THE WASHINGTON POST – In a week that sees the release of two death row dramas, Clemency is the more minimalist of the two.
It is especially spartan when compared with the fact-based Just Mercy, which, while not exactly a legal thriller, does involve a dose of courtroom theatrics of the sort one might expect from a movie about a crusading lawyer’s fight to exonerate a man falsely accused of murder.
Clemency, on the other hand, while covering the same subject from a different point of view, is deliberately internal to the point of stifling at times, taking place, in a sense, almost entirely inside the head of a single person.
Which is why it’s good that this person is played by Alfre Woodard – who, as Bernadine, a longtime prison warden who begins to question the morality of capital punishment after a botched execution, makes us feel something while burying her own character’s emotions so deeply that they become like toxic waste.
The state of denial she’s in has some consequences, most notably – and, frankly, a bit melodramatically – in the form of her deteriorating relationship with her husband (Wendell Pierce).
At work, however, Bernadine is all steel. Until, at last, she isn’t. Woodard’s performance as a woman at the point of cracking is the reason to see this film, written and directed by Chinonye Chukwu (A Long Walk).
Like Just Mercy, which tracks the efforts of a lawyer (Michael B Jordan) to clear the name of a death row prisoner (Jamie Foxx), Clemency ostensibly revolves around similar efforts, here concerning a doomed convict (Aldis Hodge) and his attorney (Richard Schiff), whose fight to call the verdict into question and forestall a fatal sentence is reaching the end of the line.
But mostly, this story focusses on Bernadine.
In encounters with her deputy (Richard Gunn), with the prison chaplain (Michael O’Neill), with the parents of the crime’s victim (Vernee Watson and Dennis Haskins) – who not incidentally oppose the death penalty – and in the carrying out of her day-to-day tasks, we are granted a window into how the taking of a life has be regimented and compartmentalised.
Such tiny tasks as the sorting of a last meal request, or the bloodless rehearsal of the fatal injection – a kind of gruesome theatre, complete with audience and a curtain – become fraught with sensation: rage, grief, despair, sympathy, remorse and adrenaline all competing for space in a surreal performance of punishment and atonement.
All this centres on the face of Woodard, a mask of stoicism that, over the course of almost two hours in which not terribly much happens, finally betrays Bernadine, revealing what is really going on behind her seemingly dead eyes.
Clemency isn’t really a death row drama in the same way that Just Mercy is.
Rather, it’s a character study of a witness who, vicariously, is a stand-in for each of us.