I’d like to open by saying that I am a fan. I love film, and I love cinema as a medium for experiencing it. Most often I pass through your doors at least once a week. But sadly, I don’t expect to be gracing your establishment this week.
You do have to feel sorry for Leonardo DiCaprio, don’t you? Every year seems to be the one when he’ll finally win that elusive Oscar, and then something comes along and pips him to it.
And on that note, we have 12 Years a Slave, an adaptation of Solomon Northup’s account of slave life in the mid-nineteenth century American south. It’s almost hard-wired to be a hit, given the combination of subject, cast and director. But the buzz surrounding it has been something truly special. Put simply, I haven’t heard a negative word about it.
Northrup’s book is an unknown to me, so I can’t make any comparisons to the source material. What you see here will be a judgement of the film on its own merits. Which is how it should be