Precious

Writing about Precious surpasses even the difficulty of watching it, for the manifold abuses inflicted upon its eponymous protagonist simply confound articulation. The result is a film that, on first viewing at least, speaks – and often roars – in tones that are more bodily than they are cerebral.

It seems ironic, then, that Lee Daniels’ second outing as a director began life as a novel, written by one-time Harlem teacher and poet, Sapphire. More ironic still is Daniels’ account of Sapphire’s recalcitrance when first presented with the idea of a film adaptation. But Daniels’ directorial management of the material is a triumph. Employing a suitably chiaroscuro film language to balance the emotional extremes of the subject matter, his vision is a lively composite of urban nightmare and garish escapism, over which he demonstrates remarkable control.

Claireece ‘Precious’ Jones (Gabby Sidibe) lives on the margins of just about everything. Black, obese and illiterate, when we meet her she is carrying her father’s second child. She is also being abused and force-fed by her mother and is on the verge of expulsion from school. In between these horrors, she seeks refuge in colourful fantasies of fame or having a light-skinned boyfriend who whisks her away from hell on a motorcycle. In one crucial moment, she looks into the mirror and imagines herself as a blonde white girl. The scene is a striking visual précis of the racial injustices that have shaped Claireece’s life – and a million black, disenfranchised lives before it.

And yet this harrowing portrait of domestic abuse and societal neglect is continuously imbued with glimmers of hope, be they manifest in Claireece’s brave imagination as visions of fame and desirability; the more grounded forms of empowerment offered by the class to which Claireece is sent following her expulsion; or in the levity of her classmates’ piquant street banter. This tonal diversity works beautifully to wrest Daniels’ film from excessive gloom while remaining faithful to the disturbing gravity of Claireece’s situation, and is rendered with a fluency that forestalls the fleeting impression of dissonance.

Holding these complexities together is a range of performances that are sure to sustain awards buzz. US comedienne Mo’Nique casts off the jocular in an extraordinary turn as Claireece’s odious mother whose final soliloquy shines through as the emotional centrepiece of the film. She is joined in actorly distinction by an unpolished Mariah Carey, wholly convincing as the choral voice in this urban tragedy.

Emma Paterson

Anticipation:

Award. After award. After award.

Enjoyment:

Not quite the word this harrowing picture brings to mind.

In Retrospect:

The emotional equivalent of an intestinal crank.