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#424 - The Color Purple
Steven Spielberg, 1985
During the first half of the 20th century, a young African-American woman must contend with a series of traumatising and difficult circumstances.
The Color Purple is probably the first example of Spielberg's first major attempt to craft the kind of long-form period-piece epic that would soon come to define him just as much as the crowd-pleasing yet creative blockbusters with which he first build his reputation. As a result, I have somewhat mixed feelings about it. It's got an interesting enough story in that its cast consists primarily of black characters yet for the most part it doesn't explore the racial tension that exists between them and white characters (though that doesn't mean it ignores it completely). Instead, the story focuses on one woman (played by Whoopi Goldberg as an adult) as she undergoes all sorts of harsh situations - as if starting the film having children borne of parental incest be forcibly taken away from her, things then get worse as she is married off to an abusive widower (Danny Glover). Though she does occasionally get support from other women, such as her tempestuous stepdaughter-in-law (Oprah Winfrey) or an old friend turned nightclub singer (Margaret Avery), she still frequently has to endure some horrendous hardships at Glover's hands.
It's always difficult to appreciate a film that's basically about watching one character's near-constant suffering because it runs the risk of growing monotonous. Though the performances are generally decent, the story underneath them is little more than a cavalcade of miseries interspersed with the occasional lighter moment. These often involving the protagonist temporarily escaping their circumstances or focus on another character of greater endurance standing up to injustice in a way that the protagonist just can't (the prime example is Winfrey's character, whose mainly serves as a stronger and more independent foil to Goldberg's extremely meek housewife). It does make it a little difficult to sit through two-and-a-half hours of this, even if it does have a decently reconstructed and photographed period-piece vibe to observe. Quincy Jones' score seems like it'd make a change from regular Spielberg collaborator John Williams, but it ultimately sounds nearly indistinguishable from your typical Williams score. The Color Purple is sporadically interesting thanks to its concept and actors, but underneath its troubling subject matter it's still a somewhat hollow and repetitive film. It's far from the worst film Spielberg ever did, but I think one viewing was probably all that was necessary.
Steven Spielberg, 1985
During the first half of the 20th century, a young African-American woman must contend with a series of traumatising and difficult circumstances.
The Color Purple is probably the first example of Spielberg's first major attempt to craft the kind of long-form period-piece epic that would soon come to define him just as much as the crowd-pleasing yet creative blockbusters with which he first build his reputation. As a result, I have somewhat mixed feelings about it. It's got an interesting enough story in that its cast consists primarily of black characters yet for the most part it doesn't explore the racial tension that exists between them and white characters (though that doesn't mean it ignores it completely). Instead, the story focuses on one woman (played by Whoopi Goldberg as an adult) as she undergoes all sorts of harsh situations - as if starting the film having children borne of parental incest be forcibly taken away from her, things then get worse as she is married off to an abusive widower (Danny Glover). Though she does occasionally get support from other women, such as her tempestuous stepdaughter-in-law (Oprah Winfrey) or an old friend turned nightclub singer (Margaret Avery), she still frequently has to endure some horrendous hardships at Glover's hands.
It's always difficult to appreciate a film that's basically about watching one character's near-constant suffering because it runs the risk of growing monotonous. Though the performances are generally decent, the story underneath them is little more than a cavalcade of miseries interspersed with the occasional lighter moment. These often involving the protagonist temporarily escaping their circumstances or focus on another character of greater endurance standing up to injustice in a way that the protagonist just can't (the prime example is Winfrey's character, whose mainly serves as a stronger and more independent foil to Goldberg's extremely meek housewife). It does make it a little difficult to sit through two-and-a-half hours of this, even if it does have a decently reconstructed and photographed period-piece vibe to observe. Quincy Jones' score seems like it'd make a change from regular Spielberg collaborator John Williams, but it ultimately sounds nearly indistinguishable from your typical Williams score. The Color Purple is sporadically interesting thanks to its concept and actors, but underneath its troubling subject matter it's still a somewhat hollow and repetitive film. It's far from the worst film Spielberg ever did, but I think one viewing was probably all that was necessary.