'Lost in the ambiguous discussion of trauma is nuance. The question shouldn’t be whether a movie should capture Black pain,' writes Robert Daniels. 'The problem in film arises when the camera only asks for an audience to witness'
. Unlike his cousin, who keeps his eyes downcast, Emmett can’t help but look right at her. To him, she looks like a movie star. And as he leaves, he wolf-whistles at her. Days later, in the dead of night, Emmett is dragged from his uncle’s house by Bryant’s husband Roy and his cousin JW Milan , who torture him and dump his lifeless, swollen body into the Tallahatchie River where it was later discovered.
The swift reaction is indicative of the pressure faced by Black filmmakers not just on the subject of race, but with any topic. They are often expected to tell an important story, to be wholly original, to offer the hope and joy stamped out by the real world, to redress history, to entertain, all without succumbing to miserabilism or glibness.
Chukwu focuses on the aftermath of what happened to Emmett. When Mamie first enters the room to view her son’s body, it is obscured from our view. Chukwu places the lens just behind a gurney, only to pan up and reveal his unsettling remains. Mamie examines him; as the camera gently follows, she tenderly runs her fingers from his feet, pausing at every scar, to his hip, and up to his face. It seems cruel to linger on his ravaged features, but Chukwu has a purpose.
Consider the film’s most unflinching scene, when Mamie, in spite of the harm that could befall her, decides to take the witness stand. There she recounts her examination of her son’s body, how she lingered on the memories trapped underneath his skin. It’s a tremendous one-shot that’s as composed as Mamie, which not only demands the audience not look away, but see her tell the courtroom who her son was.