It's amazing that the dynamic life of Harriet Tubman has never been adapted to film by a major studio for a mainstream audience. The slave who became an abolitionist -- indeed, perhaps the most visibly active abolitionist -- is brought vividly to life and takes central focus in Kasi Lemmons's newest film. Cynthia Erivo embodies the icon in a stunning and overdue leading star turn, and her performance demands all the acclaim and respect it is getting. But what's fascinating to me about this film isn't Erivo's recreation of the character, but the way the character is presented.
Harriet is basically a superhero story. Fitting, because the historical Tubman is certainly nothing less than a superhero. The film dresses her in velvet, once she frees herself, and her finery stands out sharply against the burlap and sackcloth of her enslaved escapees. She never looks unkempt, never looks unduly victimized or exploited. The film allows her a dignity and beauty surprising in a movie about such ugly violence. She is, in many ways, the Captain America or Captain Marvel of the antebellum mid-south. We follow her from slavery to freedom, and back and forth as she becomes "Moses", singing secret songs to summon her people out of bondage and into the wilderness.
But for a historical drama -- a biopic -- to so lionize its own protagonist could be suspect to the wrong audience. And it is: I myself found parts of the formulaic plot structure somewhat dull. And more than once I bristled at the truncated bits of fact being sidelined in favor of seemingly fictitious drama. In the second half of the film, Tubman's former owner hires a black bounty hunter to catch his runaway, and their encounters -- including his unspeakably brutal murder of Janelle Monae's character -- feel cheap and contrived. No wonder some are arguing that these additional scenes are problematic. They are, especially if you choose to view the film as historical record.
But, for it being only the first major picture about Tubman, I think it's a damn fine attempt. Sure, it sacrifices some aesthetic integrity for mainstream purposes, but this is the kind of movie that will become a perennial classroom viewing event. Perhaps nowhere is it more clear that this story is not meant as historical treatise than in the strange depiction of Tubman's famed affliction. She calls it God talking to her. It looks like a sort of epilepsy. The film allows us to see her visions: sometimes as flashbacks, flash-forwards, or altered versions of events we're not quite sure where to place, the visions are presented in an unfocused blue-scale hue. What to make of it? Think carefully, because your answer may change your interpretation of the character.
You can argue Lemmons's choice to minimize bloody brutality in favor of thrilling escapes and grounded drama. You can criticize the fictionalized parts and dissect the facts. You can say this should be a sweeping epic about the hero who should be on our $20 bill. Or you can take the film as the appropriate-for-younger-audiences picture it is. You can accept the film's simplistic approach to its subject because it paves the way for future, more nuanced, approaches. You can dig into its inspiring, intersectional feminist message. But really, any movie that ends with a black woman leading a raid on Southern forces is more than worth a watch.
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