PRECIOUS AND RARE

Craig Detweiler — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 01:39:21 -0800

Precious is the most basic, extraordinary and humane film of 2009. After a summer of silliness, Precious arrives as a bracing alternative, powered by jolting performances from Mo’Nique and newcomer Gabourey Sidibe. It takes viewers inside the tragic life of a teen mother. It puts a face on poverty, abuse, and perseverance. Precious offers hard-earned hope amidst overwhelming odds.

I had the privilege of seeing Precious on the night it won the Grand Prize at the Sundance Film Festival. Director Lee Daniel was delighted to discover that ‘white folk’ liked his unapologetically ‘black’ film. Initially, it was called Push: Based upon the Novel by Sapphire. It arrived at Sundance with little fanfare, but got way under audiences' skin. Now, the star (and theme) of the film has been pushed to the forefront—everything revolves around Precious. Tyler Perry and Oprah Winfrey have added their endorsement. Viewers have responded by breaking box office records in both upscale art-houses and down-home black theaters. Just as pundits declared independent film dead, Precious redefines what's possible.

Why have audiences dared to care? Precious reminds us of the humanizing possibilities of film. It takes us inside a corner of America we overlook and avoid. It is a harrowing journey. But the raw truth contained in Precious serves as a bracing tonic during our tough times. To those feeling overwhelmed, Precious defiantly asks, "You think you've got problems?" The story humbles us all. Precious deserves to become an Oscar-fueled sensation.

Her monosyllabic answers initially make Precious (Gabourey Sidibe) easy to dismiss. She seems slow, unresponsive, barely alive. But as Precious reveals her secrets, we come to understand how and why she speaks so tentatively. Her mother, Mary, (played by Mo’Nique) comes across as a corrosive monster. She systematically shreds all sense of worth and purpose percolating in Precious. We catch glimpses of Precious’ hopes and dreams and long to deliver them. Her teacher, Ms. Rain, and her social worker, Mrs. Weiss, serve as audience surrogates, trying to draw out the repressed Precious. The further we venture down her Harlem rabbit hole, the more daunting her situation appears. Understanding what happened remains a small consolation. The horrors that Precious endures would surely break most of us. But her spirit is indomitable.

Precious and this move both defy the odds. How rare to see teenagers taken so seriously. How shocking to see sexual abuse addressed so directly. How surprising to see musical megastars like Lenny Kravitz and Mariah Carey subsume to such sobering material. How frightening to see Mo’Nique descend into such a scary place. How amazing to discover that the perky Gabby Sidibe is nothing like the depressed teenager she portrays. This is a celebration of black women made for all audiences with a pulse.

It snapped me back to my years in the black community in Charlotte. I started urban Young Life in my hometown because I sensed that God saw all teens, “red and yellow, black and white,” as precious in his sight. I never forgot that. But I put my neighbors’ plight on the back burner while I undertook marriage, grad school, and parenting. I may have changed, but unfortunately, the problems of inner city teens remain largely unchanged. Precious serves notice that we cannot continue placing Band-Aids on bullet wounds. It assaults our academic discussions of healthcare and education reform. A bumper sticker like “Just Say No” just doesn’t cut it in the situation that stymies Precious. Only a long walk alongside her, in the conscientious caring of Ms. Rain and Mrs. Weiss, begins to give Precious a sense of possibility.