Darryl Lorenzo Washington is not only a friend but one of the most powerful essayist's I have ever read. In this issue of Dissent Magazine he turns his lens on the movie Precious.
Sex, Race, and Precious
Darryl Lorenzo Wellington - March 6, 2010
“IN THE beginning was not the shadow, but the act.” Ralph Ellison’s cause and effect dictum is applicable to any cinematic adaptation of a literary work: Before there was the movie, there was the book. But today—given the power of film, publicity, and celebrity—the cinematic shadow often takes precedence. The very title of Lee Daniels’s film Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire points viewers toward the original novel, but the great majority of viewers will never take the opportunity to compare film and text. They will never fully appreciate what was lost, gained, or rearranged, and they will never grasp where the narration has become dialogue or monologue. If the film is a major success, the cinematic visualization may become so dominant that the reader of the novel will lose the capacity to imagine the story. Staring at the written word, you will see the screen adaptation.
“IN THE beginning was not the shadow, but the act.” Ralph Ellison’s cause and effect dictum is applicable to any cinematic adaptation of a literary work: Before there was the movie, there was the book. But today—given the power of film, publicity, and celebrity—the cinematic shadow often takes precedence. The very title of Lee Daniels’s film Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire points viewers toward the original novel, but the great majority of viewers will never take the opportunity to compare film and text. They will never fully appreciate what was lost, gained, or rearranged, and they will never grasp where the narration has become dialogue or monologue. If the film is a major success, the cinematic visualization may become so dominant that the reader of the novel will lose the capacity to imagine the story. Staring at the written word, you will see the screen adaptation.
This will certainly be the case with Daniels’s visualization of the lead character of Sapphire’s novel—Claireece Precious Jones, who is portrayed (unforgettably) by Gabourey Sidibe. Harking back to the tradition of neorealist filmmakers like Vittorio De Sica (whose film Two Women is knowingly snippetted in Precious), Daniels cast an unknown with no professional acting experience. But Sidibe is more than an unfamiliar face. She mumbles, reluctantly makes eye contact, displays little expression and even less vocal dexterity. Sidibe doesn’t “portray” a character as much as embody her. Her performance isn’t an amazing piece of acting; it’s amazing for precisely giving the impression that she isn’t acting at all.
Gabourey Sidibe is surely
one of the unlikeliest personages in American movie history. Call her
big-boned, ample, bodacious, or plain fat, but her lead role in a major motion
picture is in itself a critique of the one-dimensionality of Hollywood body
images—which have become a parade of beautiful and handsome stars supposedly
portraying alcoholics, drug addicts, or ordinary people. Precious is a
depressed and abused sixteen years old, and Sidbe looks the part.
There she goes—in a movie
poster that achieves a certain shock effect merely by brandishing Sidibie’s
unfamiliar presence: sulky, head lowered, sneakers oversized. Sidibe’s physique
is an image that beauty-conscious America works against. Her character seems to
carry the burden of the extent to which society has belittled her. In the
background of the poster hover a pair of butterfly wings, and a glorious
imaginary crown tops Sidibe’s head. The earliest advertisements were captioned
Life is Precious. Sentimental, yes, but a little is okay for a story that is so
brutal and deadly.
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