'The Help': Served by Huge Talent
The best-seller stirred up debate about white people telling black stories. Does the movie put the controversy to rest?
There was a good deal of off-the-page drama surrounding The Help, Kathryn Stockett's best-selling opus about the lives of black maids and the white women for whom they toil: When it comes to art, who gets to illuminate the souls of black folks? Can a white woman truly tell the stories of black women -- using old-school Ebonics? Should it matter? And then there is the as-yet-unresolved lawsuit from Stockett's former black baby sitter, who insists that the novel was based on her life -- against her wishes. (Awkward.)
In many ways, the movie version of The Help, adapted for the screen and directed by Tate Taylor, is better than the 2009 novel. The film does much to humanize unsympathetic characters; a close-up of welling eyes, a frown or a backward glance provide visual cues that Stockett's ham-fisted prose cannot. On the page, Stockett's clumsy attempt at black dialect grates; on the screen, in the mouths of talented actors, it feels natural, unforced. Then again, the supremely gifted Viola Davis (Aibileen) and Octavia Spencer (Minny) can make any screenplay sing. (Witness Spencer's comedic cameo as the animal psychic in the god-awful Dinner With Schmucks.)
The Help is set in Jackson, Miss., in the early 1960s, a time when Jim Crow constricted black lives and compromised white ones. If you were black and female, there weren't many options available. Except to become the help. This often meant being considered "part of the family" for whom you worked long hours, yet being subjected to soul-crushing insults that served as a daily reminder of your place.
The movie opens with a question: Skeeter (Emma Stone), a privileged young white woman with aspirations of becoming a writer, is interviewing Aibileen, scribbling down notes. "What does it feel like," Skeeter says, "to raise a white child when your own child is at home?"
The answer to that question, loaded with pain, is a long time coming. But it's at the crux of the movie, which skillfully evokes the curious and complicated intimacy between African-American domestics and their "families." We see Aibileen kneeling in front of a toilet, coaching the white toddler in her care to "tee-tee." We see her whispering to the girl, "You is kind. You is smart. You is important." The tot embraces her, saying, "You're my real mama."
And then we see Aibileen, working at that same house, sweating as she sits in the unventilated "special" bathroom that her employers insist that she use.
About that bathroom: It's the final indignity that prompts Aibileen to agree to collaborate with Skeeter on a top-secret book detailing what the maids of Jackson really think about their white folks. ("Write it and write it fast," Skeeter's New York editor tells her, "before this civil rights thing blows over.")