Captain Save-a-Negro: A Primer

FYI: My Monday posts are also published at the Black Youth Project.

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I swear I saw commercials for the movie The Blind Side more times than I caught the ads of those cats singing the free credit report jingle.  (F-R-E-E that spells free/credit report dot com, baby...) Environmentalists could learn a lot from Hollywood; that place recycles scenarios more often than a tree hugger sneers at Hummer drivers.

Lost in Translation: A Response to 'Precious'

Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry said Precious was awesome and that everyone should go see it.  Since I am the most obedient of Negroes, I saw it last Friday.  If Flavor Flav is the world's greatest hype man, this duo is officially the world's greatest hype machine.   I found Precious slightly underwhelming, uninspiring, and lacking much of what makes the novel, Push by Sapphire, so powerful.  Sorry, Ms. Winfrey.  I had no "A-ha!" moment.

My reaction to and assessment of the film, however, needs context.  With relative ease, I could probably come up with a book list of black women's fiction about incest--The Bluest Eye, Corregidora, etc.  In other words, I have discussed, read, written, and thought about the issues the film presents visually perhaps more than the average moviegoer.  So I'm willing to concede that my expectation, my threshold might have been a bit higher than the people (talking loud as hell) in front of me.  Still, I think what I found troubling about the film worth mentioning.  Lee Daniels & Co. had the envelope; they just didn't push it.  (Was that too heavy handed?)

You Gon' Be All Right: On Maia Campbell and (More on) Tyler Perry

Campbell, center, with the cast of In the House


Last week, I didn't take the opportunity to blog about Maia Campbell, something that I had fully intended to do.  Instead, my only significant output was a blog about Tyler Perry taking over command of the for colored girls film.  I worry that not allowing myself time to post my thoughts about Campbell was an implicit, unspoken participation in the suppression and dismissal of her situation, her struggles.  I want to correct that.  Further, I want to make a connection to both events, which is something I haven't seen folks do, but I find especially necessary at this juncture. 

Roy G. Whiz

Uh oh.  It's a code red (black and green).  The bat signal is out.  bell hooks has started spelling her name in all CAPS.  Call up your elders, pray to your ancestors; conjure up your inner fairies, spirits, and goddesses.  Tyler Perry is turning your favorite play, excuse me, choreopoem into a movie.

The film version of Ntozake Shange's for colored girls--whose rights were procured by director Nzingha Stewart (she directed the First Born Second's music video for "Soul Sista")--has landed in the cork-blackened hands of Mr. Madea himself.  Perry will be not just producing, not just directing, but also writing the screenplay for Shange's Obie award-winning play.   Yes, the words of that rainbow shall be given film direction and dialogue by Mr. Perry.  Take a minute.  Read it again.  Deep breaths.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Good.  Chill out, unknot your headwrap.  It's going to be ok.  But just in case, bring those sage incense.  Right there on the mantel.  Next to your Yoruba statue.

I might know what you're thinking.  My advice?  Forget about it.  Forget about how patriarchally formulaic Perry's black Christian parables are.  (If you've seen one, you've them all, right? Gee, I hope so.  I've seen 2 flicks and 30 seconds of House of Payne.  I can't stomach any more.)  Forget about the fact that every black woman character Perry has ever created is characterized as insubordinate (hat tip, Moya B.), and therefore deserving of a smack on her face, if it stops her from talking to her husband all out of her neck like she ain't got no damn sense.  Forget about Perry's overly played out All a black woman needs is a good, not perfect but hardworking and well-meaning black man theme.  Forget about how real the acronym C.R.E.A.M. has just become to you (thanks, Wu).  Forget about the fact that there are plenty of black feminist women directors out there who would do a magnificent job turning this play into a movie.  Forget about the fact that some of those black feminist directors, who shall remain nameless, might make said movie more boring than, well, some black feminist films; we're talking principle here.  Forget about Perry's oeuvre, which features black women, characters with about as much depth as a Beyonce interview and attitudes that rival the stench of a cesspool.  Forget about how, in matters not fiscal, putting Perry at the helm of this endeavor makes no sense.  Forget about making sense.  Forget about the facts; forget about meaning.  Just forget about art; right now, it's as useful as your degree in the humanities.  While you're at it, forget about (a purposeful) life.  You'll just get a headache.

Tyler Perry directing for colored girls is an awesomely good idea. And if you think otherwise, you lose.  So get on board.  Support a brother.  (Have you forgotten all the lessons of the Black Arts Movement?)  Don't be so divisive.  Stay black and proud, baby.

I get it.  I get it. You performed the Lady in Purple's monologue at the '94 ACT-SO awards, so you feel particularly close to this play.  But in this doom and gloom world, pessimism is such a cliché--and totally unsexy.  So, let's look on the bright side.  Some good things can come out of this.  And, since I've decided to turn a new leaf by no longer visiting despair.com on a daily basis (where will I get my inspiration now?), I've decided to provide you with a list of some of those awesome possibilities.   Shall we?


1.  Jill Scott might be in it.  I'm going to take my tiiiiiime!  In a word, Jilly from Philly is theatrical.  She exudes epic.  She has the resumé.  She's worked on stage, television and she has a book of poetry.  (It's probably better than Alicia Keys' Tears for Water.)  And, if it wasn't for Ms. Scott, Angie Stone would be the queen of the Support a Strong Black Man through Song Crew which, it seems, is right up Perry's alley.  Can't you just hear her singing "Shortnin' Bread"?  You know you can.

(The discussion of how she ruined "Watching Me" with her spoken word verses will have to wait for later.)

2.  Better yet, Beyonce might be in it! Can she upgrade this film?  Well, if she can do for you what Martin did for the people, the answer is a resounding hells yes!  for colored girls the flick can do for Matt and Tina's daughter what Dreamgirls didn't.  If you haven't noticed, Beyonce is bank at the cinema.  That crap of a movie, Obsessed starring Sasha Fierce and Stringer Bell debuted at number 1.  (Did I see this film? No. But my guess is it was crap.)  $11 million on its first weekend.   And isn't that this is all about?  Besides, Beyonce needs the acting practice, no?  Yes, now is a good time for Lady in Yellow jokes.  Start now.

3.  You can play a game.  Guess who will star in the movie.  This is an ensemble cast.  There are seven colors of the rainbow, which makes seven roles for black actresses.  Last time I counted, I think there were about 14 black women in Hollywood; that does not include Queen Latifah, Halle Berry, or the black lady in the Pine Sol commercials.  Set up an office pool.  Whoever correctly chooses the most actresses wins.  Will Taraji P. "Jody, you a black ass lie" Henton get the nod as the Lady in Brown?  Is Sanaa Lathan up for the role as the Lady in Red?  Will Zoe Saldana pass as black--again--for the role of the Lady in Orange?  Is Kerry Washington still too busy campaigning for Obama?  Bet some wheat grass shots or something.  We hate money, remember?

4.  Hey, it could've been Spike Lee.  There is a valid argument that Spike Lee would do a better job, but do you really, really want him writing this movie?  She's Gotta Have it 2, anyone?  (Zora Neale Hurston angrily revolves in her previously unmarked grave!)  Furthermore, he did go to Morehouse.  'Nough said.  I won't bother mentioning Steven Spielberg.  I'm sure he's busy.

5.  Time to exhale.  (Shout out to my girl, Maegs.)  Remember the epic fail of trying to get your book club to read Toni Morrison?  Remember how homegirl turned up her nose at the idea?  Remember how you were so frustrated that you wanted to quit paying your dues and stop attending until your other homegirl pointed out that you had yet to get the club treasurer's bomb-ass spinach dip recipe?  Well, with Perry on board, this is the perfect time to add for colored girls to your book club reading list as this year's non-urban selection.  With the Perry stamp of approval, the ladies will gladly postpone that new Eric Jerome Dickey to February or March 2010, easy.  After all, surely there are some quotables that will make the movie, and there is nothing more pleasurable than sitting in the movie theater and reciting and laughing with the actors.  Make sure you bring it up before y'all get knee-deep into the Real Housewives of Atlanta.  (Who gon' check me, boo?)

6.  There will be an Oprah special...  And you will watch that shit.  (Ntozake Shange, we speak your name!)  I know you're conflicted about Oprah.  She's made a billion dollars on lightweight mammy game, but outright hatred is problematized (oh god, I can't believe I just typed that word in a blog entry) by your allegiance to black women.  It is a tough call.  But you have to watch this episode to make up for skipping Best Life Week and to make amends for believing in The Secret.  (Still waiting for my bike, by the way.)  There will be more black folks on the show since she opened up that school in Africa, and more black women on the show since, well, let me get back to you on that.  Maya Angelou will say something that sounds wise until you realize that said wisdom is merely a facade, a result of being hypnotized by her deep voice, wordiness, and poetic inflection that sounds nothing like the see-saw spoken word cadence you're used to.  You know Gayle is coming!  All the stars of the show will be there talking about how the play changed their lives.  Oprah will talk about how it changed her life and then tell the audience that it change their lives too, and the audience will nod in Pavlovian agreement.  Maybe Ntozake Shange will show. (You're looking for a rehab joke here, aren't you?  Not gonna happen.  I have standards now.)  If anything, it's worth tivo-ing; the visual dissonance of watching soccer moms cheer for this play and the copy of the book under their chair will be gnarly.  Trust.  

7.  March on. I know you like to protest.  It's what you do on your days off from your non-profit job.  So call up your homegirls, er, sistern.  Text the garbage bag, grocery bag, gucci bag, paper sack, nickel bag, booty bag, cheap sack ladies, and the baby baggin' mamas. Tell them to call their friends, and y'all have a vegan-friendly potluck and make some signs.  Then go up to Lionsgate headquarters or Tyler Perry Studios (because most of y'all live in Atlanta, right?) and walk around for a few hours.  It won't change anything, but I'm sure you'll be able to finagle a Facebook album out of the event.  Wear your best vintage denim jacket, and comfortable--but fierce--shoes.

8.  That said, you might get to meet Erykah Badu.   Ms. Badu makes the illest videos, and one of my favorites is the aforementioned for colored girls-inspired "Bag Lady."  If you make enough noise, maybe Ms. Badu will honor your cause.  Either way, follow her on twitter.  She's the best.

9.  There's still time to pray that Perry won't dress in drag for this movie.  When Madea throws that baby out of the window, it will be funny--right? 


10.  By the end, you'll forget you ever considered suicide.  (You might consider murder.)  Face it, dude.  Self-loathing doesn't befit everybody.  What you wanna go around killing yourself for?  The Tyler Perry version of this film is going to make you feel so much better; so uplifted, so inspired.  By the end, you might not love the movie, but you will love Jesus--and maybe the black man you left at home to go watch the movie with your girls.  And you will find God, He's nowhere near yourself, though.  You'll find Him in the church house.  And if Perry has anything to do with it, you will worship him--and your (new) black man--fiercely.

See!  Why did you ever get upset over this news?  You've totally forgotten all the reasons you opposed this move, haven't you?  Can't even remember the fact that "somebody almost walked off wid alla [your] stuff," hunh?  Don't you feel so much better now?  Good.  See you at the movies.


Note: For smarter, more serious accounts of this issue, please check out my internet husband, AC and/or my fellow black youth blogger, fabulous Fallon.  Their posts on this rocked.

Trouble the Water on DVD

If you haven't seen it, I encourage you to add Trouble the Water to your Netflix queue, or rent it--people still do that, right?  It was released on DVD today.  I wrote a response/review of the documentary after seeing it at the Black Harvest Film Festival last year.  Trouble the Water, which follows the before, during and after Hurricane Katrina experience of ninth ward residents Kimberly Rivers Roberts and her husband, Scott, got nominated for an Academy Award, but I guess a French guy on a wire--voluntarily danger--was a lot more compelling than being reminded of this country's EPIC FAILURE during the disaster.  That shit is a movie-going buzzkill. 

The other week, my dissertation writing partner and I were talking about extreme sports.  Neither one of us could understand why folks find watching and/or participating in them so much fun, so fascinating.  In response to our lackluster feeling about the genre she quipped, "Being black is an extreme sport."  Remembering Trouble the Water, maybe she's right.  Check it out.

minding my own beeswax.

hey gayle,

my cynicism has a purpose. i know it does.

i read the secret life of bees before i went to go see it. i had had the book on my shelf for a while, but the way i earn my bread had precluded me from engaging in any leisurely reading for, like, two years. when i saw the cast on oprah the other day, i decided that i should spend my upcoming vacation day reading the book, for i was sure someone i knew was going to ask me to come with them to the movies to see this thing. (and yes, i dry heaved through queen latifah's over-hetero antics--again. the queen lusting after the men in egypt? is that what i just heard while brushing my teeth? bitch, please.)

the blurb on the back of the book seemed harmless enough. blacks and whites getting together and loving each other despite the mores of their society. how lovely. i plowed my way through it. the story was ok. knees in grits? nice. i'd never heard of that one. and though black beekeepers seemed fertile ground from which to sprout magical negroes--paging bagger vance--kidd seemed to get close to that line without entirely crossing it. either way, the book was rather predictable. perfect for a little midweek leisurely reading. and, it read like a movie.

the film, like the book, features all the usual suspects: racist southern red-faced spitting white men, black substitute parental figures, singing blacks, angry, social activist blacks, and, of course, the simple-minded, yet heart as pure as gold southerner (full disclosure: i kind of love forrest gump). except of course, unlike the novel, in the film the people are younger and better looking.

i hated this movie. well, not entirely. dakota fanning was good. i'm not a movie buff, but calling her the next jodie foster sounds about right. they kind of look alike. alicia keys wasn't bad; she definitely portrayed a female version of the "huey newton complex" (a term i coined meaning, hella light-skinned, hella militant) just fine. the more i see her on screen, the more i think j.hud is a natural.

so mostly, i hated queen latifah. as soon as she appeared on screen, my hand went into my afro, and i slid down in my seat. it seems as if she's gone from "ladies first" to portraying every possible stereotype she can muster. is she getting back at me? for this? and this? if alicia "hell's kitchen" keys can kinda sound southern, or at least make a good attempt, why do you dana "dirty jersey" owens, sound like a house slave? ("we'se makin' honey!"). i guess the moral of ms. owens' career is: you might default on dignity, but coonery will (still) get you paid.

perhaps it was just me, but her image radiated the following message from the screen: by way of my cleavage alone, i will impart wisdom on you, young white girl. if it wasn't her 60s natural looking like someone just put some leave-in conditioner in her head and kept it moving, it was her "sermon of the black madonna." inspired by the oprah winfrey school of monologues, her speech elicited some of the weakest call and response i've seen this side of the color line. though, i can't blame her for that. your bad, gina prince-bythewood. i expect better church scenes from negro directors. i fully believe i could've gotten more from my actors. and i'm a heathen.

i left the movie having learned two things: 1. even child abusers can be redeemed through the presence of blacks; and 2. integration was really about young black boys accomplishing their dream of boning white girls without getting beat up. (i feel warm inside.) i left the movie and the book with the following, more general question: why is white parent absenteeism so... cute?

perhaps it's residue from my whole obama/moynihan gripe, but i read that book and the movie trying to figure out why stories about white orphans make such heartwarming tales. harry potter? annie? oliver? angels in the outfield? those may not leave you depressed. hell, you might just leave the theatre humming a tune. but losing isaiah? the color purple? hell, the bluest eye (i know it's never been a movie)? watching a movie partly premised on lack of black parental rearing will make you wanna slit your damn wrists. oh wait. i forgot about like mike. that movie will give you the warm fuzzies. thanks, lil bow wow.

that said, i could be completely wrong about this. i just can't shake the feeling that most of these movies about orphan black kids need to get adopted by brangelina. if not, i'll have to rely on tyler perry for my happy endings. yep. it's a hard-knock life.

hold on, my people.

gayle,

you know what really bothers me? black people who refer to their job site as a "the plantation," or derivatives thereof. quite a while ago, i was peeping in on some myspace pages, and saw a picture this woman had taken of herself while sitting in her cubicle. the blurb under it read, "at the plantation." that is, frankly, utterly ridiculous. i was incensed (maybe i overreacted. perhaps i was ovulating-- or whatever). so much so that i mildly wished there was an overseer nearby to give her a lash or two, just for being an idiot. though i make no arguments about things in this world being sacred and untouchable, i just don't think most black folks today can make analogies about their current predicaments being like the middle passage and events thereafter. especially if you have a job. that pays you. and a digital camera. and internet access. besides, no one's going to cut your foot off for trying to take a "vacation" up north.

anyway, the point? well, i've consistently argued--to anyone who would half listen to my not so sober ass-- that modern-day black folks were just weaker, a bunch of punks compared to our ancestors. my cuticles, for example, dry up if i fail to apply burt's bees lemon butter cuticle creme after each hand wash. can you imagine them after picking cotton? my cantankerous claim about my skin folks, however, was directly challenged, and subsequently dismantled, during every minute of the latest documentary on hurricane katrina, trouble the water. after the film, i dined on (jim) crow. (actually, i just went and checked out epic burger. the burgers are only so-so, by the way.)

a synopsis. two documentary film makers head to new orleans to shoot footage of the hurricane katrina aftermath. as the gods would have it, they run into kimberly rivers roberts, an emcee (black kold madina), and her husband, scott, two ninth ward residents who have survived the disaster. not only have they lived to tell their story, but astonishingly, kim had the foresight--and bravery-- to film their experience, and that of their neighbors, with her video camera. interspersed with footage by the documentary film crew and clips from various news and media outlets, we witness the roberts' life immediately before, during (yes, during!), and after the hurricane hit. it's a documentary that exposes the true nature of endurance, humanity, survival... and just how fucked up the government is.

we are a chosen people. we must be.

what i like about the film is that there's no old-school anthropological fetishizing of the subject bullshit here. there's no vulgar marxist mythologizing of the folk. because, for the most part, this time the folk got to tell their own damn story, and vocalize their own assessments of the situation. no one needs or dares speak for them--on the high or low(er) frequencies. they know exactly what's up, and they don't mind telling us.

the story is biblical--in proportion and theme. it's the story of noah, moses, and jesus in one; an old and new testament cocktail. the flood: well, that's obvious. roberts points her camera, and shows us her view from the attic: hard rain, a massive deluge of water covering street signs. noah: suddenly, the camera's eye catches larry, a ninth ward neighbor, literally wading in the water with a heavy boxing bag in tow. he's decided to transport his neighbors, one by one, to higher ground. roberts commentary is pithy, "katrina is a bad bitch."

moses: after the storm, scott finds a truck and transports 30 of his neighbors to a naval base, only to be met by a salute of m-16s. so they wander, looking for some sort of refuge. yes, the end of the storm is only the beginning. zion remains ever-elusive.

trouble the water made a believer out of me. whatever "slave mentality" our previous kinfolks had to survive the middle passage, slavery, jim crow... dwells somewhere still. (i know i'm making an essentialist argument. i kind of don't give a fuck.) unfortunately, it seems that inhumanity has to rear its ugly head for us to remember how incredibly resilient, creative, and, perhaps, human we are. that we hold within us a legacy, and descend from and remain a part of an enduring community of survivors. black survivors.

we are a chosen people.