The Birth of a Nation is a film that’s its own kind of religion. Doused in white light – as if to suggest God is always by his side – it’s the true story of Nat Turner (Nate Parker) who in August, 1831, led a violent rebellion to free himself and other Virginia Slaves.
When we meet Nate, he’s born into a typical slave scenario…the little nappy-haired child in tattered clothes, running behind the Plantation’s little white boy in navy knickers. Late at night, young Nate reads by candlelight, an almost child prodigy…evidence of things to come. His father too, instill in Nate, that he is a child of God and nobody can take that away from him.
When the Lady of the House (Penelope Ann Miller) sees Nate’s worth, she decides to groom him in formal reading. He’ll someday be a Preacher to his people, reading directly from the Bible; that is until the house master passes away…his dying words to return Nate to the cotton. He’ll be a field hand.
Samuel Turner (Arnie Hammer) is the son of the House Master, now assuming all duties. He takes Nate as his personal slave, treating him – by slave standards – fairly well. As a matter of fact, when a young woman, Cherry (Aja Naomi King) is to have her fate sealed on the auction block, Nate convinces Turner to purchase Cherry. He does. Soon after a romance between Nate and Cherry ensues, as she lives comfortably under the roof of the main house, caretaking the women.
At a certain point Nate is seen as a business opportunity to local farmers…A man who can preach to his own kind, squelching any rise of the blacks, instead calming them to the gospel of peace. And his landowner, Mr. Turner, can make a pretty penny.
The story moves at a poky yet detailed clip, earning its moments and building to a caring crescendo. Every scene leaves us anticipating some atrocity when sometimes all that’s delivered is the detail of a butterfly’s wings. In essence it comes across both considerate and inconsiderate, teetering on a balance of fear and calm.
As an audience we connect with our hero, Nate, every one of our senses engaged into every scene. We can smell the sweat of the cotton pickers, we can feel the prick of its thorn. We can hear the sound of field crickets and whips, and taste the salt of pork ad potatoes.
It’s clear that no white man could endure the bigotry, humility and grace of a slave. I have never walked out of a movie wanting to slither out in shame, but at the same time stun-gunned into the belly of the truth. This film isn’t Hollywood fluff violence, it’s historically rich…the light of hope shining through the dark of bondage.
The Lord is their light. All they wanted was to be treated like a man.
Every decade of our lives, thankfully, take us further away from such inhumane atrocities. This movie is the Titanic of slave films.
As for our writer, director and star, Nate Parker, this film’s journey was a seven-year labor of love. I would say the rest of the Academy Award nominees might not even bother showing up for the red carpet.
Four tiaras.