Black History, As Told By White Cinema

I was thirteen when I was taken, with my school class, to see a preview screening of Amistad. I was probably a little too young, and a little too sheltered, to really understand what I was watching, because I mostly remember the murder scenes more than anything. But I’m glad I was given that opportunity, because it opened my eyes to a brutal history that is often glossed over.

Of course, if you’ve seen Amistad, then you know that, like with almost every other film Stephen Spielberg has ever made, it has a feel-good ending that makes you forget about the atrocities you witnessed up until that point. And as satisfying as it is to have a well-rounded, happy conclusion, I think it does a disservice to the reality that Africans were subjected to as they were kidnapped, brutalized, and enslaved.

I think we have a deep propensity to sanitize horror and tragedy in history, whether it be through schoolbook facts or Hollywood entertainment. We glorify the martyrs, shy away from morally gray characters, and conveniently skip over anything that might make us – the majority – feel uncomfortable about our past. Think about what we learn in history about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and how the murder of 200 thousand civilians is defended as necessary to have ended World War II. Think about movies like Braveheart, which idolizes a man who was in every way as violent, brutal and vile as the supposedly ‘evil’ English.

History is, of course, written by the victors, and is often less than truthful. It’s hard for me to even come to terms with the fact that idolizing Christopher Columbus – a staple of my elementary school history lessons – is glorifying a man who instigated the systematic extermination of millions of Native Americans. I was taught, from a very young age, that I belonged here more than those whose ancestry stems back to the dawn of humanity. That this country was my country, and I should hold in the highest regard those who made it possible for me to live here. Even Ridley Scott made me believe this with his 1992 film 1492: Conquest of Paradise.

Film has, since its inception, been predominantly white, written for by white people, directed by white people, and acted in by white people. Even movies that try to tackle racism and historical horrors such as slavery are often thought of by white people (think back to Amistad – directed by Stephen Spielberg, written by David Franzoni, and produced by a host of people – only one of whom was black). This means that, if we rely on film to educate us about the past – especially older films, like Gone with Wind (more in a moment) – we’re relying on a white narrative of black history.

There isn’t, of course, anything inherently wrong with a white writer or director wanting to shed light on the racial horrors of the United States’ exceptionally bloody history – these sorts of stories should be told – but to do so without perspective from the people who still today live in the fallout is at best ignorant, and at worst deliberately misleading.

There are people who are outraged that movies like Gone with the Wind are being taken to task for their portrayal of slavery, particularly when they depict slaves as content with their lot, and their white masters as overall caring and benevolent. This is a nice narrative; it makes us feel better, because we can say hey, look – not all slave owners were bad people!

The problem with this is that the focus is shifted from how those slaves were obtained, and the utter lack of basic freedoms they experienced, to the kindness and benevolence of white people toward those less ‘fortunate’. To paraphrase, we frankly shouldn’t give a damn – it doesn’t matter how nice they seem, or are portrayed – they owned people like … horses, or bicycles. Human beings, capable of thought, reason, emotion and love, living generation after generation in captivity like rats.

Now of course, there’s always the ‘period’ argument – we shouldn’t judge things in the past because things were ‘different’ then. What seems wrong today was considered normal back then.

Well no shit – otherwise we wouldn’t be trying to change things! And whilst it’s certainly true that standards have changed over the years, there were plenty of people going back centuries who never owned slaves – even when they could have.

The difficulty is, of course, to find a line between historical context and censorship. Pulling Gone with the Wind from HBO Max can feel like a slap in the face to artistic history, and a disservice to the original novelist and a film that has been considered one of the best movies ever made. Let’s not forget, it allowed Hattie McDaniel to become the first African American to win an Oscar.

But the idea that it needs historical context is relevant. The movie is over 80 years old – it’s not just a classic, but quite literally a piece of history. And like all history, it should be studied within the context of its time. Without that context – and a deeper understanding of the truths of slave-owner dynamics during the Civil War and beyond – it becomes a dangerous piece of propaganda, in which we’re led to believe that black people are nothing more than servants to their white masters.

A question I’ve started to ask myself, particularly when considering historical dramas, is whether the film would have been different if written, directed or produced by a black person. What nuances would be changed? What story elements would be emphasized, or minimized instead? What characters would be given more depth? If the answer is no, it wouldn’t have been any different, then you probably have yourself a pretty solid piece of unbiased cinema. But I challenge you to find one.

There has been a surge, or so it seems, in black-written and black-produced cinema recently (I think that it’s really just been given more spotlight in the past few years, but I don’t have numbers to back that up), and that’s a good thing. But I think that more can be done to listen – and watch – the stories of those whose ancestors suffered – and who to this day continue to suffer – prejudice, racism and oppression.

There’s good news, though. As difficult as it is to see at times, and as slow as the progress might be, I feel that the world is slowly waking up to the idea that history does not equal truth. We all have our own perspectives on current events, but it’s harder to have perspectives on history, simply because we cling so tightly to what we’re taught as children. But for every Robert E. Lee supporter, there are a few others who are willing to open their minds to a possible alternative.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the concept of being an ally vs. a rescuer, and how what the black community seems to be asking for – has perhaps always been asking for – is for allies. When a white person makes a movie about a black person, without consultation, permission or involving their experiences, we’re falling into the realm of rescuer. We’re trying to show the world that racism is a bad thing – without even asking those who suffer from it.

I’m not saying that Spielberg should hang up his hat, or that Kevin Feige should step down from Marvel; there are many, many talented white people in Hollywood who are fantastic storytellers. But there are certain stories that aren’t ours to tell, and I think it’s about time we allowed others to make their voices heard.

Movie Night: I Kill Giants

Year: 2018
Genre: Fantasy/Drama
Cast: Zoe Saldana, Imogen Poots, Madison Wolfe

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Barbara Thorson struggles through life by escaping into a fantasy life of magic and monsters.

IMDb

I’m not a super big fan of graphic novels (which isn’t to say I don’t like them, I just don’t have much experience with the medium), so it came as a pleasant surprise to realize the origin of this charming, sad and rewarding tale came from illustrated pages (and quite acclaimed ones, as I understand it).

Not that this should – or did – affect my take on the film itself, which stands strong in its own right. Masterfully crafted – somewhat in the style of Peter Jackson’s take on The Lovely Bones, with a seamless blend of intimate personal shots and grandiose, epic CGI giants – the visuals nonetheless serve only as a backdrop to an intense and rewarding story of love, despair, loss, grief and renewal.

Going into the movie with no previous knowledge of the story, and having seen it billed as ‘fantasy’ with glorious posters of villainous-looking giants, it genuinely wasn’t clear to me for a large portion of the film whether the titular creatures were real, or merely in the imagination of the protagonist, played ably by Madison Wolfe. When the truth is finally revealed, it’s done in a truly heartbreaking manner, and by the end of the movie I wasn’t crying ugly tears, you were.

Unfortunately, this touching story of growing up with tragedy seemingly flopped hard on release, with IMDb showing it making less than $500K globally on a budget of almost $15M. One of the reviews there implicates a terrible marketing campaign, which I mostly agree with; I was expecting the movie to be an action/adventure giant-killing romp, when in fact all of that serves only as the scenery for a touching growing-up drama.

Despite the poor reception, for me this was a flawless piece of cinema, albeit in a somewhat niche category, and I would wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone interested in the sadder side of things.

10/10 would watch again.

Music I Love: Symphony No. 4 in F minor, by Tchaikovsky

Work: Symphony No. 4 in F minor, Op. 36
Composer: Pytor Illyich Tchaikovsky
Year: 1878

Movements:

  1. Andante sostenuto – Moderato con anima
  2. Andantino in modo di canzona
  3. Scherzo (Allegro)
  4. Finale (Allegro con fuoco)

I’ve written before about my love for Tchaikovsky’s music – in particular the emotional drama of his sixth symphony, the Pathétique. Growing up on a musical diet of classical- and romantic-era compositions, Tchaikovsky represented to me the pinnacle of angst and turmoil, with his grandiose themes and bombastic orchestrations. Even after I discovered the high-octane energy and gothic tragedy of rock and metal, Tchaikovsky remained a staple of my musical journey, and one I frequently return to when I’m feeling emotional, dramatic, or simply in need of something more refined and cultured than blast beats.

In fairness, I could write lovingly about almost any of Tchaikovsky’s compositions – from the pomp and flair of his first piano concerto to the subtle tensions of his Romeo and Juliet fantasy overture – but one work that stands out to me, for its thematic inventiveness, intricate orchestration and Mozartian way in which the material is combined in the finale, is his fourth symphony in F minor. From the militaristic brass of the introduction to the dizzying scales of the finale, this is one of Tchaikovsky’s most musically memorable works, along with the Nutcracker suite and the 1812 Overture.

It’s also one of his leanest symphonies – even the first movement, at nearly twenty minutes long, doesn’t outstay its welcome. The material is presented, developed and recapitulated in equal measure, with each theme weaving seamlessly into the next, and yet distinct and separable all the same. As is usual for Tchaikovsky, he leans heavily on the brass instruments to carry the weight of the music, but the dancing woodwinds and dashing string scales bring a levity to what might otherwise have been overly heavy material.

The second movement, a traditional slow movement, is lyrical and sparse, a delicate balance of strings and woodwinds presenting new material whilst harkening back to the quieter moments of the first movement. The scherzo is utterly unique, played almost entirely on pizzicato strings and scattered flutes and oboes, with a short melodious middle and a recap that builds to a false crescendo before fading out into the blasting opening of the finale.

And what a finale! Crashing cymbals and screaming strings back percussive, staccato horns and trumpets at full blast in F Major – a joyous, bombastic retelling of the first movement’s dark and ominous opening notes. Furious flurries of string and woodwind scales move things forward with relentless drive, until a rising passage of frantic trumpets leads back to the original opening theme from the first movement – an unexpected and brilliant connection of the start and end of the symphony. And when the finale’s main theme triumphantly returns with double-time brass chords to close out the movement and the work, it’s impossible not to be flush with excitement and sheer enthusiasm for the breakneck pace of the music.

Tchaikovsky undoubtedly suffered from a great deal in his lifetime, and some of his works indicate a strong possibility of bipolar disorder; if so, this certainly represents a period of manic joy – a kind of feverish ecstasy, a blinding brightness that no despair can overcome, and an enduring sense that anything, any wrong, can be overcome with enough positivity.

I listen to this symphony when I need to feel energy; I listen to it when I need to feel calm. I listen to it when I need a reminder that not all in the world is doom and gloom – and, simply, when I want a break from the turn-it-to-eleven mentality of heavy metal.

This is one of Tchaikovsky’s underrated masterpieces, and I highly encourage you to seek out a good recording today.