Re: The Films of 2012
Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2012 11:14 pm
Black Venus (Abdellatif Kechiche)
Kechiche's followup to The Secret of the Grain explores the story of Sarah Baartman, the "Hottentot Venus" of 19th-century London and Paris sideshow infamy. As far as I can tell, it's still without proper US distribution and may never find it, since it's a lengthy (164 minutes) and bracingly confrontational film. Still, it's often fascinating, especially during the first half, and I think it's a big step up from Kechiche's previous film.
The film spares none of the horrific details of Baartman's circumstances, although it's more complex than a simple condemnation of her masters and audiences. I don't think it ever comes close to endorsing or justifying her exploitation, but I think it makes it fairly clear that a person of her race and social standing would have had few if any good options in either South Africa or Europe at the time. Her master in London tells her that she would have been destined to live her live as a servant in Cape Town, but at least has a chance to earn money for her own personal advancement by participating in the shows. Modern audiences are sure to see how implausible it is that she'll accrue the benefits he promises, but I think it's also possible to see how she would have believed it, or at least would have wanted to given her disheartening alternatives even if she was to return home.
Kechiche turns that empathy on its ear, though, during a trial brought by British abolitionist do-gooders in attempt to free her, in which a supposedly sympathetic court audience turns its hostility toward Sarah as soon as her testimony deviates from what she wants to hear. Again, I think what the movie does here is fairly unique, telling the story from a modern perspective but not forgetting that social norms and moral perspectives were much different then, and her would-be saviors are not given the heroic treatment by the film that we might expect. Another example of this is the film's different treatment of Sarah's audiences; I think it goes much easier on the working-class people of London, who can't help but being overwhelmed by the exoticism of the specacle, than it does on the wealthy, libertine Parisian audiences, who become immediately bored with Sarah when they notice that she's not enjoying herself like they are. There's also a wickedly satiricial interlude when Sarah is examined by a team of scientists.
Looming over the film's examination of exploitation, of course, is Yahima Torres, the actress who plays Sarah. The film reconstructs Sarah's performances in agonizing detail, and Torres is subjected to much of the same humiliation that Sarah was, although I assume that Torres's environment was surely inherently more controlled and supportive than Sarah's. One might say that Torres is playing the role voluntarily, although the film doesn't really dispute that Sarah voluntarily consented to leave her home in South Africa, either. Of course Sarah most likely had no idea what lay in store for her in Europe, but Torres is a first-time film actress, and it's easy to imagine that Torres was unprepared for the impact of playing such a demanding role. She may say now that it was a rewarding experience, but if the film's commercial success is at stake, would she feel pressure to put a positive spin on it, like Sarah does in the film? To what degree are we, as the film's audience, culpable in the exploitation of Torres, regardless of how voluntary her participation is? I don't really know the answers to these questions, but while I think there's a danger of making false equivalences between the two women's circumstances, it's hard for me not to draw parallels between them. If nothing else, it frankly makes the semi-controversial issue here in the US of black actresses playing maids in The Help look a little petty and ridiculous.
Unfortunately, I think the film loses its distinct character during the last act, as Sarah's fortunes take a turn for the worse - no matter how bad things are they can always get worse, I guess - and the film becomes a document of her decline into prostitution and ill health. This feels like much more familiar territory. I momentarily thought the movie was flirting with the idea that outright prostitution was a relief for Sarah from the carnival circuit, which might have been a provocative critique of the situation, but I'm not really sure that's the case. It's a disappointingly conventional denouement for a movie that otherwise takes a challenging approach to a very difficult subject.
Kechiche's followup to The Secret of the Grain explores the story of Sarah Baartman, the "Hottentot Venus" of 19th-century London and Paris sideshow infamy. As far as I can tell, it's still without proper US distribution and may never find it, since it's a lengthy (164 minutes) and bracingly confrontational film. Still, it's often fascinating, especially during the first half, and I think it's a big step up from Kechiche's previous film.
The film spares none of the horrific details of Baartman's circumstances, although it's more complex than a simple condemnation of her masters and audiences. I don't think it ever comes close to endorsing or justifying her exploitation, but I think it makes it fairly clear that a person of her race and social standing would have had few if any good options in either South Africa or Europe at the time. Her master in London tells her that she would have been destined to live her live as a servant in Cape Town, but at least has a chance to earn money for her own personal advancement by participating in the shows. Modern audiences are sure to see how implausible it is that she'll accrue the benefits he promises, but I think it's also possible to see how she would have believed it, or at least would have wanted to given her disheartening alternatives even if she was to return home.
Kechiche turns that empathy on its ear, though, during a trial brought by British abolitionist do-gooders in attempt to free her, in which a supposedly sympathetic court audience turns its hostility toward Sarah as soon as her testimony deviates from what she wants to hear. Again, I think what the movie does here is fairly unique, telling the story from a modern perspective but not forgetting that social norms and moral perspectives were much different then, and her would-be saviors are not given the heroic treatment by the film that we might expect. Another example of this is the film's different treatment of Sarah's audiences; I think it goes much easier on the working-class people of London, who can't help but being overwhelmed by the exoticism of the specacle, than it does on the wealthy, libertine Parisian audiences, who become immediately bored with Sarah when they notice that she's not enjoying herself like they are. There's also a wickedly satiricial interlude when Sarah is examined by a team of scientists.
Looming over the film's examination of exploitation, of course, is Yahima Torres, the actress who plays Sarah. The film reconstructs Sarah's performances in agonizing detail, and Torres is subjected to much of the same humiliation that Sarah was, although I assume that Torres's environment was surely inherently more controlled and supportive than Sarah's. One might say that Torres is playing the role voluntarily, although the film doesn't really dispute that Sarah voluntarily consented to leave her home in South Africa, either. Of course Sarah most likely had no idea what lay in store for her in Europe, but Torres is a first-time film actress, and it's easy to imagine that Torres was unprepared for the impact of playing such a demanding role. She may say now that it was a rewarding experience, but if the film's commercial success is at stake, would she feel pressure to put a positive spin on it, like Sarah does in the film? To what degree are we, as the film's audience, culpable in the exploitation of Torres, regardless of how voluntary her participation is? I don't really know the answers to these questions, but while I think there's a danger of making false equivalences between the two women's circumstances, it's hard for me not to draw parallels between them. If nothing else, it frankly makes the semi-controversial issue here in the US of black actresses playing maids in The Help look a little petty and ridiculous.
Unfortunately, I think the film loses its distinct character during the last act, as Sarah's fortunes take a turn for the worse - no matter how bad things are they can always get worse, I guess - and the film becomes a document of her decline into prostitution and ill health. This feels like much more familiar territory. I momentarily thought the movie was flirting with the idea that outright prostitution was a relief for Sarah from the carnival circuit, which might have been a provocative critique of the situation, but I'm not really sure that's the case. It's a disappointingly conventional denouement for a movie that otherwise takes a challenging approach to a very difficult subject.