Precious: Based on the Novel PUSH by Sapphire

Precious: Based on the Novel PUSH by Sapphire

109 Minutes

“There are way too many white people in this theatre,” I thought, waiting for the screening of Precious to begin. Once the film was over and I sprinted back to my car to avoid the sound of people muttering how powerful the movie was, I wondered how the rest of them felt. How many of them felt the usual white guilt coupled with self-satisfaction that they were giving a movie about race a chance? How many were completely alienated by a film that features about three minor white speaking roles? How many were unable to identify with an illiterate, obese, impoverished multiple rape victim? How many wrote it off as some kind of Oprah Winfrey/Tyler Perry black propaganda piece?

However, Precious has very little to do with race (she could be black or white or Asian or Hispanic and it would be about the same), but many viewers will be unable to get past race to see the universality of the story–overcoming the endless cycle of abuse.

Sixteen-year-old Claireece Precious Jones (Gabourey Sidibe) lives a life of such cruelty that she disappears into extravagant music video fantasies where she’s wearing fancy dresses and only mere inches away from a young hunk. In reality, she lives in Harlem with her mother (Mo’Nique), an abusive, hateful monster who, when we first meet her, gives Precious a head injury and spills a glass of water on her to wake her. Repeatedly raped by her father, Precious is pregnant with her second child.

Precious sells its protagonist’s abuse by making us feel it. As Precious takes physical and verbal abuse, Precious inflicts emotional abuse on us. Some may call this manipulation, but I call it filmmaking. Nearly every film manipulates: it’s just a matter of how well it does it. Precious is good manipulation.

For how heavy it is, Precious never feels as cheap as the subject matter would suggest. This contrasts with the Lee Daniels-produced Monster’s Ball, an exercise in misery so overwrought I’m getting depressed just thinking about it. In Precious, the only refuge from inhumanity is humanity, which Precious finds in the Each One Teach One alternative school program, where she learns to read and write and express herself. Humanity also comes with things like friendship and bonding via Precious’ classmates, in whom Geoffrey Fletcher’s script finds natural humor. To call it comic relief would be misleading, because they’re not clowns but fun and likable as kids goofing off and razzing one another in class.

Daniels’s camera, with its zooms and slow motion tricks, is way too flashy and feel like he’s trying to make the film visually interesting when the material requires more subtlety (oh, and was already interesting). Subtlety like the way Precious sits in front of the mirror and the image reflected is that of a thing, pretty white girl not unlike the images of Cyndi Lauper on her wall. It’s a static shot and Daniels’ camera does nothing else to draw attention to it. Otherwise, his overcompensation steals a bit of thunder from Precious’ music video-styled fantasies that pop up whenever trauma occurs. This, however, pales next to Daniels’ worst artistic decision–a nonsensical scene where the camera circles Precious in a classroom with black and white images of black history projected on the walls. Is this another fantasy? By becoming literate is she magically conjuring Great Moments in Black History? The effect is obvious, but the execution blows the reality/fantasy dichotomy.

Everything else works in spite of Daniels’ missteps in direction, especially the actors. Mo’Nique in particular stands out as the abusive mother–unlikable, completely irredeemable yet, by the end of the film, grudgingly understandable. This is a monumental achievement for a comedian whose meatiest role seems to have been a UPN sitcom. Sidibe, a first-time actor, nails it as Precious by being able to sell both the harrowing real-life scenes and the glamorous fantasy segments. Mariah Carey and Lenny Kravitz surprise in smaller roles requiring no hint of celebrity or ego. Is it possible that they were actually cast for their acting abilities?

For all that the film throws at us, it is surprisingly uplifting. The difference between this and some sports movie is that Precious earns the right to be uplifting by way of its serious real-world concerns. There are no car crashes the night before the big game or tearful funeral scenes. It offers no closure (we can assume how Precious’ story will end) but a glimmer of hope that there is a way out.

by Danny Djeljosevic