12 Years a Slave, Fidelity, Pt. 1 (Final Blog Post)

By this point it has almost become trite to refer to director Steve McQueen’s Best Picture-winning 12 Years a Slave as a ‘controversial’ or ‘polarizing’ work; McQueen’s use of unflinching—at times painful—realism is one of the film’s most enduring, eye-opening qualities, while also being the film’s (arguably) greatest lightning rod of contention.

One consequence of being a Best Picture-winning film, it almost goes without saying that 12 Years a Slave has been a massive critical success (Out of Africa or Dances With Wolves warrant those italics, among others). Its formidable aggregate score of 97% on Rotten Tomatoes would seem to support that notion. The small minority of critics who wrote against the film commonly criticized McQueen’s work as safe, while criticizing certain aspects of the film’s desired ‘aesthetic purity’ (despite its grisly subject matter).

The majority of critics writing for the film have praised such aspects as the performances of the principle cast, the visceral and unrelenting sense of realism, lush cinematography, and purported fidelity to Solomon Northup’s story. While I may not agree with the premise that fidelity should be utilized as an evaluative criterion, examining the fidelity of 12 Years a Slave—in relation to its source novel—is a telling way to identify where artistic license has been taken by McQueen and company, while allowing audiences and critics to speculate as to the rationale behind such changes.

Lupita Nyong'o won universal acclaim--and numerous accolades--for her debut film role.

          
Familiarity with Solomon Northup’s memoir is certainly not a prerequisite for viewing (or appreciating) 12 Years a Slave, and yet, knowledge of the original story provides a great deal of historical and narrative context. This understanding also succeeds in highlighting instances of dramatic license taken by McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley, which often stand in stark contrast to what is suggested or portrayed in Northup’s memoir.

One of these moments occurs early in the film as we witness a recently enslaved Solomon pleasuring a slave woman he discovers in bed with him. This occurrence is never mentioned or alluded to in Northup’s memoir, and is an entirely fictitious creation of McQueen and Ridley. 

 

Solomon Northup's unexpected sexual encounter.   Another instance of narrative license transpires shortly after Solomon is kidnapped and placed on a Louisiana-bound steamer, when a sailor threatens to rape a slave woman and a male slave intervenes. The sailor immediately kills him without hesitation; a decision questioned by many, as slaves were obviously considered valuable pieces of property, and the sailor is not the owner.

 

Solomon Northup and his co-conspirators en route to New Orleans. One final example of notable artistic license was observed through McQueen and Ridley’s portrayal of Solomon’s first owner, William Ford (played by Benedict Cumberbatch). In his memoir, Northup paints Ford as benevolent man who is simply blinded by both his circumstances and upbringing, saying, “There was never a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford.” This glowing characterization found in Northup’s memoir is drastically altered in the film adaptation, which portrays Ford as something of a hypocrite. This portrayal certainly seems to contradict Northup’s memory of Ford, of whom Northup wrote: “Were all men such as he, slavery would be deprived of more than half its bitterness.”