Before I even watched The Help, I could already gauge the general reception of Tate Taylor’s Oscar nominated film. It only took a few minutes on some review sites to confirm my suspicions as well.
The general consensus is that The Help is a white savior narrative manufactured by white people so that other white people can feel better about racism. It has its moments of humor and emotional depth but does not do a proper job of exploring racism, often trivializing the struggles of black people.
Viola Davis even denounced the film in 2018, saying that she regretted starring in such a production. Bryce Dallas Howard, who portrayed the film's villain, said something similar in 2020.
Despite this, I decided to watch Taylor’s film, largely because of how much I like Emma Stone. What I found was a movie that I thoroughly enjoyed regardless of its cringey reputation. In fact, after seeing The Help in its beautiful yet flawed glory, I’m not certain that it deserves such a ghastly reputation.
Obviously, every critic, viewer, and person is entitled to their opinion, and many will hold this film in low regard no matter what I say. As long as you’ve seen the film, that’s fine. Denounce it as you like.
However, I would like to offer why I think The Help is much better than people give it credit for, as well as why you might be wrong about it.
I should begin by tackling the obvious: The Help’s white savior narrative. Released in 2011, The Help became another entry into the critically acclaimed pantheon of films that follow a white hero helping black people in some way. Similarly lauded films include Driving Miss Daisy, Glory, and The Blind Side. It’s a tired trope, and I can see why one might detest The Help for employing it.
Afterall, the film features young, attractive, and brilliant Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan (Emma Stone) stirring up trouble in 1960’s Mississippi by trying to publish the stories of black maids. Abileen Clark (Viola Davis) and Minerva “Minny” Jackson (Octavia Spencer) are just two of the many maids that Skeeter “saves” by publishing their stories in secrecy. They are but poor, lowly maids who need saving, and Skeeter gracefully answers the call.
Except, that’s not really how The Help plays out. Indeed, Skeeter does want to tell the maids’ stories, but her motives aren’t entirely altruistic. While she’s the least racist member of the white women in her community, her defiance against them only comes out in strides. Early in the film, when her peers discuss the benefits of segregation, Skeeter doesn’t condemn them, but instead strives to change the subject. You could argue that Skeeter wants to save the working maids from hearing such hateful thoughts, but it’s more likely that she’s just avoiding confrontation.
In fact, nearly everything that Skeeter does to combat her peers’ racism is done indirectly, from the commode message in the newspaper all the way to the stories she ends up publishing anonymously.
Speaking of said stories, Skeeter never intends for them to raise trouble or further the Civil Rights movement. Yes, she’s fond of both, but her main intention lies elsewhere. Throughout the entire film, Skeeter’s focus above all remains furthering her career. Despite being fresh out of college, Skeeter ended up in a less than glamorous position at her local paper, managing a self-help column about housecleaning.
She’s clearly frustrated with the sexism of the early 1960’s and wants a chance to exhibit her ambition and talent. Her decision then to seek out the maids’ stories is more about proving her worth as a writer than exposing the injustices of the racist South.
Ultimately, Skeeter is a rebel with a strong distaste for the society that raised her. Her intuitive response is to rebel, not save, as evidenced by the defiant stories.
Truthfully, when everything is really considered, Skeeter makes for an awful savior. As Skeeter talks to Abileen about the stories, Abileen’s employer, Hilly Holbrock (Bryce Dallas Howard), becomes agitated and threatens her with steep repercussions.
Even worse, Skeeter endangers the lives of every maid involved by pursuing such an ambitious project in a prejudiced town. Sure, she ends up helping Abileen and Minny, but her motive is never pure like a true savior’s should be. Arguably, she’s even selfish, more concerned with her career than the already afflicted maids of Jackson, Mississippi.
Now, does Skeeter being a well-meaning but somewhat sucky heroine mean that The Help is not actually a white savior narrative? I’m not entirely sure since Skeeter does still help the maids by getting their stories published. It’s only through this action that the maids can tell their stories, claim some sense of agency, and improve their lives, so Skeeter absolutely helps them.
Yet, I still wouldn’t say that she saves them. Skeeter certainly instigates the story, but she’s not even the protagonist.
Instead, the true hero is Abileen, and The Help is her story. The movie explores her struggling daily, becoming disillusioned with life after losing her son, and being revitalized by the story’s end. As such, The Help is not really about a white girl helping black women tell their stories; it’s about a rightfully bitter black woman who agrees to share her stories with the world.
In fact, Abileen helps Skeeter just as much as Skeeter helps Abileen, at least superficially. Without Abileen risking her life to share her stories, Skeeter would have gone nowhere and might still be writing about cleaning when the movie ends. For someone as career driven as Skeeter, Abileen’s agreement is an immense help and the perfect break she needs.
Now, Skeeter does have the resources and connections to get everything published, but only Abileen possesses the most crucial piece: her stories. It’s only her firsthand experience of being decimated as a person that makes the stories a palpable read. Without such an account, Skeeter can go nowhere.
Of course, I won’t say that Abileen saves Skeeter either. Rather, Abileen and Skeeter find themselves collaborating. Unfortunately, their collaboration incites drawbacks for both of them. Skeeter becomes ostracized by her peers and boyfriend, while Abileen loses her job amidst turmoil.
However, they gain far more than they ever would have otherwise. Skeeter’s work becomes renowned, and she gains the outlet she needs to become a real writer. She even reconnects with her estranged mother after instigating change in her community.
Abileen benefits too, albeit on a much more personal level. Before the credits roll, she not only gains her voice, but establishes autonomy over her now fulfilled life. She can’t fully erase the horrors of her past or eradicate racism, but when she walks away from her employer, she does so with a genuine peace she hasn't had in a long time.
As such, their relationship is far more of a quid pro quo one than a white savior one, despite the otherwise superficial appearance at times.
So, if The Help is not about a white savior, then what is it really about? You could succinctly say it’s just about racism. Many critics would agree, arguing it sanitizes and patronizes the racist topics it touches on. Yet, I would disagree.
Instead, The Help is really about storytelling, the most crucial artforms we humans possess. Afterall, it’s storytelling that compels Skeeter to pursue her career. It’s also storytelling that emboldens Abileen and eventually rejuvenates her life. Most importantly, it’s storytelling that finally lands a legitimate blow against the rich white women who have oppressed the maids for their entire lives.
But it’s storytelling’s capacity to transform that fosters real change in Mississippi’s capital. Our protagonist, Abileen, experiences the most obvious change, becoming emboldened by finally having the chance to speak her truth.
The rest of the town also seemingly changes, now fully seeing the ramifications of their racist ways. Not everyone will adhere to change, as Hilly Holbrook confirms, but through storytelling, the black maids are heard at last across the nation. The Help then is about telling those stories that go unheard and providing people with the chance to change.
Oddly enough, the film’s best theme, storytelling, has invoked the most controversy, as many critics denounced who actually told the film’s story. One reason that Davis and Howard both decried the film is that The Help is a black story made by white people.
In fact, Tate Taylor not only directed the film, but also wrote the screenplay, which was adapted from Kathryn Stockett’s novel of the same name. Both Taylor and Stockett are white, which has drawn ire from many.
Now, I will not speak for Taylor, Stockett, or The Help’s producers. I also won’t excuse anyone by saying that’s just how movies were made at the time, even though you could argue that.
Instead, I will answer as a writer who has been told that the only way to write anything is to write what you know. The story’s creator, Stockett, was born in Jackson, Mississippi. Director Taylor was also born there, albeit both were born after the Civil Rights movement. I do not doubt either of their abilities to portray Jackson, Mississippi, especially when the setting is so genuinely captured on screen. Every frame feels both haunted and excessively hot, like an authentic slice of the boiled over, rural South.
The characters, however, are a different story. Taylor not being black is fundamentally problematic for many. He likely has a tangible grasp on the race situation in his hometown, but he can never fully understand the plight of black people in the 1960’s.
I hope that Taylor had a historian or advisor of sorts to make sure he understood the gravitas of the situation, but I can’t guarantee that he did. Many critics would likely say he never reached that goal and was never going to because he’s white. It’s a valid criticism, one that certainly requires consideration.
Further, I’ve seen many reviews argue that The Help is a sanitized version of racism, existing only to make white people feel better. While the film’s feel-good nature might suggest this, I just don’t see how any white person could watch this and feel good. The story constantly portrays how hypocritical, ridiculous, and hateful the white women are, save Skeeter and maybe Ceilia Rae Foote (Jessica Chastain).
Also, many moments throughout The Help can be summarized by a single word: uncomfortable. One of the film’s most pungent scenes is when Abileen suffers in a hundred-degree black only bathroom. The combined space and sweating skin are cringe inducing as they amplify the notorious southern heat.
Similarly uncomfortable are the scenes when Yule May Davis (Aunjanue Ellis) is arrested for nothing, Minny gets physically abused by her husband, and Abileen recounts the story of how her son died a pointless death. For a feel-good movie, The Help is not a comfortable watch at all. It does not fully explore racism, but it remains a stirring dip, nonetheless.
And that is exactly the point: these stories being told are uncomfortable, but they must still be confronted. I’ve remarked a few times how many critics deemed The Help a cheap way for white people to feel better about racism. This statement isn’t entirely true, but I must agree with one aspect: every white person should watch this movie. They should confront the stories being told and wrestle with the abuse these women faced over ridiculous trivialities.
I consider myself quite knowledgeable, but I had no idea that segregation extended to household bathrooms. Having segregation be visually projected onto breathing, feeling characters is a much different experience than reading about it in a classroom. The film is not a full exploration of the brutalities of racism, but it still provides a personal look at one of our countries’ worst times.
Perhaps most importantly of all, The Help reminds us that these awful events transpired and are forever part of our history. Some critics condemned Taylor’s film for supposing that racism ended in 1964 in one feel good adventure. I never quite got that sentiment from The Help. Sure, I laughed, but the emotional moments were too grippingly detestable to ever make me feel good.
Instead, I felt mostly plagued by racism’s seemingly inevitable presence in the South, which I consider to be my home. The Help never really argues that racism has ended, but rather it supposes that we are never helpless to fight it. As long as we can use our voices and tell our stories, the fight is never lost.
For some, Taylor’s race will always prevent them from enjoying this movie, as they maintain that it was never his to tell. Yet, in my humble opinion, I don’t entirely believe that Taylor shouldn’t have been involved. The Help is indeed about the black maids of Jackson, Mississippi, but it’s a story that involves all of us.
It’s a shameful facet of white Southern history, but they are still crucial to the entire story. While there are a few rebels and allies, most of the white people are despicable and prejudiced towards their neighbors. They are not heroes, but it’s still a story involved with white Southerners, which is Taylor’s history.
Surely, this is not to say that white voices should tell every story. Contrarily, The Help dispels that notion every chance it gets.
As the last decade of cinema has shown, black voices can not only helm great movies, but truly flourish within the artform when handled by the right people. Blockbusters and Oscar darlings alike have given amazing glimpses into the struggles and desires of black culture. The Help could never fully explore either of those, but it does insist that black voices must tell their stories.
Taylor’s film is certainly not perfect and perhaps it should never have been made. Some will always believe that and be offended by its very existence. That’s fine, as they have the right to.
In fact, feel however you want to about this film, although you should probably watch it before utterly despising it. As for me, I choose to shrug off its shortcomings, of which there are plenty, and accept it for the wonderful story it is, a story about storytelling making the world a little bit better.
