Within seconds, The Underground Railroad will shake you.
The gravity of the situation alone is . . . planetary. Cora, a young woman enslaved on a Georgia plantation, has been left behind by her mother. Even her community, which holds together what shreds of humanity it can in the face of such brutality, looks askance at her. Tragedy on tragedy.
But Cora is not alone. She has Caesar—and his ideas. He reads Gulliver’s Travels by night, contemplating human nature and the journey of life. The two know in their hearts they cannot take this anymore. So they try for freedom.
If the writing wasn’t already intelligent and powerful enough for you, it will start to be here. The underground railroad is not what you think it is. Or put another way, it is exactly what you think it is, and will still surprise you again and again.
This work is so delicate and intoxicating that it can only be described as awesome. Images and sounds which are intensely vivid take the raw stuff of life and translate it into emotion. You will find crickets in your ears when you watch this, and feel someone else’s heaving breaths reaching deep down into you.
We have seen respectful, blazing beauty from this director before, and music to match. Shallow focus and close stares into the camera, one of Barry Jenkins’s trademarks, continue to create connection on a fundamental level. We are seeing, but we are being seen. And the varied, vibrant musical art of Nicholas Britell accentuates it all. The production design, costumes, camerawork, acting—the list goes on. This is moviemaking masterwork which makes us feel deeply. So let’s feel, and learn.
It’s important to recognize that this is an adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s 2016 novel of the same name, a Pulitzer Prize winner. That said, there will be no comparisons made to the book in these reviews. What we watch is what we’re watching.