An astounding biopic that shows us the heart of (a) man.

Rating: Null/10 (16 February 2015)

The film begins with an intimate close-up of Martin Luther King facing the camera, speaking. In dim lighting, against an ill-defined background, he could be anywhere, talking to anyone, the power of his words carrying an unquantifiable potential for change. Then we learn he is in a hotel room, 'backstage' so to speak, preparing his acceptance speech for his Nobel Peace Prize in the company of his wife. This introduces what the film does so well: giving us a real, tangible human King beyond the thunderously confident public presence that we are all acquainted with, and choosing a time in history that perfectly illustrates this. Had the film gone back earlier in time, we might have had a day-time biopic in a 'rising through the ranks' type manner, if any later it would lose the significance of what was achieved here. It can be too easy to forget that beyond the impeccably delivered speeches King was a living, breathing man living moment-to- moment, fighting against ever-opposing tides. In just the first few minutes in King's eyes we can see both his trademark indomitable confidence and a real tentativeness, and I wondered why David Oyelowo has not just been brushed aside all awards season, but rarely talked about. I mean, all resounding adjectives aside, surely this is one of the most convincing performances of the last year alone.
An admirable performance can only elevate a film so far, and this might have been another Dallas Buyers Club scenario in which its actors' magic is such that it convinces you the film is better than it really is. I think Selma avoids this, and never lets itself become a satisfied, crowd-pleasing uplift that we leave the cinema from convinced that humanity is wonderful and will always triumph. There is generally enough weight to the film to keep it grounded in not just something that feels like reality, but one that could collapse at any moment, even though the general course of events have been rendered and we know their destination. Oyelowo is largely responsible for this, yes, as he really conveys the perpetual-struggle of King's position, but the director and cinematographer deserve credit too. When King is in prison, he is barely lit, swamped in doubt, and in this quiet reflection we can really appreciate the immense difficulty of fulfilling his responsibility to himself, to the God he frequently talks about and prays too and the legions of black people across America that he has to ensure remain just that, legions, united, and not just a chaotic and vengeful swarm, which they probably have every right to be. When he and his followers are assaulted by police as they attempt to protest outside the registration office, we can see the anger, disgust, sympathy, and barely repressible instinct to physically act somehow, as he holds so firmly to his complete civility. Would a more by-the-numbers biopic have done this? Perhaps, but not so well.
When Mrs King quietly confronts her husband about his possible infidelities, his yes-or-no response takes an agonisingly long time to arrive, and as the camera lingers on his face we can sense him desperately considering everything, because here is not just a man caught in an uncomfortable domestic situation, but something much larger than that. His personal and public life are so intertwined that they cannot be separated. That long silence between the question and the answer is evidence of a director knowing exactly what they are doing. Ava Gardner knows that this is a man in a unique situation, and she really allows us to experience that. As well as this film escapes a by-the-numbers routine, there are still times where it feels like its lapsing into a formulaic mode to push the drama forward. All of the presidential scenes, as competently acted as they were and as necessary as they were for dramatic conflict, just felt perfunctory compared to the rest of the film. People have complained that the portrayal of Lyndon B Johnson is historically inaccurate to the point where he is disreputable or unforgiving, but the film makes it pretty clear that as much as this man might be hesitant for his own selfish reasons is essentially navigating a vast field of political land mines, and is not so much uncooperative as he is cautious. But all these scenes of the president that the film regularly cuts away to, usually to present the political reaction to the latest event, just seem like the film wants to keep reminding us of the scale of King's fight, or that the fight isn't with El Presidento himself but with something more abstract like the firm values of society, or maybe so we can feel warm and exhilarated every time we cut back to King. When King and Johnson are together the strained relationship between the two is constantly tugging in differing directions, and it's interesting, but otherwise not so much. Tom Wilkinson is always effective, but maybe his character just feels like most other reluctant-to-help-the-hero types we've encountered before, and does get to do much more. Giovanni Ribisi is like a less amorous Waylon Smithers, and Tim Roth added to the novelty of having two British actors playing the most important American politicians of the film.
Then there's Oprah Winfrey, who managed to sneak into the film without drawing attention to her, or without the film having to constantly announce her presence. The film has integrity, which comes naturally with the material, it has authenticity, as the archive footage at the end demonstrates the attention to detail and the sound-bites of King himself prove how indistinguishable Oyelowo is from the figure he is playing, and it has artistic flourish, and my mind is continually drawn back to the shot of the protesters in the nightly march, silhouetted against stark white light and running desperately, in a moment of an overpowering societal divide that feels like something from Schindler's List.