Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire

Much has been made about the plot of Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire, which could be somewhat uncharitably understood as an everything-but-the-kitchen-skin rundown of urban misery. Unwanted teenage pregnancy; incest; parental abuse of the verbal, physical, and sexual variety; AIDS; poverty; illiteracy; obesity; low self-esteem; social isolation: all figure prominently in Lee Daniels’ adaptation of Sapphire’s eponymous novel, depicted with all the force (and subtlety) of a smack to the head. Pundits and critics alike have wondered whether audiences will be turned off by such an unrelentingly downbeat plot, and there is indeed no getting around it: at times, Precious can be a tough movie to watch.

Yet I mean no disrespect to Daniels, screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher, or any of the film’s superlative cast members when I say that, for all its bleak subject matter, Precious is ultimately best characterized as unabashed melodrama, not hard-hitting social critique. Melodrama can get a bad rap in critical discourse, often alluding to films as emotionally overcooked as they are intellectually undernourished. Yet it can also signify positive things: an unabashed embrace of messy emotions; a privileging of character experience via bold and occasionally over-the-top visualizations; a sense of empathy that can border on the smothering. This is the world that Precious inhabits and, at its best, it burrows into its troubled protagonists’ experience with brio and compassion.

Set in 1987, the film follows Claireece “Precious” Jones (Gabourey Sidibe), an obese African-American sixteen-year-old living in Harlem with her viciously abusive mother, Mary (Mo’Nique). She has recently discovered she is pregnant for the second time by her father, who seemingly returns home only to rape her. At school, she has a quiet gift for math, but is illiterate and essentially friendless. When life seemingly cannot get any worse, though, Precious is thrown an unexpected lifeline: an invitation to attend Each-One-Teach-One, an alternative school that focuses on literacy. There, she meets a tough-minded and passionate teacher, Ms. Rain (Paula Patton) and cautiously connects with her fellow students in the boisterous, all-female class. As her reading improves, she begins to imagine a life for herself beyond the confines of Mary’s poisonous home.

Precious takes an unapologetically subjective view of its story, channeling our understanding of Precious’ life through a constant voiceover, boldly expressionistic color and lighting schemes (the sickly yellow pall of Mary and Precious’ apartment suggesting the emotional rot within), and free-wheeling fantasy sequences that initially prove to be Precious’ only escape from a suffocating reality. No one will accuse Daniels of thoughtful aesthetic restraint. His more-is-more approach produces some bluntly moving moments—as when a particularly intense mother-daughter argument is intercut with still photos of their earlier, if questionably happier, years together—as well as some pretty questionable ones (crosscutting between the father’s rape with images of sizzling, greasy bacon as Precious flashes back while cooking dinner).

At root, though, Daniels’ first-person take on the material is why the film works. Some critics have questioned the validity of Precious’ voiceover comments, which they claim sound dubious coming from the mind of an illiterate sixteen-year-old. Yet Precious’ success comes in its belief that a life besieged by misery can still contain mischief and humor and the dream of something better, not to mention that an obese black teenager from Harlem is capable of thoughts and feelings beyond what society assumes of her. The gulf between Precious’ candid internal monologues and the monosyllabic utterances in which she verbally expresses herself becomes the bridge that Precious must cross to let the world see the burgeoning mind and heart inside her. I know that sounds a little gushy, and maybe it is. But the unrelenting, occasionally lurid trials that Precious must go through makes her moments of release and growth—the ribald classroom discussions with Ms. Rain and her fellow students; her conversations with a tough-but-tender social worker (Mariah Carey)—feel richly earned.

Ultimately, a character-based, highly-emotional drama like this lives or dies on its performances, and Precious does not disappoint. Daniels gets some fine, quiet work out of Carey, Patton, and Lenny Kravitz as a kindly male nurse. Yet it’s Sidibe and Mo’Nique who give this movie its beating heart. The young actress plays Precious very close to the chest, giving away little of the emotional turbulence brewing within. That Sidibe nevertheless communicates Precious’ profound hurt and battered hope through nuances vocal inflection, body language, and facial movement makes it all the more moving when small rays of happiness begin to shine through. If Sidibe plays it heroically small, Mo’Nique goes unapologetically big, fiercely embracing her character’s cruelty and volcanic rage. It’s a daring and effective choice, allowing us to see just how largely Mary looms in Precious’ life. And when Mary finally reveals the layers of calcified sorrow and anger that have fueled her abuse, Mo’Nique finds everything twisted and pitiful in Mary’s shriveled heart. If Precious can be described as “operatic,” then this is its final aria, and Mo’Nique makes it a memorable howl of anguish.

                                            Matt Connolly