‘Seeds’ Review: Nine Years in the Making, a Film as Patient and Persevering as the Black Farmers It Documents

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Seeds” is a tender, heartfelt depiction of Black farmers in the Southern United States that blends elements of joy and sorrow. The traditional farming lifestyle has faced hardships, but for African American farmers, their connection to the land – preserving it, nurturing it – carries an added sense of vulnerability and value. Given the rapid erosion of civil rights we’ve witnessed recently, Brittany Shyne’s debut documentary feature, which won the U.S. Documentary prize at Sundance Film Festival, carries a mournful tone.

A requiem isn’t the goal for the filmmaker; rather, she approaches her subjects with the perseverance of a farmer sowing seeds. Over the course of two hours, she allows their lives to unfold naturally. She filmed for nine years, capturing both the grueling work of farming families and the dynamics of their community. Despite the pressing economic and political issues these families face, this isn’t sensationalist cinema. Instead, the filmmaker focuses on the ordinary, the routine, and the cyclical. Filmed in black and white, this portrait of a people is poignant and haunting.

As a cinema enthusiast, I’d rephrase it like this: “In ‘Seeds,’ I find myself accompanying an elderly individual on their way to a church for a farewell service. The movie starts with a funeral procession, which sets the rhythm of family and community life – much like the wisdom Clara Williams shares in a car ride with her grandniece about the final destination of the body being transported in the hearse leading the way.

Clara and her kin have long held a piece of land that their great-grandfather, Charles Cokrell, once tilled. This plot, part of the family since 1883, qualifies as a Centennial farm due to its continuous ownership for over a century. Here we find Belle among the siblings, but it is the eldest Williams, Carlie, who adds an emotional depth with her creation, “Seeds.

I’m an octogenarian who still drives and sells pecans at the market, carrying them in burlap bags. After making my sales, I visit an optometrist for a check-up. The sequence of events might seem ordinary, but they create a striking contrast that feels significant. It’s clear he didn’t make much profit from his pecan sales, as the burden of paying for new glasses is quite noticeable. When I spoke with the assistant at the optometrist’s office, I admitted, “I must confess, I’m not feeling my best today.” I was trying to find my supplemental insurance card then.

Shyne, who serves as both the cameraman and director, is deeply captivated by Carlie’s visage – her eyes that brim with tears and hair sprouting from her cap in silvery strands. He frequently reaches out to touch his own face, as if verifying her presence remains unchanged.

Occasionally, you might perceive rural communities across the country as predominantly inhabited by the elderly and children. However, there are instances when younger individuals show up – managing planned bush fires, sorting peas in the field, or herding stray cattle after they’ve broken through a fence.

When the camera momentarily stops focusing on its characters, it’s just as deliberate as choosing to portray this movie in black and white: It’s how the film pauses to breathe. A cumbersome cotton harvester moves towards the camera. Tractors and other machinery stand idly in a yard. The soundtrack is minimalistic, more of a creative use of sound design (by Daniel Timmons and Ben Kruse) than traditional music. The scarcity of sounds is profound: A gentle wind stirs a pine tree, and corn husks make the distinctive rustling noise. Halfway through the movie, a scene of cotton being harvested and formed into a trailer-long bale is accompanied by a low rumble that suggests machinery, and vocals that hint at spirituality (original music by Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe).

As a devoted farmer myself, I, Willie Head Jr., spend my days harvesting corn, collecting it in buckets, and nourishing my cows – work that never seems to end. My trusty knee brace has become as much a part of me as my straw hat does. But amidst the relentless labor, I make time for my precious great-grandchildren, Alani and her little brother. When the camera’s rolling, I proudly display a photograph of my mother – she lives on in Alani, who, unimpressed, simply goes about her own business.

The man exhibits a friendly demeanor in his straightforwardness. He inherited the farm from his grandfather and his connection to the land is unwavering. When we later discover he’s an activist, it doesn’t seem out of place. There’s a practical optimism about him.

At the entrance of a General Dollar store, Head encounters a pastor who recalls seeing him in Atlanta, where they were both protesting the allocation of farm subsidies. This encounter occurs at the heart of the film, marking our initial introduction to Head’s activism endeavors. Subsequently, we see him making phone calls on behalf of Black farmers and even traveling to Washington D.C. for a March 2023 demonstration against President Biden’s administration and the USDA. Watching “Seeds” leaves one pondering the fate of these activists under the Trump Administration.

The scene from the movie could’ve concluded with feelings of anger and frustration, but instead, we join him on a dusty road. In the horizon, a row of pine trees meets an open field. He states, “Somehow I had the sense to predict it – heading towards my children’s house,” expressing pride that feels genuine rather than arrogant. “I somehow sensed this day would come,” he continues. Later, as his great-grandson sits on the grass, he reflects, “When we were fighting for our land, this is the picture in my mind.

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2025-02-01 10:17