AMISTAD: Save the Slaves

Every other day leading up to the release of his new movie Bridge of Spies, we will be dissecting a film in Steven Spielberg's oeuvre. I've picked ten movies spanning the length of Spielberg's career, five of which I have seen and five of which I haven't. Amistad is Spielberg's attempt to deliver a meaningful film about slavery that isn't packed with stereotypes and fetishism.

Other Reviews in this Series: Duel, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1941, Empire of the Sun, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, Catch Me If You Can, War of the Worlds, Munich, Lincoln

Other Spielberg Reviews: Jaws, Jurassic Park, The Lost World, Bridge of Spies

(If you haven't already, check out my new archive in the corner ---->)

Director: Steven Spielberg
Writer: David Franzoni
Cast: Djimon Hounsou, Matthew McConaughey, Morgan Freeman, Anthony Hopkins, Stellan Skarsgard, Pete Postlethwaite, Nigel Hawthorne, David Paymer, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Anna Paquin
Runtime: 155 mins
1997

In the year 1839, a group of captured African slaves broke free from captivity, revolted, and killed most of the crew of a Spanish slaving ship called the Amistad. They were ultimately captured by the American navy and brought to America for trial. Contrary to what you might think, the trial had less to do with the brutal murder of the crew and more to do with the ownership of the African men--the surviving slavers, the Queen of Spain, and the American ideal of freedom all made claims. This case ultimately made it to the Supreme Court, where the slaves were defended in grand fashion by former president John Quincy Adams. This is the story of Spielberg's Amistad.

Yet Amistad feels like it is more than just one story. It feels like two movies nesting within each other. One is anchored in the perspective of the slaves, and kicks off the movie with one of the most harrowing opening sequences I've ever seen: the revolt. Spielberg pulls no punches; the violence is wretched and brutal, the slaves bloodthirsty, the captors merciless. The camerawork is an orchestra of disorienting close-ups, lit hectically by lightning and lanternlight, punctuated with desperation. Then it is over, and we follow the journey of these Africans whose language and customs we do not understand, but whose plight is already all too familiar to us. The camera swings up and reveals the breathtaking stars, the captives' only guide home.

The other movie is anchored in the perspective of white members of the political and legal behemoth that is the United States' judicial system. This perspective supersedes the other, taking up most of the runtime. It is more visually and structurally typical, with dialogue-driven courtroom scenes and earnest pleas for help and justice. This movie is less artful but just as competent as the other.

The true identity of Amistad isn't either of these movies, but the thing that exists where these two movies clash. As this recent Birth.Movies.Death essay articulates, Spielberg and co. are clearly aware of the pitfalls that movies about slavery are liable to fall into: the Noble Savage, the White Savior, Brutality Fetish, etc. These are tropes are not only lazy and played out, but they undermine the very purpose of the movies that contain them. If you want to show how bad slavery is, why are you whitewashing the black protagonist? If you want to show that people of color deserve equality and independence, why can they accomplish nothing without the help of the generous white man? Does it give you pleasure to linger so on the pain of minorities?


Spielberg engages heavily with each of these tropes, but by juggling two movies and allowing each to inform the other, he ultimately inverts the tropes in what is certainly meant to be a wake-up call for his predominantly white audience.

The most interesting work of Amistad may be what Spielberg does with language. During that aforementioned opening sequence, we are given subtitles for the Spanish slavers, but not the African captives. We identify with their need to be free, but in every other way we are alienated from them and placed in the terrified perspective of the white man. What are we supposed to think when the hero-to-be Cinque rams a saber through a man's gut over and over again, howling with fury? How are we supposed to feel?

Then, when the court proceedings begin, Cinque and the other slaves are bewildered, unhelpful, and still untranslated. It isn't until about halfway through the extensive runtime that the defense attorney Baldwin (Matthew McConaughey) and his ally Theodore (Morgan Freeman) find an American who came from the same part of Africa as the defendants, and can finally let us into their minds through the power of language. From there we come to empathize with them, and it is the contribution of Cinque (Djimon Hounsou) that ultimately inspires John Quincy Adams's (Anthony Hopkins) decisive testimony.

Thus Spielberg forces us to recognize that the common ground of humanity isn't skin color, or national lines, or shared culture--it is language, the ability to communicate, that allows us to build empathy with those who are unlike ourselves. The movie doesn't condone or condemn the brutal slaughter of the opening scene, but it does expect us to be mature enough to understand it.

Spielberg always sucks top shelf performances out of his actors, but I was particularly struck by the array of talent on display in Amistad. I knew many of the performers, but they were so deep in their roles that I several times second guessed myself and had to consult IMDB to be certain. Djimon Hounsou, Anthony Hopkins, Matthew McConaughey, and Peter Firth were particular highlights, while Morgan Freeman's role consisted of walking around, sitting around, and looking at things.

Many of the recent arguments for representation of diversity have insisted that it isn't good enough for people of color, women, etc. to be written and directed by white men--they need to be telling their own stories. That's true. When the dominant class in the power structure sits down to tell the story of the subjugated class, most of the time it's about the dominant class's ego or goals. Even when it is well-intentioned, it is difficult to avoid pitfalls of exploitation. But Spielberg's lesson for us has been the same time and time again throughout his career--the greatest human tool for progress and understanding is empathy, and empathy is the bread and butter of filmmaking. We need more people of color telling stories that white people listen to, but we also need more white storytellers who follow Spielberg's guiding principles.

3.5 / 5  BLOBS