Jackie (2016): Grief Embodied

In the last few months, the political climate has been profoundly perplexing to say the very least. It seems only fitting that a month and a half after this bizarre election, cinema allows us to turn back the clock to a different world of politics, one still complex, but elegant rather than crude in its complexity. Jackie (2016), however, is not a political film, nor should it be mistaken as one. It is a film that feels almost coincidently set in the world of politics rather than forcibly relying on it for drama. This is not about John F. Kennedy's Presidency, nor is it a film that is preoccupied with recreating a glossy version of his tragic assassination. In fact, this isn't even really a film about Jackie Kennedy when examined closely enough. While yes, the plot does detail her intimate struggles in the immediate aftermath of her husband's death, Jackie seems to stand in as a representation for something more substantial and perhaps even more resonating than a mere First Lady in mourning. Jackie's experiences in the days following the loss of her and this country's beloved King of Camelot is representative of how grief is capable of taking on a life of its own within a person.

The constant extreme close-ups and chilling score that carries an air of grandness with every violin stroke both do an extemporary job of detailing Jackie's personal strife as she comes to terms with life as a single mother, who has the eyes of the world glued to her every move. The movie is scattered, told non-sequentially as if to describe the distortion of mind and body that a mourner often elicits so soon after the death of a loved one. Jackie goes through stages of grief much like the way one watches the houses swoosh by while riding a train and looking out the window, with volatile and introverted enthusiasm.

Grief, at some point, becomes little about the person that has died and much about the mourner themselves. In Jackie, we catch Mrs Kennedy crying over the loss of herself and her continued worrisome plight that she's insufficiently capable of becoming someone new; Someone the public will still revere and admire. Natalie Portman imbues this performance with acts of both selflessness and selfishness. Jackie was far from one-sided, and Portman's portrayal allows her to be shown as the complicated multidimensional prism she was. Her witty quips and editorial notes to the journalist interviewing her prove that self-image was always a concern for her, First Lady or not. Still, however, it does not go unnoticed that the film has little to do with the Kennedy Legacy or even the legacy of this fine, often charismatic woman. No, Jackie excels because it makes the viewer feel in an all-too-real genuine manner the disturbingly cathartic sensation of human loss. Jackie Kennedy was truly grief embodied, but she refused to let this define her entire life. Those who suffer the loss of a great love one should take notice to do the same. When grieving you may allow it to take over you for a brief time, but true strength and growth is expelled once we take control of our grief and move on to tomorrow's harrowing journey, renewed and wiser than before—God Bless JFK, God Bless Jackie, and in a bizarre twist of emotion, God Bless Grief.