The sadness that abounds in the story of Fruitvale Station holds the audience in its grip for the better part of ninety minutes. As you live out Oscar’s final day (and if you shush those inner thoughts of “how do they know that?”), you’re dreading the coming doom, known because this is based on a true story, the pivotal moments of which are shown in a genuine cell-phone-captured video of the events of January 1, 2009 as the movie begins.
Every time I found myself groaning over the movie painting Oscar as quite the saint, *just* enough of his other side is shown to keep this from being too sympathy-driven. Oscar wasn’t a saint. Oscar made bad decisions. Oscar took wrong paths.
I think what the movie wants to do, though, is to humanize him and remind us that a life senselessly lost is a life lost. A life. Lost.
The movie is successful at that. The sound of sniffles rippling through the theater toward the end, and the sound of utter silence when the screen goes black confirms such.
I knew only the basic premise. I was surprised the movie did not focus more on the “after” but instead simply shares with us this day of Oscar’s. But the narrative at the end allows us to reflect on the after: the questions of justice; the questions of race; the questions of split-second decisions.
Questions over life lost.