Sincerely,

Annie Lloyd

I went into director Ryan Coogler's film “Fruitvale Station” expecting it to blow me away. I had heard all the stories about what an affecting portrait it was, especially in the wake of Trayvon Martin’s case. I had done my research to know it centers on the last 24 hours of the main character’s life. I knew how the main character once lived and breathed as a real human not too dissimilar from Coogler himself. All this anticipation still left me unprepared for getting my heart wrenched from my chest and pulled to pieces (a literal and true description of how I felt after seeing it in theaters).

A few months ago, as a response to “Man of Steel” and its divisive effect among critics, Film Crit Hulk wrote a brilliant description of how films earn the audience’s empathy. He outlines many rules — none of which are hard and fast — but the most important one is dramatizing character. In order to get the audience to feel what it should feel, we need to understand the current of thought and emotion coursing through the character.

“Fruitvale Station” breaks many of the rules Film Crit Hulk describes, but where it succeeds the most is in its navigation of Oscar Grant’s character. Coogler’s decision to write the script around his last hours of life allows us a peek into all of Grant’s experiences. From picking up groceries to kissing his girlfriend, we come to know this man by sake of proximity. We understand his feelings and dilemmas because we go through his daily motions alongside him. Oscar Grant comes out of this movie as a complex and relatable character. Scratch that - he comes out of the movie a multi-dimensional human. 

Neither the script nor direction is perfect, I’ll admit. The camera work and editing sometimes veer towards emotional exploitation and Coogler’s fictional additions come off slightly heavy-handed. But what the Academy should recognize is Ryan Coogler’s understanding how time serves as the ultimate token of respect. By giving every facet of Grant exposure, Coogler avoids turning him into 100% martyr or 100% criminal or 100% anything. The few slip-ups in the construction of the film disappear through the cracks because Coogler succeeds so well in every other aspect.

This narrative ability shouldn’t be such a unique thing to point out. There are plenty of films with beautiful characterization and well-developed protagonists. But are any of those films about a young black man who is trying to stop dealing marijuana and who loves his girlfriend and daughter? And who is an ex-convict who wants his mother to be proud of him? And who understands the errors of his ways because of his own experiences and not the self-righteous angle of a script he could be living in? Ryan Coogler’s decision to give this young man the beauty of a feature narrative is reason enough to applaud him. The expert writing, directing, acting, and genuine emotion that come with serves as cherries on top of an Oscar-worthy sundae.