Today on Race-Talk.org all of today's entries feature a discussion about the movie Precious by Lee Daniels, produced by Tyler Perry and Oprah Winfrey.
On Daily Kos you will view the first three entries. Please visit Race-Talk.org to view entire special.
Burn! Hollywood. Burn! part deux - by Dr. Avis Jones-DeWeever
Oprah and Tyler Perry should be applauded - by Sophia A. Nelson, Esq.
Forgotten truths about the rawness of survival - by Mia Charlene White
Burn! Hollywood. Burn! part deux - by Dr. Avis Jones-DeWeever
Twenty years ago, hip hop pioneers Public Enemy decried the perpetuation of decades of exploitive cinema in their now classic, Burn Hollywood Burn! Though many things have changed over the years, current events in the world of cinematic arts prove that many others remain same.
Today, Oscar buzz abounds surrounding the performances of comedienne turned dramatic actress, Mo’Nique as well as long-time Hollywood fixture, Sandra Bullock. Their polar opposite depictions of motherhood in Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire and The Blind Side, initially appear to be worlds apart. One is the story of how severe physical, mental, and sexual abuse fails to derail the loving spirit and aspirations of one "precious" soul. The other depicts the guts and determination of a brash, yet lovable white woman who opens up her privileged world to a destitute stranger across the color line. Although each have earned high marks from critics and audiences alike, the two films are seemingly worlds apart but for one disturbing commonality—the all too familiar Hollywood depiction of dysfunctional Black motherhood.
Why is it that American cinema seems completely incapable of displaying a mothering experience congruent with my own? The multiple generations of love, support, inexhaustible work, wisdom and sacrifice that has been the norm in my life as well as in the lives of countless others is somehow more rare than wizards, werewolves, and celestial beings on the silver screen. Even the most "inspiring" of tales, perhaps a category to which both The Blind Side and Precious aspires, can at best display a protagonist who perseveres and achieves in spite of Black mothering, rather than because of it.
Take two of my most beloved movies, each, coincidentally, starring the brilliant and talented actors, Laurence Fishburne and Angela Bassett. In both the 2006 hit film, Akeelah and the Bee and the 1991 John Singleton breakout movie, Boyz-N-the Hood, Black mothering is, at best, portrayed as bad mothering-"lite." Boyz-N-the-Hood begins when Tre’s highly educated, professional and accomplished mother abruptly gives up on raising her son by dropping him off, unannounced, at his father’s house to stay for good.
While Akeelah’s mother makes it her mission to aggressively stand in the way of the expanded development of her child’s academic capabilities by, of all things, discouraging spelling bee participation! Her anti-academic behavior is so deeply in-grained that the dramatic climax of the film is achieved when mom is reluctantly talked out of pulling her daughter off the stage of the State Spelling Bee already in progress! And to think—comparatively speaking, this is "good" Black mothering by typical Hollywood standards.
More common than not, Black mothers are nothing more than loud talking, gum smacking, side-hip baby carryin’ balls of dysfunction. Or are at best, not even Black women at all, but instead, are Black men dawning fat suits and wigs. As the song goes, "For what they play Aunt Jemima is the perfect term—even if now she got a perm!"
Yes, it’s true. Our mammy, jezebel, and sapphire roots are showing, despite our aggressive desires to cover them up through the now-trendy, self-congratulatory post-racial narrative.
How far have we really come when the continual perpetuation of the Reagan-era welfare queen mythology is now perfectly timed to appear at a theatre near you shortly before discussions surrounding the re-authorization of welfare reform are set to begin?
How far have we really come when one of Halle Berry’s two crack-addict depictions on her way to Superstardom is now retold, this time in feel-good form, with the added bonus of being based on real events?
Compelling as they are, these films and others of their ilk are not the only images of Black mothering that should be given the green-light for production. Nor should they be the only type of stories starring Black actors that receive serious consideration for Academy Awards. This all-too common scenario is insulting at best, or evidence of down-right racist misogyny at worst in terms of Hollywood’s one-note fixation on the perpetuation of stereotypical notions of who and what Black women are in our most intimate of spaces—that of mothering our children.
Of course, there are some notable exceptions to this rule. Last year’s Secret Life of Bees was a rare gem, even depicting caring, protective Black mothering in the nurturing of a white girl in need of good female influences. And though snubbed by the Academy, by business standards, the film was a resounding success, grossing more than three times the production costs of the film. Clearly, there is a market for this type of work. Too bad Hollywood too often fails to get the memo.
But even when Hollywood gets it wrong, it is still possible to leave the theatre with an appreciation for stellar acting performances, compelling drama, and recognizing some virtue in attempting to bring to light uncomfortable situations that are far too often swept under the rug. But when virtually the only images of Black mothering that is packaged, sold, and absorbed on the world’s stage are stories that have at their center perceptions of the most brutal of social pathologies, the residual effects cannot help but be damaging.
Given this long-standing reality, is it any wonder that today the most popular Google image of our First Lady is one that horrifically defiles her face to animalistic form? And is it any wonder that when I ask my thirteen year-old son and his friends to recall just one image of positive Black mothering they have seen on film in their lifetimes aside from The Secret Life of Bees, the only response I get is deep reflection and dead silence?
It is not.
Other stories are out there and they must be told. But until they are, you’ll find me discovering more self-affirming ways to spend my entertainment dollar, chanting Burn Hollywood Burn all the way out of this box office madness.
Avis A. Jones-DeWeever, Ph.D. is the Director of the Research, Public Policy, and Information Center for African American Women. The RPPI Center is a research/action institute based at the National Council of Negro Women which seeks to inform, catalyze and mobilize African American women for change in both the policy arena and throughout the broader cultural dynamic. Dr. Jones-DeWeever is the author of numerous publications focused on policy-issues of particular importance to women of color. A selection of her works include: Losing Ground: Women and the Foreclosure Crisis; Black Girls in New York: Quite Strength, Bold Resilience; Women in the Wake of the Storm: Examining the Post-Katrina Realities of the Women of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast; and The Black Women and Families Agenda for Change. In addition to her written contributions, Dr. Jones-DeWeever is a highly sought-after political commentator and public speaker. Her policy perspectives have been shared through a variety of media outlets including: CNN, PBS, ABC News Now, Voice of America Television, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, National Public Radio, Sirius and XM Radio, Glamour Magazine, Pink Magazine, Essence Magazine, the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Huffington Post, and Vital Speeches of the Day. Dr. Jones-DeWeever received her Ph.D. in Government and Politics from the University of Maryland, College Park. She serves on the Board of the Women’s Voices. Women’s Vote. Action Fund and maintains the position of Affiliated Scholar with the Institute for Women’s Policy Research.
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Oprah and Tyler Perry should be applauded - by Sophia A. Nelson, Esq.
After seeing the movie with the same title, I will never think of Chante Moore’s chart topping 1990’s song, "Precious," quite the same, ever again. The movie Precious left me feeling deeply wounded, confused and horrified that there are actually fellow citizens among us who live lives similar to the film, every day of their lives. It was as if someone took a fist and hit me square in the jaw—I have never left a movie feeling quite so stunned.
While we all know that Claireece "Precious" Jones was a "composite character" made up of various young women that the author Sapphire knew, the impact of wrapping it all in to one powerful movie was more than most of us could handle. I attended the movie with my mother (a survivor of childhood abuse) and six other girlfriends whose ages ranged from 23 to 62. All of us wept, gasped, and lamented about how far we as a people have seemingly fallen.
Although, I DO NOT think that this kind of sexual abuse and incest goes on all the time—I do think that people live in the horrific hell of poverty, abuse and anger ALL the time. This movie was meant to shock us into being mortified: this does happen here in America.
This movie was a lot to handle—a lot. The incest scenes which involved her father and sometimes her own mother still has me messed up four days later. I think the point is that too much anger is going on with us as black people, and it shows every day.
I heard someone say "Oprah was incest obsessed". Wow! Oprah & Tyler Perry are to be applauded for their courage in producing this movie—my own mother was the victim of childhood rape by her mother’s boyfriend; he also molested her younger brother. Trust me, the scars last forever. It took my mom and her brother 50+ years to speak of what happened to them and when they did, they got clobbered by their so-called family.
I suppose if I were raped as a child, or was the victim of incest by an elder member of my family, I too would be obsessed with making sure no-one else suffered my fate. I am still disturbed by the trend I see with how we as black folks are still living in America 400 years after slavery began—and DON’T fool yourselves folks—there is still a HUGE emotional connection to that history and it affects where we are right now. My hope is that this movie will encourage more women and men to share their stories and work to break the systemic emotional chains that have crippled us as black men and women for generations.
Sophia is editor in chief of Political Intersection Blog and political/social commentary opinion writer who has been published in The Washington Post, New York Times, Politico, The Root.com, Essence.com, Essence Magazine, Legal Times, & The Wall Street Journal. She has been quoted by a variety of media outlets as a political analyst and is a regular guest contributor to XM’s POTUS08, Fox News, CNN Morning, CNN International, NPR, WHUR, The Michael Eric Dyson Show, and BET where she dissects and debates the important issues of the day, ranging from the grassroots, to Presidential politics and public policy formation on Capitol Hill. As a former Senate Intern, RNC Intern, State Legislature Aide, Regulatory Counsel to NJ Governor Christie Whitman, Congressional Candidate, & Investigative Counsel to the House Republican Majority Staff/Government Reform Committee in the late 1990s Nelson has had an up close view of the inner workings of the nation’s capital and a front row seat to the political battles that make national news. Sophia is a sought after speaker and is considered an "up and coming person to watch" as a featured speaker with Leading Authorities Speaking Bureau and Society of Industry Leaders.
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Forgotten truths about the rawness of survival - by Mia Charlene White
I always take a good look around me before any movie starts. The night I went to see Precious, I saw friends, lovers, mother-daughter looking duos. I saw a lot of women – maybe 50% women of color, of those mostly Black, and several there alone like me. When the previews finally ended and the first scenes emerged, that familiar feeling set in...the one that says this is going to be simple and good. And it was. It was goodly because we are reminded that despite the self-hatred, rage, depression, cruelty, and madness – despite it all, we can still love, laugh, care for, and treasure each other. We can survive.
I’ve read some reviews which, in tone, seemed to take an experiential distance from the knowledge of violence. This usually turns up in coded sentences of amazement and disbelief that this could have occurred anywhere. I honestly wish I could sit down with those folk and challenge them to dig deeper and uncover their own hidden memories. Certainly, violent and depraved visual depictions can be a shock to the system and there may be some unconscious reaction to say to oneself – wow, that’s unreal – I’ve never had those feelings, or, nothing like that has ever happened to me or anyone I know. But I would say – Really? Are you sure?
For me, it’s lazy to simply objectify the childhood and institutional violence we saw and focus on that as the big point. That gives in to the worst aspects of modern society, i.e., super charged emotional experience leads not to a discussion of what effect the film had on you but rather, what it must mean about the city, the "urban ghetto", Black girls, Black men, Black women, etc. The violence was a means, people, not the end.
In thinking about Precious, I’m asking you not to let the distance take hold of your perspective, because that distance creates false gender, sex, race, class, urban-ghetto/rural essentialisms and borders. That distancing can lead to objectification and even, the pretense of a mastery over the ideas or the people portrayed in the film. Precious gave us the chance to inhabit a snippet of her life, not for a thrill, but to ask ourselves, what do I learn from Precious?
Even as I shakily stood up when the film was over, I felt a kind of quiet, mourning, reminiscing state in the faces around me, in me. We were pained, yet still moving. Just like Precious. You see, the film didn’t freeze frame her, or the city, or even the other characters. The film wasn’t a picture of who Precious is forever and ever, but rather a snapshot of her becoming. Horror, sadness, laughter all in, and becoming.
What touched me most about the film was its familiarity – its ability to bring me back to forgotten truths about the rawness of survival (of all the characters, through good means or unthinkable). I recognized some of Precious’ facial expressions, some of her mom’s, her friends’, the social worker’s, the teacher’s. I recognized New York (although some of the music was wrong for 1987) and remembered the boys on my block bringing out cardboard boxes to break dance; I remember their cruelty too, when hanging out on corners. I especially remembered the unitard that Precious’ mom wore several times, the one she was wearing as she danced in front of the TV. My mom and I used to sell that exact unitard for $20 at the Colliseum on Jamaica Avenue. "Back in the days when I was young, I’m not a kid anymore, but some days I sit and wish I was a kid again" (Remember Ahmad?).
I loved it when Precious asks Mariah Carey’s character, "What type of Black are you"? I appreciated the question and its framing, the recognition of we-ness yet also, of the politics of color, particularly because Precious’ blackness was a central aspect of the film. In asking the social worker this question, Precious was trying to situate the politics, trying to gauge how she might be manipulated, where the conversation was going, while also trying to postpone that conversation. As importantly, this particular scene’s tone, camera work, and make-up all were asking us see the social worker’s pain too. I saw some frozen depths in those eyes, in that young-old face, understanding then that this movie is in part, about the ways we try to survive. For some, survival involves inflicting serious cruelty onto others, as was the case of Precious’ mother, and even to a lesser extent, Precious’ own occasional cruelty towards her young neighbor. For others, like Nurse John, Ms. Rain, Precious’ grandma, or Carey’s character, survival is about trying to help. The social worker ultimately was not written with the ability to "go-there" with Precious. But I think her limitations, just like Precious’ mom’s limitations, taught Precious and us something – we have to find the strength to keep moving.
How brave Precious is. When her mom calls her over from the kitchen that one time, and she walks over with frying pan in-hand, I thought, Lord – I would never have had the guts to do that. And I swear, someone in the theatre muttered the same sentiment at just that moment. Precious was standing up for herself, pain-in-hand. She was not going to let herself be killed, physically or otherwise. Precious showed us that we don’t have to throw up our hands in hopeless despair at her situation. Cringe, but stay in it — don’t look away. And don’t hate me for this but Precious’ mom is brave too. Her admission at the end took introspection, and her reflections might take others a lifetime in therapy. Don’t misunderstand – she did so much wrong that, well, I don’t even know how to finish the sentence. Yet, she too, would be considered a child of God, would she not? That for me, is less about forgiveness or how inhumane she was and more about recognizing the stranger within all of us.
I’ve read reviews that focus on the monster that Precious’ mom is, about how this is the stereotyping of Black matriarchs, etc. I’ve known Black, White, Korean, Latina and Native women really similar to Precious’ mom, and I’ve known women quite unlike her as well. I can’t accept that this one movie will accelerate the stereotyping of Black women, of big women, of young women of color, of single moms, of urban places. Doesn’t every movie reinforce some stereotype?
All in all, the film’s writers and director were on to some truths about survival for Black women and people in general, and while they might not have quite gotten all the way there, the entire cast is first-rate. Sidibe and Mo’Nique made that apartment very, very real. By the way, the Caribbean sister was fantastic – didn’t anyone else catch this? When she led the class while Ms. Rain is on the phone, she was sarcastic, intelligent and quick. I wanted to know more about her, and about the sister who was holding the baby in that scene.
Caveat: I did not read Push, though I plan to. I hear that in the book, Ms. Rain is dark-skinned and had locks. For all of us who are black, brown, beige and bone – why not cast Ms. Rain properly? It’s not a deal breaker for me, but I have to ask the question. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out.
Mia Charlene White is a doctoral candidate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (M.I.T.), in the Department of Urban Studies and Planning, where she studies urban and political sociology. She is a National Science Foundation Predissertation Fellow and a Ford Foundation Minority Predissertation Fellow. Prior to returning to school, Mia’s work focused on gender, race and post-Katrina redevelopment. She is generally interested in the socio-spatial aspects of solidarity, identity, and citizenship. Mia is from New York City and is raising two young children with her husband in Cambridge, MA.
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