"I am invisible, understand, because people refuse to see me."....This excerpt from the prologue of Ralph Ellison's 1952 novel Invisible Man is mentioned during a seemingly inconsequential moment in Chinonye Chukwu's sophomore feature effort, "Clemency," yet its essence reverberates through every frame. 2019 has been filled with films about wrongly incarcerated men, from Destin Daniel Cretton's stirring fact-based drama, "Just Mercy," to Terrence Malick's poetic meditation on righteous sacrifice. As prison warden Bernadine (Woodard) walks dutifully to work down a corridor during the opening moments of Chukwu's film, a barred security door framed in the foreground slams shut behind her. It's one of numerous instances in the film where ace cinematographer Eric Branco makes Bernadine appear as incarcerated as the doomed men she councils. The disconnect that has grown between the warden and her husband, Jonathan (Wendell Pierce), causes him to dub her an empty shell, yet there's a sense that Bernadine has attempted to shield him from the demons that cause her to bolt upright in bed at night. What follows is one of the most harrowing death scenes ever put on film, and what makes it extraordinary is the fact that we experience it solely through the expressions of Bernadine. As Marty tells Anthony during their final moments together, all any of us ever want is to be seen and heard, and the crowds of protestors lining up daily to loudly condemn his client's fate provide undeniable proof that news of the injustice has spread throughout the world. Of course, this is little consolation for a prisoner forced to spend the majority of his days in silence and solitude, yet when Anthony is strapped to a crucifix-like chair and given his lethal injection, it's as if his pain and anguish is injected directly into Bernadine. For the first time, she finds herself at a loss for words, just as Anthony was during her feeble attempts at interaction. You can literally spot the moment when her soul appears to have left her body. This is screen acting of a very rare sort, and "Clemency" is a vital emotional powerhouse sorely deserving of being seen. In a breathtaking three-minute shot on par with the finale of Céline Sciamma's "Portrait of a Lady on Fire," the camera holds on Bernadine's face as the primal horror of the procedure she has overseen for years finally sinks in, breaking through her hardened exterior until he flatlines, prompting her own body to go limp.
Review of Clemency
