January 23, 2009
I normally start a Steven Spielberg review by discussing the asinine attitude that has developed around him--either hero worship or envious/rebellious denigration. I've done that though, so for those unaware, let me strike my stance as follows: Spielberg is an excellent director ...( read more)who is typically overrated a bit too much by his biggest fans and very thoroughly underrated to ridiculous extents by those who refuse to any element of sentimentality in their personalities. I'm tired of both attitudes and the complete polar extremes' existence with such a popular director clears a swath of free space between them. I'm somewhere in that space, leaning toward the positive.
Sengbe Pieh (here referred to only by his "Christian name" of Joseph Cinqué, and played by Djimon Honsou) is one of a group of fifty slaves who revolt on Spanish ship La Amistad and slaughter most of their captors. A mix of intentions from Sengbe and the surviving Spaniards Ruiz (Geno Silva) and Montes (John Ortiz) leads to the ship's capture by the American Navy when they land on American soil, and the slaves-to-be are taken to New Haven, Connecticut where they are to be tried. The reading of charges by District Attorney Holabird (Pete Postlethwaite) is interrupted by numerous claims to the possession or rights involved. Lieutenants Gedney (Ralph Brown) and Meade (Darren Burrows) claim the Africans are spoils of salvage, Montes and Ruiz claim rights as the original "owners," Spanish Ambassador Calderon (Tomas Milian, he of many an Italian exploitation film) claims them for Queen Isabella (pubescent Anna Paquin), and Secretary of State John Forsyth (David Paymer) works with Holabird to secure these rights to Calderon--to curry favour with her for soon-to-be-ex-President Martin Van Buren (Nigel Hawthorne). Underground publishers of The Emancipator ex-slave Theodore Joadsen (Morgan Freeman) and activist Tappan (Stellan Skarsgård), however, attempt to argue in the favour of their release by way of a writ. When all of this simply ties things up, the outside observer Roger Baldwin (Matthe McConaughey) steps in and offers his services as a property attorney. Tappan shuts him down in righteous anger (because of Baldwin's focus) while Joadsen takes an interest in the young attorney. They attempt to recruit former President John Quincy Adams (Anthony Hopkins) to help them, but Adams refuses on grounds of disinterest. Baldwin turns out to be a good choice, though, and nearly saves the Africans--only to have the politically-motivated machinations of the President appeal the case to the Supreme Court.
Treading yet more familiar ground for me, this is based on a true story. If you go into any film looking for an education on historical events, that film had better be popularly considered a documentary--if not expertly considered, preferrably. This isn't one and any pretense to it is not given. Spielberg takes an interesting story in the history of the United States, and one relevant to the issue of slavery and uses it to serve the purpose of educating, emotionally, about the horror of slavery and the glory of the United States as a country and set of laws and systems. The events work very well to suit this--most of the complaints about its accuracy have little to do with them, and indeed the final outcome is truthful, as are the events with regard to Van Buren's interference, Adams' reluctance and most of the rest. The parts that are changed are primarily things that are retroactive: suddenly, Van Buren's fear is of civil war, an idea generally not considered to be under discussion so publicly twenty years before it would occur, and Van Buren would not have been campaigning for re-election--because no one campaigned then. This is hardly earth-shaking or story-ruining, however much an assault it may be on historicity.
What's most memorable about this film are the details that have survived its original release. Djimon Honsou's biggest credit prior was probably that of Horus in Stargate, which is not exactly star-making material, nor a particularly meaty role. This role, however, won him quite some measure of acclaim as well as a Golden Globe nomination, and probably paved the way for his later successes. It's definitely to Honsou's credit that it does so, and not to any hype machine. Sengbe is a strong man, a leader to this small group of the Mende people he is forcibly confined with, but one who suffers great humility and self-doubt. He's proud and stubborn and willing to take action, but has little faith in himself. He's not (thankfully) portrayed as a lone brain amongst the stupid savages, but rather the only one who chooses to take interest in and attempt to decipher the bizarre (and I mean that honestly, this society IS bizarre) society they've been forced into. This is also, in part, because they have forcibly chosen him as leader in light of a past that includes the killing of a monstrous lion. Sengbe (Cinqué only in the film, as I said) is an interesting character because it manages to take the stereotypical idea of the African from the past and re-purpose it outside the stereotype. Yes, Sengbe was in a tribe of hunter/gatherers, yes, his people used primarily close range weapons, yes they wore little clothing by our standards and so forth. But this does not make any suggestion as to his intelligence and capability. It's very well-written and not played too much for laughs when Sengbe and Baldwin attempt to communicate--at the least, it's balanced on who is the object of fun, and even more probably swings toward the Africans as the ones more "right" in their interpretation of the Americans as ridiculous in their systemic complexity.
The other performance the film is remembered for is certainly Anthony Hopkins' as John Quincy Adams, the President lost to his father's legacy, remembered, as the film presciently notes (more than likely as an injoke based in hindsight, though quite possibly true at the time as well) that he is remembered more for his middle name than any actions. Hopkins, though, won an Oscar, and it, too, was deserved. His Adams is smart and strong of will, but shies away from the limelight now, disinterested in larger issues though he has stances on them. He feigns senility at first, attempting to dissuade his moralistic pursuers in this fashion, but relents when appeal is made to his intellect by Baldwin, and to his skill. He's frustrated at first by the attentions of Sengbe via translator Ensign Covey (Chiwetel Ejiofor, who also went on to much bigger roles, including that of Firefly's "Operative," which geekdom will probably assure remains his most well-known role), but shows glints of appreciation for Sengbe's analysis, and is finally impressed when he instead speaks to him face-to-face (though of course still translated), finding inspiration for the words to bring before the Supreme Court.
The final (and least pleasant) element the film is remembered for is its depiction of the slave ships. Many films have "happily" portrayed the horrors of slavery in practice (or disturbingly pretended there was no horror to it), but few have had the cojones to show the shipping conditions for the "merchandise." Truly unpleasant, the film begins with the action that Sengbe frees himself with: he scrapes away at the wood around a nail, which he finally frees with bloodied fingers to manipulate the shackles he's held with and remove them. He takes clear revenge on the men who were carrying them, violent and angry, but we seen in this none of the stereotype of "savage," and only pure fury at the conditions he was taken and held under--which we witness later when Baldwin asks him about his story and how he came to be in this court. Taken by surprise by other Africans (as future slaves often were) to be traded to the Portugeuse, Sengbe sees the violent abuses of the ship's masters as they flay the backs of slaves, tie others to rocks and drop them in the ocean and strap them all down naked in rows flat on the floor or in small cage-like separations. It's not pleasant to see, though I think my own brain has developed a protective denial that makes it incapable of comprehending the truth of the fact that somehow people once believed that this was acceptable and normal. I know it's true, but that disconnect at least separates my experience from the reality of image--and the image alone I wouldn't wish on too many, let alone the actuality.
Once again, Spielberg has achieved something excellent in his historical film-making, using the events surrounding La Amistad to explore the ideas of slavery and of the way the United States governmental systems work. It's not his best work, but it's supremely entertaining and well-made as is very nearly always the case with him. Inexplicably, especially in early scenes with Adams, there is a distractingly saccharine attempt by John Williams to conflate the images of Adams onscreen with political heroics. It comes off as a mis-cue, and really makes the film stumble a bit on those moments.
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