More cultural critics weigh in on Precious in Felicia Lee's recent piece in the Times. Lee's article sets up a dichotomy in which Precious is either perceived by viewers as "a reinforcement of noxious stereotypes" (negative) or "a realistic and therapeutic portrayal of a black family in America" (positive). This oppositional framework brought to mind Michele Wallace's trenchant critique of negative/positive images as a way of framing black cultural criticism in her Introduction to Invisibility Blues. As evidenced by the responses in Lee's article, this dichotomy is not the most productive or critical way to evaluate Daniel's film, or Sapphire's novel, or Alice Walker's The Color Purple for that matter. Wallace's suggestion that we approach black mass and popular culture from the "perspectives of production and audience reception" instead seems instructive (3). Or as my friend and colleague Professor Lynn Makau puts it:
"Of COURSE [Precious] is earning Oscar buzz--Precious and her wholly fucked up life = an image mainstream audiences can get behind. And ooo, isn't Mariah brave to look so unglamorous, and who is that well-pressed hottie playing the sympathetic teacher and do we ever get to hear why she is so easy on the eyes and Precious, by paradoxical definition, is not?"
Wallace challenges us further to think about who produces black and mainstream mass and popular culture and for what audiences. The strong responses to Precious are in part a reflection of how few images of blackness are on the screen. With such a dearth of images, audiences--of various backgrounds--tend to presume that what they see are "authentic" portrayals of black life rather than just one cultural expression amidst an array of multifaceted perspectives.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Ann Petry
After participating in a dynamic symposium on "Transnational Feminism and the Black Diaspora," hosted and conceived by Professor Keisha-Khan Perry of Brown University, I set off for Boston.
And more specifically for the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center to rummage through Ann Petry's papers. I can't remember how I came across Ann Petry's first novel The Street (1946) but I do know that Petry's vivid portrait of Harlem's 116th St has had a lasting impact on me, so much so that the novel was the subject of one of my dissertation chapters and is part of my book manuscript as well.
“Author Ann Petry said in Hartford Thursday that the ‘sad and terrible’ thing about her first novel, ‘The Street,’ is that she would have to write the same book 20 years later about any ghetto in the United States.”
--“‘The Street’ Still Unchanged,” Hartford Courant, March 7, 1969.
Could Petry have written the same novel today? Her memorable protagonist Lutie Johnson, recently divorced, struggles to maintain her dignity and provide a decent environment to raise her son Bub in. I can't help but think of Sapphire's novel Push in the same vein as Petry's work. More than 50 years later, The Street would NOT be the same book, it would be far more stark.
Pharmacy grad, reporter, writer of novels, short stories, and juvenile literature, Petry remained committed to women's rights, social justice, and education until her death in 1997. In the last box of her correspondences, dated in the 60s and 70s, I was struck by the letters she'd write to editors of The Times and of other organs in protest of the derogatory images of black people that limned their pages. She had also sent her condolences to President and Mrs. Johnson after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Yet, I didn't get a clear picture of Petry during the civil rights era.
I have read elsewhere that she was active in the socialist movement. There were no documents that detailed her involvement. I'd be interested to know more about that as well as her personal life. I hate to be the researcher/voyeur but the lack of information about her marriage and intimate life was noticeable. I suspect that the estate might have respected Petry's penchant for privacy and elected not to include certain details of her life.
Another coup for me was uncovering Ann Petry, the writer. She had pages and pages of character sketches, outlines, and other details about her novels-in-progress. She took her writing very seriously and aimed to craft work that was poetic, well structured, and socially meaningful (without being sociological).
Above all, she seemed committed to exploring the paradoxes of humanity, especially in regards to race and sex. In edition to The Street, The Narrows, A Country Place, and her short fiction compiled as Miss Muriel and Other Stories explore the complexities of class, race, sex, love, and human relations in complex and sometimes unprecedented ways.
And more specifically for the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center to rummage through Ann Petry's papers. I can't remember how I came across Ann Petry's first novel The Street (1946) but I do know that Petry's vivid portrait of Harlem's 116th St has had a lasting impact on me, so much so that the novel was the subject of one of my dissertation chapters and is part of my book manuscript as well.
“Author Ann Petry said in Hartford Thursday that the ‘sad and terrible’ thing about her first novel, ‘The Street,’ is that she would have to write the same book 20 years later about any ghetto in the United States.”
--“‘The Street’ Still Unchanged,” Hartford Courant, March 7, 1969.
Could Petry have written the same novel today? Her memorable protagonist Lutie Johnson, recently divorced, struggles to maintain her dignity and provide a decent environment to raise her son Bub in. I can't help but think of Sapphire's novel Push in the same vein as Petry's work. More than 50 years later, The Street would NOT be the same book, it would be far more stark.
Pharmacy grad, reporter, writer of novels, short stories, and juvenile literature, Petry remained committed to women's rights, social justice, and education until her death in 1997. In the last box of her correspondences, dated in the 60s and 70s, I was struck by the letters she'd write to editors of The Times and of other organs in protest of the derogatory images of black people that limned their pages. She had also sent her condolences to President and Mrs. Johnson after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Yet, I didn't get a clear picture of Petry during the civil rights era.
I have read elsewhere that she was active in the socialist movement. There were no documents that detailed her involvement. I'd be interested to know more about that as well as her personal life. I hate to be the researcher/voyeur but the lack of information about her marriage and intimate life was noticeable. I suspect that the estate might have respected Petry's penchant for privacy and elected not to include certain details of her life.
Another coup for me was uncovering Ann Petry, the writer. She had pages and pages of character sketches, outlines, and other details about her novels-in-progress. She took her writing very seriously and aimed to craft work that was poetic, well structured, and socially meaningful (without being sociological).
Above all, she seemed committed to exploring the paradoxes of humanity, especially in regards to race and sex. In edition to The Street, The Narrows, A Country Place, and her short fiction compiled as Miss Muriel and Other Stories explore the complexities of class, race, sex, love, and human relations in complex and sometimes unprecedented ways.
Friday, November 13, 2009
the color precious
My friend Salamishah Tillet compares the commercial successes of Daniels' Precious and Spielberg's The Color Purple here. Tillet examines further why the protests that welcomed Spielberg's adaptation of Alice Walker's novel have not resurfaced around Daniels' portrayal of Sapphire's Push.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
all girls are precious
The theater was almost filled to capacity. We looked for two side-by-side seats and found them near the front, closer to the screen than I like to be. We also had the misfortune of being seated behind a heckler. A young guy who commented loudly throughout the film, lobbed insults at the large woman on the screen, and laughed at inappropriate moments, like when Precious (played by Gabbie Sidibe) had to fend off her abusive mother Mary (Mo'Nique).
Can you be BLACK and look at this ... again, and again, and again? Can you be a black (dark-skinned) (large-sized) woman and watch this or do you see too much of your personal pain in Precious' face to sit still? Can you be an abused woman or man of any color and not turn-away or cover your eyes when scenes of simulated incest are projected onto the screen?
Executive producers Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry likely recalled their own experiences of sexual abuse when they decided to support the film financially. Perry was even compelled to share his personal history of abuse on his website in an e-mail message to his fans. While I am not a fan, I thought Perry's message was courageous and suspected Precious was a powerful film that could touch others in the way that it had Perry and Winfrey. Because I know the power of visual images, I was also nervous that the display of such graphic material (the novel Push is even more graphic/visual than the film in many ways) would further exploit black pain, poverty, sexual trauma ... blackness itself.
Lynn Hirschberg's interview with Lee Daniels heightened my anxiety. The interview framed Daniels as a brilliant hustler, a man with aesthetic vision coupled with dreams of dollar signs. He had produced Monster's Ball, a film I found both painful and problematic on a number of levels. What would he do with Push?
Daniels' Precious does amazing things with Sapphire's Push actually. Sapphire's words painted scenes too painful to bear witness to and Daniels knows that. But he also knows how to use visuality to draw viewers uncomfortably close to a traumatic moment and allow them to feel that discomfort and/or to empathize with it. He does not alleviate that pain but he also doesn't make a spectacle out of it. He incorporates the humorous elements of the story, but he doesn't use humor to deflect from the pain. He manages to end the film with hope rather than despair but not in a romanticized way.
In other words, I think Daniels does a remarkable job with difficult material. I'll see the film again after the opening weeks have passed and the crowds die down. I hope the commercial success of the film will open even more doors for black filmmakers who want to address complex subjects. But more importantly, I hope the film can further dialogue about the lives of black girls. The entire time I was watching the film, I kept thinking how few portrayals of black girls and women are available, traumatic or otherwise. Stanley Crouch, a man with whom I seldom agree, wrote a poignant piece in The Root that captures the plight of black actresses.
While watching Precious I also thought of better known figures in urban narratives, like Bigger Thomas or even Biggie Smalls, and how a character like Precious dovetails with these figures but also how her story diverges from theirs when it comes to sexual trauma. In many ways Push and Precious furthers the exploration of sexualized racism in urban environs that Ann Petry began in her 1946 novel The Street. Like Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, Precious also reminds us that black girls need saving as much as black boys do. Will the "bigness" of the film galvanize a movement to end black girl pain? If the laughter of that heckler or the fallout of the Dom Imus scandal or even the bizarre events surrounding the attack and rape of Megan Williams are any indication, there is a lot more work to be done before everyone recognizes all black girls are precious.
Can you be BLACK and look at this ... again, and again, and again? Can you be a black (dark-skinned) (large-sized) woman and watch this or do you see too much of your personal pain in Precious' face to sit still? Can you be an abused woman or man of any color and not turn-away or cover your eyes when scenes of simulated incest are projected onto the screen?Executive producers Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry likely recalled their own experiences of sexual abuse when they decided to support the film financially. Perry was even compelled to share his personal history of abuse on his website in an e-mail message to his fans. While I am not a fan, I thought Perry's message was courageous and suspected Precious was a powerful film that could touch others in the way that it had Perry and Winfrey. Because I know the power of visual images, I was also nervous that the display of such graphic material (the novel Push is even more graphic/visual than the film in many ways) would further exploit black pain, poverty, sexual trauma ... blackness itself.
Lynn Hirschberg's interview with Lee Daniels heightened my anxiety. The interview framed Daniels as a brilliant hustler, a man with aesthetic vision coupled with dreams of dollar signs. He had produced Monster's Ball, a film I found both painful and problematic on a number of levels. What would he do with Push?
Daniels' Precious does amazing things with Sapphire's Push actually. Sapphire's words painted scenes too painful to bear witness to and Daniels knows that. But he also knows how to use visuality to draw viewers uncomfortably close to a traumatic moment and allow them to feel that discomfort and/or to empathize with it. He does not alleviate that pain but he also doesn't make a spectacle out of it. He incorporates the humorous elements of the story, but he doesn't use humor to deflect from the pain. He manages to end the film with hope rather than despair but not in a romanticized way.
In other words, I think Daniels does a remarkable job with difficult material. I'll see the film again after the opening weeks have passed and the crowds die down. I hope the commercial success of the film will open even more doors for black filmmakers who want to address complex subjects. But more importantly, I hope the film can further dialogue about the lives of black girls. The entire time I was watching the film, I kept thinking how few portrayals of black girls and women are available, traumatic or otherwise. Stanley Crouch, a man with whom I seldom agree, wrote a poignant piece in The Root that captures the plight of black actresses.
While watching Precious I also thought of better known figures in urban narratives, like Bigger Thomas or even Biggie Smalls, and how a character like Precious dovetails with these figures but also how her story diverges from theirs when it comes to sexual trauma. In many ways Push and Precious furthers the exploration of sexualized racism in urban environs that Ann Petry began in her 1946 novel The Street. Like Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, Precious also reminds us that black girls need saving as much as black boys do. Will the "bigness" of the film galvanize a movement to end black girl pain? If the laughter of that heckler or the fallout of the Dom Imus scandal or even the bizarre events surrounding the attack and rape of Megan Williams are any indication, there is a lot more work to be done before everyone recognizes all black girls are precious.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Outbursts
It's been a week of outbursts: from Joe Wilson, to Kanye West, to Serena Williams to Donald Winton, the heckler who shouted racist remarks at Williams from the stands. The discussions of these outbursts in the media raise questions about appropriate vs. inappropriate displays of emotion; free speech vs. speech that is deemed threatening; and displays of rage and whether these such outbursts are male prerogatives.
While most civil minded folks agree that it's inappropriate and egregious to denounce the President as a liar on the House floor, the throngs of "conservative activists" who gathered in lynch mob fashion at the Capital have embraced Wilson as a hero who told the truth (actually, he didn't). Was Wilson just emotionally overwhelmed by what he sees as the gaps in Obama's health care plan or does his rage (and the extended ire of the tea party brigade) have more to do with the audacity of a black man to run this country?
This same "audacity" to disrupt the old order and disband the old boys club in part explains the reactions the tennis world has had to the Williams sisters since they entered and continued to dominate the game. To be sure Serena's "outburst" should be penalized. But her behavior, unlike Wilson's, is not an anomaly: Connors, Agassi, and McEnroe, to name a few are notorious for acting up on the court. What distinguishes Williams from her other outrageous counterparts is her gender and race. It is not "proper" for women to cuss out a line judge during a tennis match. For black women, these performances are expected and further proof that we are "crazy," but we are not expected to be on the tennis court, much less to have the audacity to "act up" on it.
Acting up is different from "acting out" but sometimes the two blur. For Williams, cussing out the judge was acting up; making security remove Winton: acting out. Kanye West acted up (and acted a fool) at the VMAs but acted out when he spoke about George Bush's failure to respond during Hurricane Katrina.
Acting out is not always deemed appropriate but is often an act of resistance. It can be oral, aural, physical and any combination of the three. Williams has acted out before by refusing to participate in matches or on courts that she found offensive. It is likely that, in part, her acting up stems from having to act out in order to play, and play hard, in a sport that is raced, classed, and gendered in hegemonic ways. I'm not trying to defend Williams' actions but rather to frame them as well as the media's (over)reaction.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Gender Agenda
When I read the headline "Saving the World's Women," I was put off by The Times's special issue on gender. I thought "Shouldn't we be helping the world's women save themselves?" Far too often westerners construct women in the global South as if they are hapless victims that need to be saved from premodern cultural practices and patriarchy. Having traveled in various parts of Africa where I was able to interact with groups of women, I think that coalition building and capital are the ways to facilitate advancements in gender equality throughout the world. It turns out that a great deal of the special issue looked at how schemes like microfinancing can save women's lives and empower them in the process. I'm still pouring through the last few pieces and am heartened by the personal stories they include. I just wish the tone of the issue did not reinforce the idea that white/western men/women must rescue brown women from brown men (to borrow from Spivak's "Can the Subaltern Speak?").
Thursday, May 21, 2009
told ya
As Mara Brock Akil's The Game--the last black show on the CW (unless you include ANTM)--prepares for its exodus (which I'm not sad about since I find the show insipid), I want to repost this prediction via my old 4coloredgirls blog:
Friday, June 09, 2006
network integration
What happens when a black network merges with a white one? The CW. UPN has been the designated black network after the death of The Cosby Show and A Different World and after FOX made a name for its network and then drop-kicked all its black shows and the WB followed suit; it had a line-up of black comedies including the Steve Harvey Show and the Jamie Foxx Show until the network drew an audience, then gradually Dawson's Creek, Seventh Heaven and One Tree Hill recolored and reaudienced that station. It's like network gentrification.
Besides The Gilmore Girls (which the CW is keeping), I find most of the shows on the WB trite and boring and aside from Everybody Hates Chris and Girlfriends (also slated for slots on the new network), the UPN doesn't offer up much for TIVO either. I wonder what will happen after the CW is on the air for a season or two. Will "black" and "white" shows exist side by side in a network racial utopia? Will there be gradual white flight from the screen? Or will a bunch of black actors be out of jobs until an"Other" network wants to put itself on the map (ding ding ding)?
Besides The Gilmore Girls (which the CW is keeping), I find most of the shows on the WB trite and boring and aside from Everybody Hates Chris and Girlfriends (also slated for slots on the new network), the UPN doesn't offer up much for TIVO either. I wonder what will happen after the CW is on the air for a season or two. Will "black" and "white" shows exist side by side in a network racial utopia? Will there be gradual white flight from the screen? Or will a bunch of black actors be out of jobs until an"Other" network wants to put itself on the map (ding ding ding)?
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