Mudbound

Directed by Dee Rees.

2017. Rated R, 134 minutes.

Cast:

Carey Mulligan

Jason Clarke

Garrett Hedlund

Jason Mitchell

Mary J. Blige

Rob Morgan

Jonathan Banks

We meet a pair of white brothers, Henry (Clarke) and Jamie (Hedlund), as they struggle to dig their father's grave. Eventually, they flag down a black family riding by on a wagon, and asks for help. The film then switches into flashback mode. We get to see the events leading up to this moment and learn why this was no chance meeting. In fact, the fates of these two families are deeply intertwined. During happier times, Hap (Morgan), patriarch of the black family, has started saving his money with hopes of buying the farm on which they work. Meanwhile, Henry meets, marries, and starts a family with Laura (Mulligan), though she never seems to be all that in love with him. Also living with them is Henry's ornery dad Pappy (Banks). Henry uproots the whole clan when he buys a farm in a faraway town. Of course, it's the same farm Hap aspires to own. Instead, Hap and his family now become Henry's employees. Since this is the 1940s, black employees of a white family in the American south are a minor step above slaves. This time frame also dictates something else looms large over the nation's head - World War II. Therefore, two characters have gone off to fight for their country and are absent from the farm until returning home and trying to incorporate themselves, Jamie and Hap's son Ronsell (Mitchell). This take an already tenuous coexistence and turns it into a truly volatile mix.

On the surface, Mudbound is a film about race-relations in America at a time when the very fact of World War II presents challenges for the system of apartheid in place in this country at that time. The film uses historically accurate context to engender anger, sympathy, and empathy with and for various characters. It's easy to get caught up in the story we're being told. The actors, all of them, do a wonderful job conveying both the explicit and implicit emotions of the people they're playing. Jonathan Banks as Pappy is easiest to notice. His character's blatant and verbose racism ensures we actively dislike him. He's the proverbial person we love to hate and he plays it to the hilt. On the other end of the spectrum is Rob Morgan's Hap. He's not flawless because he can be seen as weak. Despite expressing big dreams, he is resigned to the notion that the ceiling on his potential is wherever whites have put it. Otherwise, we know he's a loving father and husband trying hard to do right by his family.

If Hap and Pappy give us recognizable tent posts representing good and evil, the other men present more complex personas. Like Hap, Henry is just a guy trying to support his brood. He loves his wife deeply, but is the emotionally closed off sort. He's a racist, but this facet of his being manifests itself in subtler ways than in his dad. It's born of handed down white privilege and entitlement rather than bloodthirsty vengefulness aimed at anyone who dares not know their place. Jamie and Ronsell represent two sides of the same coin. They are men who have had their horizons broadened by the experience of war. Neither subscribes to the old way of doing things, but can't escape it because it surrounds them. They're both fish out of water even though they're in their native pond. Because of this, and the fact both are self-nursing their own forms of PTSD, they establish the bond that gives the film much of its weight.

The rest of the weight comes from the women. Both carry a sadness and strength that gets in your bones. Laura's marriage to Henry has turned into a life she didn't bargain for. The muddy piece of real estate she's stuck on may as well be deserted island in the middle of the ocean. She's isolated from the person she wanted to be, leading an existence she seems ill-equipped to handle. The strength shows because she is trying to fight her way through, but through this her weakness is still visible in a few ways, including how much she leans on Hap's wife Florence (Blige). On the other hand, Florence can afford no such luxury. She's clearly the backbone of her family. Her sadness doesn't appear to be from dissatisfaction with her station, but from watching her husband put himself through the ringer, physically and emotionally, while trying to do what he deems to be man work - taking care of his own through any backbreaking means necessary.

Though often together, there isn't a friendship between Laura and Florence. It's a working relationship mired in the racial politics of the day. It's hard to say whether Laura is racist, but easy to see she benefits from and takes advantage of the social structure in place. It's easier to surmise that she just doesn't think the world could be any other way. Florence is wiser. She knows that questions from whites are really commands, so she does what she must. The layers of both women are brought to life by heartfelt performances. Carey Mulligan wrings every possible emotion out of Laura. Mary J. Blige reveals a bottomless well of strength without her character ever having to declare her power.

The movie itself has much power, as well. It explores the dynamics of family and race in no uncertain terms. Tension runs throughout the production, gradually increasing until we get a violent metaphor for things occurring in today's world. The particular Sophie's choice offered one character is not by happenstance. It's one made by many African-Americans every day. It doesn't usually rise to the level of life or death situation. Usually. But it does get that far, way too often. The trick to making this work within the context of the film is that it's horrifying no matter how you look at it. And it's damn near impossible to ignore its relevance to our current reality. The rash of killings of unarmed black men by police officers, and the furor over professional athletes kneeling for the National Anthem are conjured. So, too, is the present day bashing of said athletes for not being "grateful" in the eyes of some, including this country's president. The beauty of it all is that even if you can't draw parallels to these specific topics it still makes you ask fundamental questions of yourself, and possibly (er, probably), others.

Director Dee Rees has crafted a provocative film that seeks to anger as much as it seeks to enlighten. This is something at which she's adept. Her previous two films, Pariah (2011) and Bessie (2015) pulled the same trick. Through her steady hand, Mudbound succeeds on both fronts. She coaxes excellent performances out of her entire cast and pushes plenty of emotional buttons without coming off as manipulative. The one place we can see evidence of her direction being less than confident is in her use of narration. To be transparent, I rarely see the need to use narration in a movie. However, she does so beautifully in parts thanks to some wonderful prose lifted from the novel of the same name written by Hillary Jordan. In numerous other parts, it's simply extraneous. It's telling, not showing. Worse, it's telling what you're showing. All, or nearly all, of the narration could be removed and nothing would change. In the grand scheme of things, this is nit-picking. The overall product is a film that puts on the airs of a simpleton, yet has a philosopher's depth.