by Jessie Florence Jones
“This film is not here to explain itself to a white audience. They are deliberately excluded, placed into the position of the police, and the judges, and implicated in the systemic racism the film details”
Art encourages empathy. This is a fairly well established, perhaps even banal, reading of the role that creativity can have. The radical power of art to depict somebody’s experience and give insight into the life of an “other”, bridges over an alienated gap between peoples.
James Baldwin elucidated this time and again in interviews:
“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive”
Of course, pointing out art’s capacity to traverse not only geographical distances but disturb chronology, is a deeply embedded notion. While Baldwin chose to focus on books, it can also be applied to film: here specifically, to Steve McQueen’s new series of five films under the collective title Small Axe.
Codes, Imagery and Uncanniness
The title, ‘Small Axe’, originates in an African proverb: ‘if you are the big tree, we are the small axe’, popularised by Bob Marley’s song of the same title.
Five films in total, including three that were premiered earlier this year at the 58th New York Film Festival, each film is separate but unified with its counterparts. Though standalone pieces of film, the title unifies them to an overarching ethos. These are individual stories, different perspectives, but that power balance is harshly revealed throughout: the stability of systemic, ideological racism is slowly chipped away throughout each film.
The first instalment is Mangrove, the title of both the name of the restaurant which features - the hub of Notting Hill West Indian community in the late 1960s - and the Mangrove nine, the nine people who were associated with the restaurant and historical police brutality.
The film acts as a profound indictment of both the police force and the legal system. This is a feat that could have easily been achieved with dialogue, but the true mastery of this film is the subtlety with which white audience members are confronted with the deep rottenness of this brutality, its subtler micro-aggressions, and their complicity within it.
Much like the proverb from which McQueen derives his title, there are codes, imagery, and uncanniness, that are deliberately left unexplained to audience members who don’t belong to the culture or the history being depicted.