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No ‘White Saviors’ Overtake the Powerful and Illuminating ‘Selma’

Selma reclaims ownership of the Civil Rights movement for the courageous African-Americans that fought on the front lines, rather than the self-proclaimed white saviors that risked nothing but a bid for re-election.
2015-05-05

Among the many criticisms of Hollywood is the claim that the industry tends to rewrite American history to make whites come across as less villainous. In particular, Hollywood films about the civil rights movement in the United States almost always have a “white savior” character at the center, in which a noble white man or woman comes along to save the poor, pitiable African-Americans from their unjust suffering. The Help (2011), The Long Walk Home (1990), and Mississippi Burning (1988) are common examples of civil rights films that make an effort to highlight the goodness in whites.

The problem with this approach, of course, is that it assumes African-Americans were incapable of defending themselves, and that they needed white people to rescue them. This narrative undermines the many hard-fought battles of African-Americans throughout American history, and fails to account for the brave African-American men and women that stood up to their white oppressors during the Civil Rights Movement. While it’s certainly fair to suggest that a number of white people supported civil rights, films with the white savior character seem more concerned with making white audiences feel less guilty about their role in these injustices. As such, Ava DuVernay’s Selma (2014) is significant because it tells the story of the civil rights movement from the perspective of the African-American activists that marched for their cause, and it refuses to whitewash the history in order to make white audiences more comfortable.

Selma focuses on the historical march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama in 1965, in which Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (David Oyelowo) and his followers publicly protested for equal voting rights. King and his wife Coretta (Carmen Ejogo) are at the center of this film that also highlights the role other African-Americans in Selma played, including Andrew Young (Andre Holland), Diane Nash (Tessa Thompson), John Lewis (Stephan James), James Bevel (Common), and Annie Lee Cooper (Oprah Winfrey), among others. As they debate how to get their message across, DuVernay successfully captures the spirit of the movement and all of its complexities.

Oyelowo gives a towering performance as Dr. King, and it’s frankly laughable that his work wasn’t recognized with an Academy Award. This is the kind of performance that movie lovers will discover decades from now and wonder how the Academy could have been so shortsighted. Oyelowo memorably captures King’s dynamic presence as an orator, but even more impressive is his command of the quieter, more intimate moments with Coretta, in which a slight shift in body language speaks volumes about his state of mind. The rest of the cast, as well, deserves credit for bringing life to these memorable characters.

Selma is a forceful reminder that real social change is achieved through patience, hard work, and sacrifice. This is in stark contrast to contemporary digital activism, in which social media users take to Twitter to call attention to a global injustice from the comfort of their bedrooms. The intentions behind #BlackLivesMatter and #YesAllWomen are noble, but as Bernadette N. Lim argues in The Harvard Crimson, “the hashtag is becoming not only the preferred form of social protest, but the onlyform of social activism and social justice of [the millennial generation].”

If Selma’s legacy can teach us anything, it’s that hashtag justice should not become a substitute for real world mobilization, in which concerned individuals from around the world converge in a physical space to push for social change. It’s easy for those in power to ignore a collection of tweets in cyberspace, but it’s a lot more difficult for them to ignore herds of people on the Capitol lawn. In addition, the film shows us that social change doesn’t happen overnight, and that protesters must stay the course until the objective is met.

Selma has been surrounded by controversy since its release. A number of prominent individuals have criticized DuVernay’s depiction of president Lyndon B. Johnson, including Maureen Dowd, Julian Zelizer, Mark Updegrove, Richard Cohen, and Joseph A. Califano Jr. The general complaint is that DuVernay portrays Johnson as a reluctant hero, when in reality he was supportive of voting rights from the beginning. It’s telling that most of the criticism comes from those like Califano that seem to be in the business of protecting Johnson’s reputation and preserving his legacy. This legacy has already been tarnished by Johnson’s well-known escalation of the Vietnam War, so these individuals want to ensure that he is still celebrated for his domestic policies.

Such criticisms are irrelevant, and as Mark Harris of Grantland points out, “It’s little wonder that DuVernay’s movie, the first on the subject by a woman of color and the first not to view mid-20th-century civil rights purely as an example of presidential, judicial, or legislative beneficence, has distressed those who, even 50 years later, would be far more at home in a room with President Johnson than with Dr. King.” Harris’ point, which has considerable merit, is that the critics are less concerned with Johnson’s cinematic depiction than that an African-American woman is responsible for this depiction. The question of who owns the history is a crucial one, and with Selma, DuVernay reclaims ownership for the many brave and courageous African-American men and women that fought on the front lines, and takes it away from the self-proclaimed white saviors that risked nothing but a bid for reelection.

The Blu-ray/DVD combo pack comes with a number of informative special features, including a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the film, deleted scenes, the music video to Common and John Legend’s Oscar-winning original song “Glory”, and feature commentary by DuVernay and Oyelowo. Some of it is filler, but the commentary by DuVernay and Oyelowo is informative, and the deleted scenes are interesting.

DuVernay has come a long way since her low-budget debut I Will Follow (2010) and the similarly modest follow-up Middle of Nowhere (2012). These films showcase her ability to capture quiet moments between characters, but they couldn’t have prepared us for the sweeping scale of Selma, in which low-key interior conversations are juxtaposed with large-scale exterior sequences featuring hundreds of extras. DuVernay skillfully balances the epic with the intimate in a way that hasn’t been seen since Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor (1987).

Bradford Young’s cinematography significantly contributes to DuVernay’s vision. The interior scenes rely heavily on shadows, whereas the exterior scenes are bright and colorful. This contrast in color represents the shift in moods, as Dr. King and his followers are proud and defiant in public, but often have doubts about their cause in private. In addition to Young’s cinematography, Mark Friedberg’s production design, Kim Jennings’ art direction, Elizabeth Kennan’s set decoration, and Ruth E. Carter’s costume design adhere closely to historical details, and Spencer Averick’s editing maintains an effective pace to keep the audience engaged.

Selma is a powerful and emotionally resonant film that provides insight into how social change is achieved. Unlike other Hollywood films about the civil rights movement, Selma does not give credit to a white savior. It acknowledges the positive role that Johnson and other whites played, but it doesn’t forget that African-Americans were the ones that risked their lives in the pursuit of justice.

RATING 8 / 10