'Twelve Years In Slavery'

Carolyn Cooper

Two Sundays ago, I went to see Twelve Years A Slave. I got so vexed when the emotionally intense movie was cut for the intermission. You know it's coming, but it still catches you off guard. You're completely engaged in the drama and, all of a sudden, bam! There's this major aggravation. Lights, no camera, no action! And you are assaulted by loud noise masquerading as music. That's the trouble with monopolies. They do as they please. What customers want doesn't matter.

I know the intermission is all about selling refreshments. And I do understand that the owners of the cinema want to make as much money as possible. It's not just the price of the ticket that counts. But if you know there's not going to be an intermission, you stock up right from the start - as is done in cinemas all over the world.

The only value of the intermission is the relief it gives patrons with an unreliable bladder. Even so, there are ways and means of taking off the pressure and avoiding accidents. You can position yourself strategically in an aisle seat. If worst comes to worst, and you simply must answer a call of nature, you can easily slip out.

WHOLE HEAP OF ADS

I estimate that 90 per cent of the audience remained seated during that irritating intermission. I have no idea what percentage of the rest went to the toilet, the concession stand, or both. I tried to do an informal poll of the patrons who stayed in the auditorium. But hardly anybody could hear me. First, I had to get the 'music' turned down.

I then asked the audience if they would be willing to pay extra to watch movies without interruption. I figure that if the cinema owners get compensated for loss of sales during the intermission, they won't mind cutting it out for some screenings. The majority said, "Yes." Someone enthusiastically suggested that, while I was at it, I should complain as well about the whole heap of ads.

That afternoon, it seemed as if there were about 20 minutes of ads for various goods and services; and another 20 minutes of previews/ads for soon-to-be-released movies. For the last two weeks, I've been calling the Palace Amusement Company on and off, trying to speak to the owners. They seem to be the only ones who can respond to my queries. No luck. Perhaps they'll see this column and send a letter to the editor.

ASHAMED OF SLAVERY

Double-bill Black History/Reggae Month is here. Twelve Years A Slave encourages us to reflect on an important period in black history. Rastafari songwriters have kept slavery in our consciousness. Burning Spear, for example, asks a haunting question: "Do you remember the days of slavery?" A lot of us don't like to be reminded of slavery. We feel ashamed that our ancestors were enslaved. We don't seem to realise that it's the enslavers and their beneficiaries who should be ashamed of their heritage of brutality.

If I'd been able to talk to the owners of the Palace Amusement Company, I would have asked how well Twelve Years A Slave is doing. When I checked last Thursday, it was tied with a deadly film, August: Osage County, with only one screening for the day. True, it's into its third week, but still. A movie like this should have a very long run, certainly all through Black History Month. But the movie business isn't a charity. If nobody wants to see the film, it's not going to be held over.

A BIG DISTINCTION

Despite the name, the movie, like the book on which it's based, really isn't about a slave. The hero, Solomon Northup, is an enslaved man - a big distinction. 'Slave' is not his identity. Slavery is a 12-year affliction. The long subtitle of the book summarises the story: 'Narrative of Solomon Northup, citizen of New-York, kidnapped in Washington city in 1841, and rescued in 1853, from a cotton plantation near the Red River in Louisiana'.

Northup is a musician who is invited to go on tour to Washington, DC. He's advised to get papers proving he's a free man. He pays six shillings, about £22.20 in today's currency, using the retail price index. This is what Northup says about the transaction: "I thought at the time, I must confess, that the papers were scarcely worth the cost of obtaining them - the apprehension of danger to my personal safety never having suggested itself to me in the remotest manner." Famous last words!

As it turns out, the papers aren't actually worth much. What helps keep Northup alive during his 12-year sentence is his unshakable identity as a free man. And even African-Americans like his own father who was born in slavery know their true value. They are not beasts of burden. Twelve Years in Slavery, as I prefer, is a story that will make you angry. But you will also experience the pure joy of a free man who miraculously reclaims his life. Enslaved, but never a slave!

Carolyn Cooper is a professor of literary and cultural studies at the University of the West Indies, Mona. Visit her bilingual blog at http://carolynjoycooper.wordpress.com. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and karokupa@gmail.com.