6.6/10. You’ve seen Hidden Figures before. Maybe you haven’t seen this exact movie -- about how three unduly unheralded African American women helped NASA in the early 1960s -- but if, like me, you dutifully watch many, if not most, of the Oscar-nominated films each year, then within ten minutes, you’ll already know this movie by heart.
It features a gutsy but unorthodox protagonist trying to make a dent in a system that marginalizes and ignores her. It’s a period piece, with enough obvious dialogue, signs, and cameos from well-known historical figures to let you know exactly when the story is taking place with plenty of opportunity for the viewer to say, “My, how far we’ve come.” It has supporting characters facing challenges that mirror the protagonist’s, shining more light on the ways in which the order of the day affected those who were quietly fighting to maintain their place in it, and maybe even change it. And it has the untold story/historical injustice angle that’s supposed to imbue it with an extra bit of triumph and tragedy, all unleashed with a heavy dose of Hollywood mythmaking.
The difference, and the thing that distinguishes Hidden Figures from the likes of The Imitation Game, Dallas Buyers Club, and other recent Oscar nominees that play in the same space is that it uses the power of that formula in support of a woman of color. At a time when the world of film is still lingering in the shadow of the #OscarsSoWhite controversy, it’s encouraging that Taraji P. Henson can be cast as the star of a movie that follows the Academy Award film blueprint and succeed at the box office in the process. It’s just a shame that the film’s artistic merit doesn’t match its social merit.
Don’t get me wrong; Hidden Figures is a well-made film. It chugs along at a good clip -- telling the story of one brilliant mathematician’s contributions to NASA at a time when someone of her race and gender had to work twice as hard to make it half as far -- in a tight, if predictable manner. It sprinkles in the subplots about her compatriots nicely, allowing them to work well as breaks from the main narrative that still feed into it. The acting on display is solid-to-good all around. It’s impeccably shot, framed, and edited, with colors that leap off the screen and composition that emphasizes the loneliness, bustle, or intimacy of a given setting. And it can boast a jam-worthy soundtrack that fits the movie’s big moments, but which would be worth listening to apart even outside the theater.
But good lord is it full of every hoary trope from every awards season film you’ve ever seen. The film runs through a litany of standard, predictable beats, telegraphing each one along the way. The good guys overcome the heavily-underlined obstacles in their way. They stand up to thinly-drawn, ineffectual antagonists. They offering cutting, cheesy one-liners after finding their footing.
The film provides an opportunity for Henson to give a Big Damn Speech, and for Kevin Costner to give a Big Damn Speech, and for Janelle Monáe to give a Big Damn Speech (which is, surprisingly, the best written and performed of the three). There is a one-dimensional love interest (Mahershala Ali, whose talents are squandered here) whose only true defining characteristic is that he likes the protagonist. And in the end, there are the expected measured but clear victories, culminating in a big historical event and a “where are they now” text-on-screen closing.
Even the canny little moments of repetition and subversion -- the protagonist being handed a piece of chalk, symbolizing opportunity, by her supervisor the same way she as a child in the classroom; or one of her white colleagues having to hustle across the NASA campus to find her rather than the other way around -- feel like a page torn out of the usual awards-bait playbook. The only times when the film transcends this are when it puts its three leads -- Henson, Monáe, and Octavia Spencer (who manages to make a lot out of a little here) -- together. It’s in these moments that they seem like real human beings finding solace in one another and navigating an environment where the deck is stacked against them, rather than mascots for another rote bout of silver screen “triumph over adversity” heartstring-pulling.
Hidden Figures does the good work of telling the world about the trailblazing achievements of Katherine G. Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, but it does a disservice to these women’s stories to reduce them to the usual prestige pablum, and it doesn’t have to be this way.
It’s laudable that Hollywood is using its hagiographic abilities on women of color who deserve to be widely known, but even the Awards season fare of the recent past shows that it can do better. The superlative Selma looked like a bog-standard Great Man biopic, and instead treated its historical giant of a central figure with a humanizing gaze that made Martin Luther King Jr., his movement, and his struggle feel more real than all the usual tinseltown gloss and lionizing tone could. The Best Picture-winning Twelve Years a Slave suffers from a small bit of the same white savior syndrome that afflicted the execrable The Help, but it was raw and uncompromising, putting the ugliness of the prejudices faced by its protagonist on display in a way that didn’t reduce them to petty hurdles our heroes would inevitably hop over. These vital stories can be told without sacrificing artistry or giving into the cliches of typical Oscar fare.
But maybe that’s the best thing to say about Hidden Figures. Every awards season is going to feature a certain quotient of this type of film. Every year sees a new crop of competently-made, not particularly inspired movies that deal with Important Things, typically from The Long Long Ago. If this is inevitable, if the awards circuit is continually going to honor films that hit these same notes over and over again, then the least we can do is use this generic form in service of people whose stories deserve to be told, and who are all too often, as the movie’s title portends, left on the cutting room floor.
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@andrewbloom
Dude you talk too fucking much.
I hate these movies; not because they're bad or twee or sugar-coated. I hate them because the time of our history they portray was disgusting and the fact that they haven't been told until recently is as equally shocking.
By the way, the kind of discrimination portrayed is still prevalent to varying degrees today.
You're entitled to your opinion, as am I and if this offends you... Good.
You needed to be offended.
People that are comparing this to John Wick need to go back and watch John Wick. This doesn't even come close.
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@csbarker 'People are comparing this to John Wick so I'm gonna vote it a meager 5'
