Art That Threatens The Way of the World
What does box office anomaly, Sound of Freedom, have in common with paintings that hang in The Louvre?
Art can be described as the use of creative skill to produce visual work that is emotionally or aesthetically compelling. And art has sparked cultural change through its capacity to stir emotion. One such compelling work, and a personal favorite of mine, is The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault which depicts a struggling pile of men, wrestling and writhing for rescue on a makeshift raft set adrift off the coast of Africa.
The Raft was based on a real event and the actual raft depicted in Géricault's painting was crafted from the masts of French Naval ship, the Medusa, that in 1816 carried French officials to Senegal to secure the land as a French colony and ensure the slave trade continued in the shadows. The ship was wrecked by an incompetent captain and lifeboats were reserved for those of rank, leaving one-hundred-and-fifty lower class crew to board a raft that, initially tethered to one of the lifeboats carrying 'men of importance', was cut loose. Only ten men survived the thirteen day voyage.
Géricault's painting took a real story and repackaged its core horror to a French audience. A young but gutsy Gericault incorporated abolitionist sentiment into his opus magnum despite the fact that it would be thirty years until slavery was fully abolished in France. The painting depicted death, desperation and cruelty, while effectively addressing the dignity that all humans deserve, regardless of race or class.
In fact, besides its shocking subject matter, there were several uncommon elements present in The Raft of the Medusa that evoked distaste from critics, although Géricault managed to marry other familiar elements into this piece that met French artistic standards. Elements such as scale, gesture, classical composition and chiaroscuro contrast.
The repulsive and poorly received elements, on the other hand, included prioritizing the lower class crew of the ship as the subject matter of high art, forcing the public to interact with a pervasive yet impolite topic—the trade of humans as property—coupled with the incompetence of French leadership of the time. But it covered the gruesome with tact, only alluding to the vilest aspects of survival on the raft. It also broke tradition by depicting a fairly recent news headline when most art focused on a more palatable moral vision that often centered white, noble heroism.
The ultimate put-off for critics that despised The Raft, and one of my favorite aspects of this masterpiece, is the choice of a black, African hero. A model by the name of Joseph bore his back in the recognizable Belvedere Torso pose to depict one of the survivors of the raft, Jean-Charles, who Géricault placed as the most prominent figure in the painting's composition. He served to embody vigor and triumph atop a pyramid of despondent flesh.
Which brings me to a higher level in which art operates, one I think fits into the art principles of contrast and composition—contextual genius.
Since the public's consciousness had been focused on classical and Biblical themes—on viewing art that affirmed the observer's sense of virtue—seeing a piece that shone a light on a neglected aspect of justice, displayed in the midst of other works that didn't provoke repentant reflection, was a semi-intentional use of contrast that magnified the piece's importance. That sharply split reception? Contextual genius. In a sludge of sameness, a piece that shatters an expected cycle can not be ignored.
Once The Raft of the Medusa was completed, it remained unsold for two years. However slavery was later abolished in France in 1848. England halted human trade in 1833, while America's Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863. Today, The Raft hangs in the Louvre and is only second in popularity to the Mona Lisa.
As a millennial artist, squished between the looming threat of AI art, and former art movements that were only notable because they revolted against their stylistic predecessors, I found myself looking back on movements that changed the world as if the capacity for globe-shaking change was trapped in the pre-industrial-revolution era. I thought that every injustice that could be globally addressed had been addressed, and any lingering sentiment of revolution was purely factional—nothing universally relevant. That was until I saw the movie Sound of Freedom.
Géricault delivered a staggering reality to the observer through mastery of his medium. I've had the privilege of viewing The Raft in real life—it is big and brutal, but it is undeniably beautiful. Likewise, the creators of the new independent movie, Sound of Freedom, masterfully utilized filmic themes to package a horrific contemporary reality. It tells of the present-day horrors of human trafficking in high contrast, well written dialogue, somber green and gold tones, and stellar acting performances. I'd add that the ability to utilize a $14 million budget to make it look twice as expensive was further testament of its excellence.
Sound of Freedom is based on a true story in which Tim Ballard, a former special agent for Homeland Security, made it his mission to save two children trapped in slavery, and in the process rescued over fifty children. It centered an overlooked yet present injustice—the trafficking of human beings, including children—by allowing us to empathize with Miguel and Rocio—the two children Ballard is tasked to save. In presenting these two children as relatable human beings who can't protect or defend themselves, we are forced to reckon with the manipulation and abuse those in the real world position of Miguel and Rocio are subjected to. The numbers are an inescapably blunt blow as well—slavery is a $150 billion dollar industry, and is bigger now than at any other point in history.
Sound of Freedom doesn't sacrifice principles of art to present a necessary tale. Just like The Raft, its beauty forces us, the viewer, to contend with its vulgar undercurrent. Its masterful and compelling visuals aid its longer than anticipated stay in movie theaters across the US, allowing more viewers the chance to awaken to the stronghold of trafficking, much like The Raft's artistic mastery secured it a spot, albeit a highly contended one, at The Salon.
Much like The Raft's success was partially due to themes of nobility saturating the arts, Sound of Freedom (at the time of writing) is attracting an audience thanks to the backdrop of products drunk on their own sense of virtue. Products that disregard the audience's ability to judge quality. Products like Indiana Jones, Ruby Gillman and The Little Mermaid. Although it wasn't the intention of the film's creators to release the movie nearly a decade after its conception, it was graced with a context that allows it to stand out, and when compared to the staleness fed to movie enthusiasts, causes the audience to wonder why this present injustice isn't at the center of modern storytelling's moral core, and why we're instead hammered over the head with the soft soap of identitarianism.
Split reactions are a mark of world-changing art. The Raft forced the French to realize that they were not as holy as they wished themselves to be, and Sound of Freedom challenges a similar consciousness. One that ruminates on injustice long remedied, or slights that are merely verbal or vaguely defined. Trafficking children is a hard-ill. Sexual exploitation of minors is a hard-ill. And for all our efforts to diversify, our diverted attention towards questionable matters of injustice might have just allowed the most heinous of criminal trades to thrive undetected, right under our noses. This split reception indicates conviction that I believe will eventually swell into real change.
Sound of Freedom was shelved and ignored for five years. It was supposed to die when the media powerhouses showered it in acidic rebuke. However, at the time of writing, it is only second in popularity to Mission Impossible 7.