WRITE WHAT I LIKE

Must See: Charles Burnett at the IFC

This weekend I went to see My Brother's Wedding, the feature-length follow-up to Charles Burnett's masterful Killer of Sheep. With the re-release of both films this year (previously they'd only been seen at festivals), Mr. Burnett has solidified his reputation as one America's truly independent auteurs, finally drawn into the spotlight after a career of relative anonymity.

The film is beautifully eerie; markedly unsentimental in its realistic portrayal of Black Los Angeles and unsettling as a result.  I won't do a full review here, though you should check out this thoughtful post (thanks Ben) and A.O. Scott's 2 cents in the Times.  What I think these and other reviewers missed, however, is exactly why an artist as talented as Burnett never achieved widespread notoriety until now.

It is notable that we've never heard of My Brother's Wedding.  And we should be asking ourselves why we haven't. What struck me in the theater that night is how the film offers deep commentary on the practical and existential dilemmas faced by Black Americans  without bringing a white person into a single frame. It's a rare choice for the American filmmaker; Black people are understood as sympathetic and complex - human - in their own right, outside of the gaze of a white protagonist.  A visionary political and artistic strategy that delivers for all 81 minutes. 

Charles Burnett is truly an independent filmmaker.  In fact, as I write it, that title doesn't quite seem to do him justice.

See this film.

Movies we Love That Just Ain't Right: Coming To America

This is the first in a series I like to call "Love Just Ain't Right".

Though hilarious, creative and often insightful, in hindsight sometimes the things we love just ain't right.  This series is my attempt to unearth the glories and woes of iconic moments in Black popular culture. 

If you haven't seen Coming to America, open a new tab on that browser, go to netflix and get involved.  This iconic Eddie Murphy film, directed by John Landis premiered when I was the tender and impressionable age of 10 and remains one of my favorites.... even though it just ain't right.

The first paragraph of the wikipedia synopsis says a lot in itself:

Akeem Joffer (Eddie Murphy), the prince and heir to the throne of the fictitious African country Zamunda, is discontented with being pampered all his life. The final straw is when his parents (James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair) present him with a bride-to-be he has never met before, trained to desire mindlessly obeying his every command.

To make short work of the summary, Prince Akeem comes to New York looking for a bride he can both "love and respect," chooses Queens as an obvious destination and takes a job at the Black-owned fast restaurant, notably named "McDowells".

So, um, this film is hilarious.   There are moments of absolutely mind-numbing Black camp humor that are truly amazing.  I'm waiting for a film that can deliver a moment half as transcendent  as this one:

But beyond the jheri curls and other tragic tackiness of the 80s, this film introduced another powerful image to its audience.  And that joke, it seems, was on Africa.

In the Africa of Coming to America, kings rule and servants serve, but the primitive truly reigns.  Even as a bookish and curious kid, the image of Africa in this film that I loved and watched too many times to count was, for a time, the most vivid painted for me of modern Africa. 

And friends, that just ain't right.

Bu as I re-viewed this movie as a grown-ass man, something else stood out for me. Nude "bathers" servicing the king and prince each morning?  A bride so subservient she barks like a dog on command?   There's a thread of "afro-patriarchy" that manifests strongly here and, oddly, makes Black American patriarchy seem normal by connecting it to a wholly mythologized and sexualized vision of primordial African civilization.

Oh yes I went there, but I'm prepared to stop (though I could go on).  I trust that you'll get down in the comments section and tell us all about the parts you loved or they thought just weren't right with reverence and revulsion for this complex comedic masterpiece. 

Race for the Oscars

Old But, Good.  This piece was origninally published on 23 February 2007.

Just ahead of Sunday night's ceremony, I've been doing some thinking about this "historic" year for Black people at the Oscar's. With a record 5 nominations, a chorus of voices (including Newsweek) are arguing, again, that barriers are being broken.

I wrote Race for the Oscars, posted over at COLORLINES, to argue that getting behind the glam of the red carpet and symbolism historic firsts, we see a Hollywood still fractured along the color line.  A preview:

And I am Telling You, I Don’t Buy It.

It’s true; Oscar night does play an important symbolic role.  Awarding Black actors allows Hollywood a moment to exhale.  A brief period to release the nasty burden of criticism surrounding a highly inequitable film industry while rehearsing popular stereotypes and congratulating roles that comfort anxieties held by the larger society. 

Black people, in turn, look to one of our own receiving the award as a mark of progress; if we are accepted and applauded on the red carpet, why not off? The gleam of Oscar is a welcome distraction from the truth that life for Black folks in Hollywood and beyond is cause for more rage than rejoicing. 

Read more here.