There’s nothing like getting off a plane and finding out that Lupita Nyong’o won an Oscar. That was my experience last night, flying into Los Angeles in the middle of the ceremony, only to see my Twitter account overflowing with tweets celebrating her talent, her beauty, and her sweeping sky blue dress reminiscent of air. Rushing to a friend’s house to catch a recorded version, I couldn’t wait to witness this victory, and many others.
Roll Jordan, roll Roll Jordan, roll I want to go to heaven when I die To hear ol' Jordan roll
A rising tide. This is the closest feeling and image I can give to describe the impact of watching Steve McQueen’s film 12 Years A Slave, based on the true narrative by Solomon Northrup, a free black man who was captured and sold into slavery in 1841. It is a tide that hits, even when you’re not ready, recedes, then comes back with a force more powerful than the last.
This tide keeps coming, and you keep anticipating it, but nothing can prepare you for the overwhelming fear and loathing that fill your body when slave owner Master Epps (Michael Fassbender) enters the frame, and Solomon’s (Chiwetel Ejiofor) face falls heavy with an aquatic force.