12 Years A Slave (2013)

There are films that we say we want to see; others that we say we ought to see. Sometimes, these two motives coalesce. More often that not, however, the prospect of a weighty, historical drama with a personal tale of abduction, betrayal, and persecution at its core is a daunting one. Steve McQueen's 12 Years A Slave, as its title suggests, really is a gruelling ride.

Based on actual memoirs, the narrative centres on the harrowing experiences of Solomon Northup, a New York-born musician who was taken hostage and sold into slavery for over a decade in the mid-nineteenth century. Northup is astutely and agonisingly underplayed by Chiwetel Ejiofor, who uses physical gestures and silence to convey the slave's reality as one of slow, monotonous horror. He is joined by much touted newcomer Lupita Nyong'o, who gives a dignified and restrained performance as the shockingly abused Patsey.

Slavery, despite its impact on our historical consciousness, is rarely tackled by filmmakers, perhaps because it has left such a complex and unresolved legacy in contemporary race relations. As director, McQueen crucially avoids the exuberant, slapstick violence of a film like Quentin Tarantino's Djano Unchained, using much more subtly affecting strategies to gradually construct a picture of unrelenting suffering. His camera doesn't look away when the lashes of Michael Fassbender's slave owner seem to reach a climax. Instead, he holds his gaze, disregarding the traditional pattern of pain followed by a release. There is no way out here, for the victim or the viewer.

The problem with McQueen's fidelity to cinematic realism is that, as the violence goes on, the experience becomes unbearable and, subsequently, numbing. There is no antidote, as perhaps there shouldn't be for a crime still awaiting atonement. But this makes for a very difficult two and a half hours in the cinema, which is not helped by the fact that Northup's personal history is somewhat underdeveloped. I thought that the depiction of his family home in New York merited more attention, as it would have given his escape route a more concrete endpoint: a destination the audience could have imagined with him as a counter to the hell of the deep South. Moreover, it may be a beautifully shot film, born of McQueen's aesthetically-attuned artist's eye, but the script seemed fairly uninspired, using dialogue only to generate specific incidents or create moments of visual tension.

Whilst undoubtedly captivating, perhaps in the sense that it holds its viewers captive as much as it commands their attention, 12 Years A Slave is a devastating film. Its shockwaves were felt long after the credits rolled onto the screen and people milled around outside the cinema, already trying to forget. A towering visual achievement; it is almost unwatchable.