relentless police brutality and continuing African-American injustice, the ferocity of the movement here is undoubtedly inspiring and rousing. The wonderful ensemble—including the likes of Carmen Ejogo, Oprah Winfrey, and Common—all know what's at stake in the past and present, but Tom Wilkinson (as President Johnson) and Tim Roth (as the repugnant George Wallace) also add contemplation and determined vehemence, respectively, to the opposing side. The lachrymose 60's soundtrack plays to ferociously shot and edited sequences of the marches and the consequential police brutality that strikes back.
If you can't tell by now, my writing seems to be largely formed by sentimentality and closeness to the horrific predicament at hand in 2014 America. Frankly, Selma is a film that affects more through sentimental bias than anything else. Once everything is said and done— once a colder and more objective perspective that strips the relevance of the subject matter has been established—Selma really is a standard biopic that actually doesn't develop King into that much of a compelling character. The picture does make sure to highlight the usual family drama that occurs behind closed doors in every biopic from Malcolm X to Lincoln, but I just couldn't see enough of the man besides the obviously glorious, saintly portrait in which he's painted.
Moreover, with the exception of the few marches/protests that rivetingly transpire throughout the film's duration, the pacing is unexpectedly plodding, and that's in large part because of how little material the film has to work with. Conversations that drag on for far too long essentially focus on one element of conversation: the planned march and of its hopeful results. Imagine that continuing on for a 2+- hour movie. Add in the fact that Selma suffers from quite a bit of historical inaccuracies, including the more negative representation of Lyndon B. Johnson, solely to implement further dramatic weight and conflict as overly-dramatized Hollywood films typically love to indulge themselves in.
Of course, it'll still be an overwhelmingly celebrated film in its year of release much like 12 Years a Slave was last year (even though The Wolf of Wall Street and Her come up in more discussions a year later). It happens every time with the critics and awards industry players. Ask yourself: will Selma—a finely-crafted film that means well but is narratively and creatively forgettable/safe—honestly be remembered more than fascinatingly daring content this year like Inherent Vice and Interstellar?