2011. The federal government of America opens a monument dedicated to Martin Luther King Jr. Carved out of white marble, he adds to the imposing selection of figures that bestride the USA’s capital. He was the father of the Civil Rights Movement; a man whose words live on in political legend. And director Ava DuVernay somehow managed to pull from this well-trodden ground an original narrative.

The film’s plot focuses around events in Selma, Alabama in 1965. Following his success in bringing segregation to an end in 1964, Martin Luther King Jr. turned his attention to the issue of voting rights for African-Americans. The film centres around the three non-violent marches he led from Selma to Montgomery, all in an effort to get the administration in Washington DC to recognise the futility of racial inequality.

Undoubtedly, David Oyelowo is the star of the film. He plays Martin Luther King Jr. with a gravitas that is totally absorbing. Each and every line has a power that perfectly represents the popular support that he was able to command; a notable moment being him proclaiming “no more” inequality in Selma’s grand church. This alone would build an enthralling, but ultimately one-dimensional character. Yet, in the hands of Oyelowo, King is not just the icon memorialised in marble: he is a human being. Oyelowo creates a terrible sense of urgency throughout King’s life, with constant threats to his family putting a strain on the stability of everyone he loves.

One particularly poignant moment sees King joking about Selma being “as good a place to die as any,” in answer to which his wife implores him to “not say that ever again.” Carmen Ejogo lends brilliant support here as King’s wife, capturing the fear of death that being married to such an iconic protestor could instil. She is almost brought to the edge of reason by King’s work, frequently breaking down when they are alone together. Ultimately, this is DuVernay’s masterstroke, portraying that, however grand a political movement may seem, the figures at its head remain insecure, flawed human beings.

Framing the central acting, the film draws out the ingrained nature of racial hostility in the mid-20th-century American South. Subtle nods to supposed African-American inferiority absorb the audience in the incivilities of the time. A scene that particularly affected me was a conversation between King and President Johnson (Tom Wilkinson), in which the latter congratulates the former on the “trinkets” he has gained (the Nobel Peace Prize) and proceeds to then ‘apologise’ for the fact that “this voting thing is gonna have to wait.” Such degrading dialogue from the President reinforces the sweeping nature of racism as an ideology. It was more than the violent treatment of black people; it was an ingrained belief that black people were an ‘inferior’ race, making their rights secondary to those of whites.

Equally, the brutal treatment of nonviolent black protestors is terribly realistic. Jarring camerawork draws you into the chaos, notably the tear gas and baton beatings of the film’s first march into Montgomery. But this is combined with heart-breaking poignancy. The scene in which Jimmie Lee Jackson (a black protestor, played very ably by Keith Stanfield) is murdered for peacefully protesting is one of the most touching of the whole film. His mother’s raw cries, juxtaposed with the staring corpse, is a perfect symbol for the thousands of black people brutalised by segregation in 20th-century America.

The cinematography adds to the tangibility of DuVernay’s portrayal of events. King’s final successful march into Montgomery is divided into footage from the film and actual coverage of the real march in 1965. This brings King’s work back to life, depicting the real men and women that fought for their right to be free. The juxtaposition between the real black and white footage and the rich colours of the film’s portrayal acts almost as a metaphor for Civil Rights’ success, demonstrating the transition from a distant dream to final acceptance of racial equality. Jason Moran’s construction of a score that jumps between soaring orchestral pieces and contemporary soul only adds to the film’s poignancy.

Oyelowo’s delivery of King’s speech at Montgomery is the perfect backdrop to the march, acting almost to tie the terrible suffering of the black population to the realisation of the dream of equality. I defy you to watch the growing crescendo to ‘Glory Alleluia’ without shedding a tear.

Ultimately, this film is a necessity in modern cinema. Beneath the veil of this portrayal of the success of the Civil Rights Movement is a definite need to bring race back to the forefront of American consciousness. The piece’s Oscar-nominated original song, ‘Glory’, proclaims that “we walk through Ferguson with our hands up.” This is clearly a story that the production sees as far from over. And in a time when men are still killed for their colour in America, and Hollywood fails to nominate any black actors, I am inclined to agree with them.