The lynching and murder of Emmett Till, a 14-year-old African-American boy who simply whistled at a white woman, became the catalyst for the emerging activism and resistance that defined the Civil Rights Movement. It took this horrible, inhumane crime to motivate many who had been content to stay on the sidelines to join the fight for equality — including Emmett's own mother.
It's a crucial moment that deserves a tactful and potent cinematic rendition, which does justice to the tragedy and its significance. Chinonye Chukwu's Till (her follow up to 2019's Clemency) hopes to examine Emmett Till's death and life with delicacy, and while her film brings forth power and urgency, it does so with convention. This formulaic rendering ultimately undermines Chukwu's attempt at a bold, unflinching look at one of the darkest marks in the nation's history, resulting in a movie that never becomes as powerful as it should be.
Till opens with Emmett (Jalyn Hall), a Chicago native preparing for a visit to his Mississippi cousins. His mother, Mamie Till-Mobley (Danielle Deadwyler, in an impeccably potent performance), is wracked with worry, as she understands how Black people are treated in the South. She warns her son to "be small down there" — this poignant piece of advice proving to be in vain, as we know what happens next. Chukwu opts not to show the lynching itself, but rather what happened before and after. It's an effective choice that sheds light on both the pain of individual loss and the powerful rise of a much-needed movement.
Chukwu, along with her cinematographer Bobby Bukowski, envelops the film in a glossy, polished sheen that often looks too neat and filtered for the tragic story they are telling. It becomes distracting, as the Douglas Sirk-like lustre of the Chicagoland department stores doesn't differ from the gothic swamps of the Mississippi Delta. They blend into one another, making the movie uninteresting to look at. It's a shame that, given the subject matter, a more vibrant visual dichotomy wasn't embraced.
This isn't to say the film lacks technical prowess, as there are scenes that are emboldened by subtle, purposeful pans and zoom-ins that unearth the pain and importance of this brutal murder. This is masterfully achieved in the "body reveal" scene, where Emmett's mutilated body is carefully unveiled in a dolly shot that painfully brings us closer to the magnitude of what his death represents.
However, such skilled camerawork is repeatedly undone by an overly melodramatic score that undercuts the film's efforts at meaningful catharsis. Till moves us with fearless and unadulterated glimpses into a family and community's heartache, but often veers too heavily into bombast, playing with our emotions rather than earning them.
While Till is conventional in its cinematic design and production, the intensely human performances carry it forward. The film's crowning achievement is Deadwyler, who beautifully taps into the anguish, helplessness and ferocity of a mother forced into this harrowing new reality.
The film is at its most powerful and potent when it latches onto Deadwyler's evocative face, which perfectly embodies both a mother's love and resilience, as she comes to accept her son's death as a pivotal turning point for social change. Her performance is one of tact and subtlety, revelling in a warm strength to bring forward sweltering emotion. This performance could have easily been mired in histrionics; instead, she simmers with profound pathos.
Whoopi Goldberg as Alma Carthan and Frankie Faison as John Carthan, Mamie's parents, also bring forward strong performances, while Hall brims with an indelible humanity as Emmett, whose bubbly fun persona makes his absence that much more painful. It's easy to forget the person behind the symbol, and Chukwu stunningly imbues this story about death with spirited life, and it's unabashedly the film's greatest strength.
The script, co-penned by Chukwu, is decidedly less successful, especially when it enters the final act focusing on the infamous trial. In its attempt to provide historical context and highlight the important figures who helped mobilize the judicial process, it loses steam as it becomes mired in exposition. The earlier scenes with Deadwyler brim with emotion and seamlessly deliver information, but during the film's climax, that cinematic approach is disregarded, making for an unsatisfying experience that dilutes the power of what came before.
Till is at its most compelling when it isn't trying to pry at our emotions, simply allowing the performances and understated camerawork to tell the story. While the film never quite reaches the realms of emotion it sets its sights on, it still sheds an important spotlight on one of the most pivotal and heartbreaking crossroads in the fight for civil rights, echoing the vital decision Mamie made to allow her son's death to illuminate the truth of the African-American experience through her own suffering.
(Universal)It's a crucial moment that deserves a tactful and potent cinematic rendition, which does justice to the tragedy and its significance. Chinonye Chukwu's Till (her follow up to 2019's Clemency) hopes to examine Emmett Till's death and life with delicacy, and while her film brings forth power and urgency, it does so with convention. This formulaic rendering ultimately undermines Chukwu's attempt at a bold, unflinching look at one of the darkest marks in the nation's history, resulting in a movie that never becomes as powerful as it should be.
Till opens with Emmett (Jalyn Hall), a Chicago native preparing for a visit to his Mississippi cousins. His mother, Mamie Till-Mobley (Danielle Deadwyler, in an impeccably potent performance), is wracked with worry, as she understands how Black people are treated in the South. She warns her son to "be small down there" — this poignant piece of advice proving to be in vain, as we know what happens next. Chukwu opts not to show the lynching itself, but rather what happened before and after. It's an effective choice that sheds light on both the pain of individual loss and the powerful rise of a much-needed movement.
Chukwu, along with her cinematographer Bobby Bukowski, envelops the film in a glossy, polished sheen that often looks too neat and filtered for the tragic story they are telling. It becomes distracting, as the Douglas Sirk-like lustre of the Chicagoland department stores doesn't differ from the gothic swamps of the Mississippi Delta. They blend into one another, making the movie uninteresting to look at. It's a shame that, given the subject matter, a more vibrant visual dichotomy wasn't embraced.
This isn't to say the film lacks technical prowess, as there are scenes that are emboldened by subtle, purposeful pans and zoom-ins that unearth the pain and importance of this brutal murder. This is masterfully achieved in the "body reveal" scene, where Emmett's mutilated body is carefully unveiled in a dolly shot that painfully brings us closer to the magnitude of what his death represents.
However, such skilled camerawork is repeatedly undone by an overly melodramatic score that undercuts the film's efforts at meaningful catharsis. Till moves us with fearless and unadulterated glimpses into a family and community's heartache, but often veers too heavily into bombast, playing with our emotions rather than earning them.
While Till is conventional in its cinematic design and production, the intensely human performances carry it forward. The film's crowning achievement is Deadwyler, who beautifully taps into the anguish, helplessness and ferocity of a mother forced into this harrowing new reality.
The film is at its most powerful and potent when it latches onto Deadwyler's evocative face, which perfectly embodies both a mother's love and resilience, as she comes to accept her son's death as a pivotal turning point for social change. Her performance is one of tact and subtlety, revelling in a warm strength to bring forward sweltering emotion. This performance could have easily been mired in histrionics; instead, she simmers with profound pathos.
Whoopi Goldberg as Alma Carthan and Frankie Faison as John Carthan, Mamie's parents, also bring forward strong performances, while Hall brims with an indelible humanity as Emmett, whose bubbly fun persona makes his absence that much more painful. It's easy to forget the person behind the symbol, and Chukwu stunningly imbues this story about death with spirited life, and it's unabashedly the film's greatest strength.
The script, co-penned by Chukwu, is decidedly less successful, especially when it enters the final act focusing on the infamous trial. In its attempt to provide historical context and highlight the important figures who helped mobilize the judicial process, it loses steam as it becomes mired in exposition. The earlier scenes with Deadwyler brim with emotion and seamlessly deliver information, but during the film's climax, that cinematic approach is disregarded, making for an unsatisfying experience that dilutes the power of what came before.
Till is at its most compelling when it isn't trying to pry at our emotions, simply allowing the performances and understated camerawork to tell the story. While the film never quite reaches the realms of emotion it sets its sights on, it still sheds an important spotlight on one of the most pivotal and heartbreaking crossroads in the fight for civil rights, echoing the vital decision Mamie made to allow her son's death to illuminate the truth of the African-American experience through her own suffering.