What horrors are directly related to Black women? What elements, themes, aesthetic appeal would make a horror film a solid example of Black female centrality and agency? And even still, strike fear in a universal audience… Our ghosts: how are they different?
Black Aesthetics. It was a class I took as an undergraduate many years ago. What defined the term for the purposes of the course began with how Africans from thousands of years ago developed a culture of leisure, creation for pleasure in what is seen. The word aesthetic by its very meaning is “concerned with beauty or the appreciation of beauty” and more openly, “a set of principles underlying and guiding the work of a particular artist or artistic movement.” Our numerous discussions naturally shifted to the present and understanding of what encompasses Black aesthetics today on our terms. Specifically an African American aesthetic.
There is a reason why Patricia Hill Collins’ flagship book, Black Feminist Thought notes the critical implications of experience in her theory. When a “historically oppressed group” such as Black women produce “social thought designed to oppose oppression… not only does the form assumed by this thought diverge from standard academic theory — it can take the form of poetry, music, essays, and the like,” opposing racist and sexist practices imposed upon their livelihood in these ways. Simply put, “U.S. Black women participated [and continue to participate] in constructing and reconstructing these oppositional knowledges. Through the lived experiences gained within their extended families and communities, individual African American women fashioned their own ideas about the meaning of Black womanhood.”
There is a daily, moment by moment struggle with intersectionality. Black women can and do, many times, never, and/or always, magnify our individual and communal Black aesthetic as a part of our identities, bridging our experiences as Black women to our interests.
Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight (1995) directed by Ernest R. Dickerson
This experience could carry so remarkably in horror films. Sometimes discussions on cinematic horror efforts by Black women focus on whether we could even classify the text as horror. Eve’s Bayou, Beloved, rely on a significant degree of supernatural elements to tell their stories. Instead of imagining horror, death, gore and the grotesque, supernatural beings in excess, the emphasis should always be on the attempts at soliciting fear and unease in an audience. With horror, that is the base. What creates a comfortable classification are elements that break the fourth wall: demons, goblins, ghosts, killers, zombies, and various other personifications suspended in the unknown.
I’m deeply curious as to why horror isn’t a space where a number of Black women are exercising cinematic efforts in tackling supernatural stories that feel familiar. I hear it time a plenty about other female horror filmmakers utilizing the horror genre as an exorcise in personal fears embedded in their womanhood. Wretched (2007) does this, Hollywood Skin (2010) also. What horrors are directly related to Black women? What elements, themes, aesthetic appeal would make a horror film a solid example of Black female centrality and agency? And even still, strike fear in a universal audience…
Our ghosts: how are they different?
Ghost stories are so prevalent because every single culture on the planet has a mythos surrounding them. They vary in form and symbolism so much, I’d be here for weeks non-stop writing what I wanted to be a thoughtful essay into a book. But imagine ghosts acting as direct reflectors of our fears an anxieties. Or as malevolent guides into the nightmares faced by Black mothers losing their sons at disproportionate rates. Ancestors past who fought for equality, those that didn’t, suspended in acquiescence. The possibilities are limitless.
Tales From The Hood (1995) accomplished this to an extent. Although male-centric, it opened the door for opportunities in depicting the fear in African American men’s lived experiences. Crazy K in a nuanced way haunted the minds of his three killers in a snapshot of violence amongst Black males in the 1990s.
For Black women, we could ask ourselves how ghosts would play a role in our physical and psychological undoing. How our spirits are unique to our beings?
The grotesque: Our bodies in historical context.
Research, work, and talk about a Black woman’s body is never done. My recent delve into critical reading on artist Kara Walker’s “A Subtlety or the Marvelous Sugar Baby” exhibit by the prolific Dr. Brittney Cooper and other cultural and social news monitoring, lately involving Nicki Minaj, points directly at a long history of complicated approaches to perception, agency and authority about the Black female body. Once mandated as livestock, ripe for breeding under the most inhumane and psychologically frightening circumstances. This history is taught in these essays, in college classrooms and so forth because of an argument that surrounds the cycle of a time where literal ownership over our bodies were littered with an ideology that places an unwavering burden of negativity on our physical selves. Our lips are too big, our voices are too deep, our skin is too dark, our hair is abnormally textured.
Goodnight My Love (2012) directed by Kellee Terrell
A Twitter inquiry from model and filmmaker Lary Love Dolley pointed directly towards tackling these issues within the horror genre. With fervent excitement, I assume she is looking into developing a horror film surrounding the pervasive perm, hair straightening process when she asked if it had been done before. I’ve personally never seen a film that has, but I imagine the vast possibilities for discussion and extreme special makeup effects! We are taught we are the antithesis of beauty, yet we “produce an opposed thought and aesthetic” designed to challenge history as it carries into the present.
I’ve been attempting to conceptualize a space for Black voices in the horror film genre for awhile now. Imagining new ideas for thought when we think about what a “Black horror film” is and how we can take our definitions further. Our experiences and cultural productions are so convoluted as to be so ripe for cinematic exploration in genre film, that it would bring a fresh flood of originality horror desperately needs.
The top image is a still from Ganja & Hess (1973) directed by Bill Gunn.
Ashlee Blackwell is the founder and managing editor of Graveyard Shift Sisters, a website dedicated to highlighting the work of women of color in the horror and science fiction genres. She holds a MA in Liberal Arts from Temple University and aspires to bring intersectional horror into the college classroom.
However, I do thoroughly enjoy and sometimes defend 80s horror and the Black (female) characters I can find, but it’s crucial to examine the narrow confines of their characterization. …The 80s opened up a dialogue about where Black women’s place was not only in society, but in horror.
Horror in the 1980s saw its most economically prosperous boom ever with droves of young audiences flocking to the theaters each weekend to catch the latest mainstream fare and the independent distribution circuit got a taste for massive dollar returns thanks to VHS technology, video rental stores, and small film companies not yet chewed and swallowed by the landmark Telecommunications Act in 1996. The abundance of films were endless. So much so, myself and other horror aficionados are still combing purposely through the virtual racks to find untapped treasures, and others we loved but don’t remember by name. Unsurprising, diverse character representations weren’t necessarily a part of this equation.
The best description of Black characters in horror films in the 1980s is “fairly fleeting or nonexistent.” With major horror films in settings that reflected the “white flight” from “urban” (read: poor/working class, people of color) spaces, the reality of camps, suburbs, and modern, renewal terrains is where supernatural forces found a home away from the reality-based, city horrors. Of course, you had both non-White interlopers as insignificant, stand-in characters (actor Richard Lawson as Ryan in Poltergeist comes to mind) and the fly in the buttermilk characters I often mirror with the trend of the Black middle class during this time.
With sparse African American presence on this foundation, “Black characters’ value was confined to their ability to affect an assimilable air in cross-racial, interpersonal encounters,” often reduced to tokenized roles that saw them “blend” in with the group with no discernible interest in fleshing their characters out, making them just as multi-faceted, whole individuals as their white counterparts. However, I do thoroughly enjoy and sometimes defend 80s horror and the Black (female) characters I can find, but it’s crucial to examine the narrow confines of their characterization. While it was important for them to be “seen,” it’s disheartening that they were left to our imaginations to assess their merit.
Below are three of note, as they are as diverse in characterization as they are in setting. Within the realm of Black women in 1980’s horror films, they are standouts and widely recognized; funny enough because they are amongst the few.
Grace Jones as Katrina in Vamp (1986)
There’s one self-indulgent wish I have: to go back a few years to the pop culture conference I attended and to not have another meeting conflict with one graduate student’s presentation on Grace Jones’ vampiric performance in this film. I’m still wildly interested in the author’s thoughts on the dynamics of this character. There’s a lot to say about a significant character who does not speak. Your understanding comes from Katrina’s movements and reactions to those with whom she interacts. Katrina is feared, respected, and desired as any head vampress of a seedy strip club should be. Regardless of the film’s camp, it’s sort of an original step with Jones’ personae bringing to life such art and terror to a memorable character.
Toy Newkirk as Sheila Kopecky in A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988)
It’s not without surprise to those in-the-know that this character is a personal favorite. Sheila is the first casualty of the barrier broken between the “Elm Street children” and the “fresh meat.” She is the Black friend who her white high school co-horts depend on for math tutoring and bug zappers. She is a part of the white female protagonist’s (Alice) arc in avenging her fallen friends and defeating Freddy. And in step with this particular Elm Street franchise installment and the famed sentiment, she proves the rule loosely solidified in this decade that the Black person does die first.
We don’t learn much about Sheila: we don’t see her at home, with family, taking interest in anyone romantically, or alone with her thoughts. To be fair, that’s not the tone of this film with a clear focus on Alice vs. Freddy. A small grace that Sheila offers is the fact that she strays heavily from caricature often associated with Black women in mainstream films. She wasn’t a “sassy, eccentric, magical servant,” a trope long associated with Black women in horror films long before the blaxploitation period in the 1970s. In fact, she was an extroverted nerd. Because this is a character so rare, if arguably non-existent for Black women on screen, it makes A Nightmare On Elm Street 4 revolutionary.
Lisa Bonet as Epiphany Proudfoot in Angel Heart (1987)
An ethereal presence in a surreal mystery, Epiphany provided both distraction and information to Harry Angel (Mickey Rourke), a private investigator who travels down to the American south to find the whereabouts of a musician named Johnny Favorite. The story was Angel’s; Epiphany’s presence had its share of significance considering the structure of the story. Bonet’s role was of a mystical practitioner of voodoo, more inclined to offer Angel rather cryptic facts about her mother, Evangeline who was the deceased lover of Favorite’s. Angel Heart‘s place in genre as a period mystery has me refraining from revealing too much of the story, but the beats that addressed matters of race are much better for analysis than the prior two films mentioned.
It is difficult to separate artist from the art here. Bonet was on a highway to super stardom during the film’s release, and her explicit love scene with Rourke’s character, considering their age difference and grisly imagery accompanying, sent a tizzy of rumors spiraling, citing this role as possibly being one of the reasons she and Bill Cosby were infamously at odds which Bonet has disputed.
In what may be considered more cult than mainstream, Angel Heart has earned its stripes as being one of the more bold and richly dark thrillers of the decade.
With a significant absence of Black filmmakers creating work in horror during the 1980s, representation was scant. Black characters were villains, supportives, and ultimately, victims just like other disposable characters. The problem lies in a lack of consideration for non-White actors to receive fulfilling, leading roles, not matter how slashery a horror film in the 80s was. It took the renaissances of Black cinematic genre storytelling of the 1970s and 1990s to bring more compelling roles back to these characters, Black women in particular. They have set the tone for what mainstream and independent horror filmmakers of any background are slowly but steadily doing today.
However, the 80s opened up a dialogue about where Black women’s place was not only in society, but in horror. Katrina demonstrates a stark fear of “the Other” who dwells beyond the parameters of the safe, White institutions, Sheila is a marker of assimilation and the rise of the Black middle class with a Huxtable like allure, while also being a Black girl nerd we like, and Epiphany is rooted in a past that Reagan’s message to America desired; a return to the good ‘ole days when miscegenation was taboo if not illegal. This may not have been a time to necessarily celebrate representation and diversity in the genre. But there’s enough open for much discourse that, whether intended or not, these films have left for its consumers to chew on for years to come.
References:
*Additional information and references not linked are from Dr. Robin Means Coleman’s book, Horror Noire: Blacks in American Horror Films from the 1890s to Present. New York: Routledge, 2011.
Ashlee Blackwell is the founder and managing editor of Graveyard Shift Sisters, a website dedicated to highlighting the work of women of color in the horror and science fiction genres. She holds a MA in Liberal Arts from Temple University and aspires to bring intersectional horror into the college classroom.
‘Into the Badlands’, based on the classic Chinese tale ‘Journey to the West’, is set in a futuristic dystopian world where past wars have created a new feudal society. It’s gratifying to finally get an onscreen Blasian couple where they kiss, have sex, and get to have a real relationship.
For the last few weeks, fans of AMC’s Into the Badlands have been waiting to hear if the series will be renewed for a second season. Its six-part first season story arc hooked a number of viewers who eagerly await more episodes of the dystopian, martial arts fantasy extravaganza. The show is a throwback to the action excitement of 1970s Kung Fu theater with large doses of mystery, adventure, beautifully choreographed fight sequences, and a forbidden romance at its core. I am a big fan and find myself constantly checking social media to see if I will be gifted with another season.
Into the Badlands, based on the classic Chinese tale Journey to the West, is set in a futuristic dystopian world where past wars have created a new feudal society divided up between seven “Barons” who run everything on various Louisiana plantations — harking back to images of a slave society and a brutally defined hierarchy. People pick poppy plants instead of cotton, and everyone’s clothing looks like updated Gone With the Wind duds, only cooler looking with lots of leather. Guns have been banished, and although people originally flocked to the various Barons for protection and guidance in a world turned upside down because of war, the “protection” eventually lapsed into forced servitude. There are townspeople; healers, merchants, bar owners, brothels etc., and then there is the warrior class who live on the plantations.
Under the leadership of the Barons are lethal trained killers known as Clippers. Children with the potential to become Clippers are called colts and go through military training in the martial arts. Everyone else who isn’t trained in the art of war is forced to work on the plantations growing the poppy plants that are harvested into opium. They are known as cogs. (read: slaves).
The top Clipper on any given plantation is known as a Regent, and action star Daniel Wu is Sunny, the baddest Clipper in all the Badlands. He has tattoos on his back for the number of people he has killed. Sunny’s Baron is the conniving and ruthless Quinn (Martin Csokas), a man determined to control all of the Badlands. Quinn doesn’t know that the other Barons are plotting to overthrow him, and his personal life is a hot mess (two wives who dislike each other, and a son itching to take over). He depends on Sunny’s loyalty and fighting prowess. All Clippers are beholden to and only live for their Baron. They are not allowed to marry, have children, or have personal lives outside of the Baron’s wishes. Everyone in this society lives at the discretion and bidding of the various Barons. To go against this hierarchy of power and position is to risk immediate death.
Orphaned as a child, Sunny only knows the life of a Clipper. When we first meet him, he has been dispatched on his motorcycle to check on a cargo of new cogs that have not arrived at Quinn’s plantation. Sunny finds that the cogs have been killed, their bodies still chained together and rotting on the side of a desolate road. He notices that there is a person missing from the shackled group of slaves and sets off to find Quinn’s stolen property.
This scenario sets into motion two events that change the course of Sunny’s life forever. The first event is finding and rescuing M.K. (Aramis Knight), a young teen who wears a mysterious pendant that represents a fabled city called Azra that lies outside of the Badlands. People don’t believe it exists, but Sunny recognizes the pendant as something that matches a compass he owns and has hidden away from his own childhood. Sunny is intrigued with M.K., curious to know why he was kidnapped and not murdered like the other cogs. The second event that shakes up Sunny’s life is that the forbidden romance he’s has been secretly having with Veil (Madeliene Mantock), a Black woman who works as a healer in town, has borne fruit: Veil is pregnant and she’s keeping their baby, rules be damned.
What makes Sunny’s relationship with Veil exciting to me is the fact that it is a unique interracial pairing between two people of color. And not just the usual (almost cliché) interracial pairing of a White person with a person of color that we often find in film and TV. (On the flip side, the real shocker would have been to cast a talented Asian actress as Sunny’s love interest. Two people of color from the same racial background who are in love and have a romance at the center of the narrative? What? I can only dream.)
My mouth literally flew open when the show premiered on the east coast first and I saw a picture posted on social media of Sunny and Veil in bed together. The first reaction was, “Wow an AMBW couple on TV in bed together! Blasian love!”, and immediately afterwards I thought, “Damn, should I even bother to be invested in that relationship? They are probably going to kill her in the first episode.” I was bummed that my reactions were excitement about a Black woman being loved on, and then automatically assuming that she would be killed off because it has been proven that Black characters tend to be bumped off first. It’s tradition; this assumption about Veil’s immediate demise had levels to it.
Typically, women are used to motivate male characters into action, via revenge or to have someone to rescue. They exist as plot devices (with tropes like Damsel in Distress or Women in Refrigerators) to help the story move along. This problem is exacerbated at times when that woman is a woman of color because they are not often deemed as important as a white female character. If Veil had been white, in my mind, she may last a few episodes. But because she was Black, I girded my loins and waited for the big chop. This saddens me because by the time I was able to watch the entire show during its west coast broadcast, I had already prepared myself to let Veil go. And praise ye old Gods, Veil has survived all six episodes, and actually has some agency.
The rare pairings of an Asian male character and a Black female character has a tenuous history in cinema. The few films that even touch upon the slightest hint of a possible romance between AMBW couples has been disappointing. The two most recent films that my cinema friends and I still complain about is Ninja Assassinand Romeo Must Die. There was obvious chemistry between Naomie Harris and Rain. There was even a rumored shower scene between them that was supposedly cut. But Ninja Assassin just toyed with us, and fans of the film created fanfiction to fill in the gaps of romance that may have been there more overtly had Naomie Harris’ character been a white woman.
The travesty that is Romeo Must Die has always irked fans of that film. Jet Li and the late Aaliyah couldn’t even get a kiss at the end? All that sexual tension, and flat out cuteness together didn’t warrant a little lip action? It has been said that there was a kissing scene at the end that was cut because a test audience didn’t like it. I don’t know who was in that test audience that ruined the earned love scene of Jet Li and Aaliyah, but in the words of Sam Jackson, I hope they die and burn in hell. We were robbed.
The closest thing that I’ve seen that even tried to have a recurring Blasian couple was Flashforward (2009) with John Cho and Gabrielle Union. But then Cho’s character ended up getting a lesbian white woman pregnant on purpose and…yeah, that sucked.
There are other films and TV shows that have had AMBW pairings:
But it’s a nice surprise to see a deeper relationship between Veil and Sunny. It would be great if we could see more of their love scenes developed. The arrival of M.K. and Veil’s pregnancy have created an urgency in Sunny that tests his loyalty as a Regent/Clipper. Some of the writing of the show has me questioning why Sunny is so loyal to the unstable, villainous Quinn. Quinn murders Veil’s adoptive parents. Sunny tells Veil what happened when she confronts him about it, and yet he still goes back to work like “I can’t do anything.” Sunny finally making plans to escape with Veil and M.K. come a little too late. We needed to see him stand up for his woman and baby sooner.
Thank goodness Veil isn’t allowed to be a weak damsel in distress waiting for Sunny to save her. She works through difficult situations to keep herself and her unborn child alive when he’s not around. Veil even tells Sunny that she may or may not leave with him once he secures passage on a boat for them to escape. It’s a small moment that lets the audience know that she will make it with or without Sunny.
Sunny and Veil are set up to be a surrogate family for M.K. and the boy is pretty quick to pick up on the fact that the secret affair of Sunny and Veil is pretty obvious whenever they are near each other. M.K. himself has the beginnings of his own interracial romance with Tilda (Ally Ioannides), the Clipper daughter of a female Baron known as The Widow (Emily Beecham — one of my favorites on the show), which brings on another set of problems that mirror Sunny and Veil’s forbidden union.
Into the Badlands is an imaginative show that is here for fans of dynamic martial arts, and also kickass women. More than half of the main cast is made up of women full of agency who drive the series just as much as the men. My only criticism in that respect is that Veil is the only regular cast member who is a woman of color. I see a lot of female background extras that are women of color, (just like there are tons of men and boys of color on the show, even those with regular speaking roles), so it would’ve been nice to see another woman of color who is a major player. It’s pretty lazy casting to have six female speaking parts, and only one is a woman of color? And no, The Widow being a redhead does not count as diversity in women. They could have given us at least three women of color. Asian, Native, Latinx…so easy to do. But no. There’s just Veil.
The season finale left us with a cliffhanger. M.K. kidnapped again, Sunny tied up on the boat and what that means for his family’s safe passage out of the Badlands, and Veil left alone in town wondering what happened to her man. The six episodes were fast and furious fun, and I hope that Sunny and Veil’s relationship continues over the long haul. It’s exciting to see a handsome Asian male actor shine as the hero, be a sexually desired hottie, and NOT be a stereotype or sidekick to a white male character. It’s also gratifying to finally get an onscreen Blasian couple where they kiss, have sex, and get to have a real relationship. At least I hope so. C’mon, AMC. Renew Into the Badlands. The fans are waiting.
Staff Writer Lisa Bolekaja is a writer, screenwriter, and podcaster. She’s an Apex Magazine slush reader, a member of the Horror Writers Association, a former Film Independent Fellow and a Twitter fiend. You can find her posted up on the AMC Into the Badlands fan page waiting for word of Season 2.
‘Being Mary Jane’ provides the dialogue and the safety net in saying out loud ,”I see you, I’ve been there too and you are not alone.” The embracing of positive sexuality of Black women on television is not progressive feminism. It is the hope that future depictions of such will not be labeled progressive, but just as common as the stereotypes that have lingered for too long.
This guest post by Reginée Ceaser appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.
When I was not quite a teenager, I watched Spike Lee’s movie entitled She’s Gotta Have It. I watched and enjoyed the characters’ monologues and the way Spike Lee’s character, Mars, repeated questions during conversation. I knew it was about a young woman who had three boyfriends but did not understand much else, let alone its importance in the framing of the sexuality of Black women. Released in 1986, She’s Gotta Have It chronicled Nola Darling balancing a relationship with three different men at the same. The three men know about each other and constantly vie for Nola’s attention and affections in hopes of being the one she chooses to have a monogamous relationship with.
An issue brought up in the film between the men is maybe Nola is being a “freak” because she’s lacking something emotionally (like daddy issues). The remedy to attempt this “freak” behavior is make Nola go to therapy to work out her issues. Her therapist, a Black woman, feels that Nola does not have the deep emotional issues originally perceived, and is enjoying her healthy sex drive. Satisfied that she’s had enough therapy, Nola continues her relationships with her with suitors. Looking back on the film today, I appreciate that this film now because it centers on a Black woman who unabashedly is exploring and thoroughly enjoying her sexuality. By doing this, Spike Lee took long held beliefs and perceptions of Black women and pushing back on the constrictions and perceptions of society. Films like She’s Gotta Have It come out few and far between due to of the “sensitive” context.
Preconceived notions of Black women in society have permeated into the fabrics of the stories of Black women in film and television creating flat, one-dimensional characters that are forced to speak the humanity and womanhood of all Black women. Black women characters have been defined for decades by barely developed characters to serve their “larger than life” trope. For instance there is the angry Black woman, the sassy Black woman, the fat and sassy Black woman, as well as the fat Black woman with low self-esteem, and the fat Black woman that desperately wants the love of a man but in the end is humiliated by him. There is also the frigid Black woman or the hypersexual Black woman. Lastly, and an all-time favorite, the Black woman that must choose having a career or having a man (read: a dependable, steady sex life) to be fulfilled.
Many stories regarding Black womanhood are deeply rooted in sex and the respectability of sexual behavior projected upon them. Black women are often forced to live in a very tiny box with huge expectations of them and anything less than is being a renegade and a menace to society. We are supposed to be high achievers, while wearing our skirts to our ankles and necklines to our chins. Sex before marriage is frowned upon, having sex outside of a serious relationship can garner side-eyes and distance from friends, and having the audacity to freely explore sexuality outside of the norms of committed relationships and marriage is a disownable offense. There is no gray area allowed, no progression of full womanhood to be pursued and any open, honest conversation about sex and sexuality of Black women is relegated to girls’ night with friends.
Fast forward to 2013, and Mara Brock Akil debuts a new scripted drama, Being Mary Jane, centering on a Black journalist named Mary Jane, portrayed by Gabrielle Union. I fell in love with Being Mary Jane when Mary Jane sat her in office and masturbatedwith the help of a mini vibrator before going on a date. Another aspect that I loved about the scene is that Mary Jane didn’t immediately turn to porn to aid in her arousal. She had a computer and a smartphone and yet depended on herself and the vibrator. It is a choice that audaciously and efficiently wrestled down and shattered the myth that only way Black women achieve sexual pleasure is through men. It was gratifying to watch a long-held belief of Black women being scared, frigid and afraid to touch themselves and love themselves sexually evaporate on primetime television.
Mara also crafted a nuanced woman that balanced a progressing career, taking care of family, evaluating and redefining friendships and of course, navigating an intricate and messy personal life. With Mary Jane’s intricate and messy personal life, Mara takes another bold opportunity to rebuff sexual respectability and cement agency and consent by introducing Mary Jane’s friend with benefits.
Friends with benefits is a subject that is frequently discussed but is tap danced around to avoid being labeled as promiscuous and “loose.” Also hinging on that fear is the thought of losing control of the ability to just have sex with no other emotional attachment. Mary Jane’s friend with benefits, or Cutty Buddy as he is affectionately known by fans, is paramount because he represents more than just surface level sex. He’s beautiful, muscular, handsome man with a voice that sounds like hot butter on a fresh oven biscuit. He respects her and even cares for her but is fully aware of their agreement, makes no illusions about it, and is committed to upholding it. There is a mutual understanding and reciprocation of attraction that is delightful to see play out. That reciprocation is delighting to see, because too often we see or read about men who have casual sex or play the role of friend with benefits and then immediately degrade and shun them for engaging in sex outside of societal norms of a relationship. For example, Nola Darling did choose a man to have a monogamous relationship with and he in turn verbally attacks her and sexually assaults her for making him feel used. It is the ultimate act of “punishment” that is unfortunately used when sex isn’t played by the rules.
Navigating womanhood is not a straight shot; it’s not perfect but the chance to develop and nurture it on one’s own terms is a perfect realization in the feminist school of thought. Being Mary Jane provides the dialogue and the safety net in saying out loud ,”I see you, I’ve been there too and you are not alone.” The embracing of positive sexuality of Black women on television is not progressive feminism. It is the hope that future depictions of such will not be labeled progressive, but just as common as the stereotypes that have lingered for too long.
Reginée Ceaser is a New Orleans native who is a rockstar in her daydreams, retired daytime soap opera viewer, and proud television binger. Reginée can also be found giving dazzling commentary on Twitter @Skiperella and on her blog, Skiperella.com
Directors Amma Asante and Gina Prince-Bythewood illustrate that when a story is told through the eyes of the second sex, themes, such as romance, self-worth, and identity are fully fleshed out. By examining an 18th century British aristocrat and a 21st century pop superstar, it proves that in the span of three centuries, women still face adversity in establishing a firm identity, apart from the façade, amongst the white noise of societal expectations.
This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on The Female Gaze.
In 2015, the film industry continues to designate female characters to the roles of wives, mothers, girlfriends, mistresses, the clever side-kick, or the sassy best friend. While a form of these categories may exist in reality, a three-dimensional approach allows women to be recognizable human beings. They are conflicted, in love, in hate, trying to find their identities, attempting to cling to self-worth. Women are more than the figures who stand ring-side, cheering and watching their husbands become bloodied and bruised. Women are more than the sex kittens who await their lovers in the bedroom, eager to stimulate him after a difficult day at work. It is rare that those images on film, realistic or not, are funneled through the female gaze.
The films Belle (2014) and Beyond the Lights (2014) demonstrate that women are more than objects for consumption. Directors Amma Asante and Gina Prince-Bythewood illustrate that when a story is told through the eyes of the second sex, themes, such as romance, self-worth, and identity are fully fleshed out. By examining an 18th century British aristocrat and a 21st century pop superstar, it proves that in the span of three centuries, women still face adversity in establishing a firm identity, apart from the façade, amongst the white noise of societal expectations.
Belle and Beyond the Lights share a similar narrative: a young woman, who happens to be mixed race, is plucked from obscurity and in time, gains a better way of life. However, to reduce the dramas to a single line discredits their significance within feminine literature in film. Generally speaking, British-born Gugu Mbatha-Raw is the thread that links both movies. After a few false starts on the small screen, specifically the J.J. Abrams-produced NBC spy drama, Undercovers (2010) and the FOX drama, Touch (2012-13), Mbatha-Raw found her place as the leading lady in two revolutionary films of 2014. Mbatha-Raw, who is a RADA graduate (Royal Academy of Dramatic Art), joins the ranks of several English actors and actresses who continue to penetrate North America with their diverse talent. Within a year, Gugu, who, as Ophelia, shared the Broadway stage in 2006 with Jude Law in Hamlet, transformed from an 18th century, aristocratic historical figure to a sexy, fledgling popstar. Mbatha-Raw offers sheer strength and vulnerability behind the eyes of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and Noni Jean.
Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay is the illegitimate daughter of British naval officer, Sir John Lindsay (Matthew Goode) and African slave mother, Maria Belle. Upon her mother’s death, Sir John rescues a young Dido from the squalor of the slums and is in turn raised by her great-uncle, Lord Mansfield (Tom Wilkinson) and his wife, Lady Mansfield (Emily Watson). Sir John legitimizes his daughter by bequeathing her the name of Lindsay, as well as, demanding that she be raised with her cousin, Elizabeth Murray (Sarah Gadon). In the 18th century, when colonization and slavery is the norm, Sir John makes a brave and radical decision.
Here, writers and producers could have taken advantage of this rich story by constructing it from the male perspective. Through the male gaze it would read as the story of a single father who fights through tempestuous, natural elements to find his mixed race daughter. Upon finding her, Sir John Lindsay has to deal with the pain of leaving his newfound kin for a voyage, and remain stoic amongst the ridicule from his peers. The narrative would then end with his sad demise, never having known Dido. However, audiences watch the 10-year-old curiously gazing at the portraits of her new family. As her aunt and uncle discuss how they will rear Dido, Lady Mansfield questions, where Dido’s race should be placed, “above, or below her bloodline?” The director cuts to an adult Dido who is deliriously giggling with her cousin, Elizabeth. They are inseparable and equals, until the question of marriage emerges.
Dido is at an impasse in society; with her new fortune (2,000 pounds a year left by her deceased father), her aunt and uncle surmise that no aristocratic family will welcome a mulatto and if she marries a man with no title, she risks her rank. While Dido is too high in rank to dine with the servants and too low in rank to dine with members of aristocracy (outside of the family), she continues to carry herself with great dignity. When her future suitor, John Davinier (Sam Reid), addresses her informally, Dido asserts that Davinier speak through the house servant since they have not been formally introduced. To not do so, would compromise social decorum.
Throughout the film, Dido manages to stand up for her self-worth in front of others who threaten to destroy it. Upon Lady Elizabeth’s coming out in London, Lord and Lady Mansfield decide that Dido should stay behind and maintain the house while they are away. There is a striking close up of Lord Mansfield unfastening his keys and Dido with horror on her face as she exclaims, “I am not an old maid!”—their aunt, Lady Mary (Penelope Wilton) is too old to continue to keep watch. The frantic nature in which Lord Mansfield unhooks the charcoaled keys from his hip, paired with Dido’s reaction evokes the images of a slave being punished by their master. Dido cries, “Why are you punishing me?” This softens Lord Mansfield who reassures her that she is most loved. Dido is also concerned that her dignity will be compromised in the portrait of her and Lady Elizabeth. Adult Dido is worried that her image will be reduced to that of a subordinate depicted in all the family portraits along the walls of the house. In the end, Dido is depicted beside Elizabeth, as her equal.
Beyond the Lights begins similarly to Belle, where audiences are introduced to the main character as a child. It is significant that Asante and Prince-Bythewood choose to begin at childhood—our formative years. Noni Jean, who is around 10-12 years of age, is placed on the stage of a talent show and she sings Nina Simone’s “Blackbird.” She settles for the runner-up trophy that her mother, Macy Jean (Minnie Driver), immediately commands her to trash because Noni should never settle for second place.
The camera cuts to a young woman, scantily clad in rubber, with a bare midriff, and sky-high boots as she sings and gyrates in the midst of studio produced hip-hop beats. A rapper, Kid Culprit (Machine Gun Kelly), fondles her. It is adult Noni, who has transformed from the little girl with pigtails to a sexy songstress. She is wildly popular in the music industry and has a hit record before her debut album has been released. However, she finds herself dangling from her hotel terrace with a tear-stained face whispering, “You still can’t see me,” to which Officer Kaz Nicol (Nate Parker) replies, “I see you,” as he grasps her hand and pulls her to safety.
The aftermath of Noni’s suicide attempt does not evoke concern from the parties who hold stock in her image. Her mother reminds her that she has the luxury of fame and fortune. Her record label reprimands Noni for the “accident” and threatens to drop her from the company. She has to maintain the image of the girl who men want and who women want to become. The night of Noni’s suicide attempt, her self-worth was at a low. She is the girl whose image is produced by her inner circle and the media consumes it. Instead of looking at her, they look through her.
Noni’s lack of self-worth is surmounted during her BET performance. As her dancers and Kid Culprit try to open her trench coat to reveal her half-naked body, Noni fights to keep it on. Kid Culprit roughly throws Noni on the staged-bed, attempts to shove her face into his crotch, and violently yanks Noni trench coat, revealing what she tried to conceal. Kid’s act of revenge culminates by his declaration that he dumped Noni. No one dumps Kid Culprit for another man. This moment is comparable to James Ashford’s assault of Dido as a form of degradation and assertion of power. In 2015, women continue to face assault from men when their advances are rebuffed.
In many ways, Dido is looked at as an object for consumption. Dido’s first suitor, Oliver Ashford, sees her as “rare and exotic,” while his brother, James, who is disgusted by Dido, stresses that “one does not make a wife of the rare and exotic. One samples it on the cotton fields of the Indies.” When Dido chooses not to wed Oliver, her family supports her decision, rather than reprimanding the choice. The only suitor who looks beyond Dido’s race is John Davinier—he is the reverend’s son and Lord Mansfield’s pupil. He presents the question of whether she would reduce herself for the sake of rank. The Zong Ship case, the assault, and John’s question helps her decide that she cannot marry into a family who will see her skin color as a burden, or affliction.
Kaz’s heroic action momentarily positions him as Noni’s savior. After their encounter, Noni has the choice to cut ties with him—even after he appears outside her hotel the following night to check on her—but she chooses to leave with him. With Kaz, Noni is able to eat chicken and fries, share her hidden box of songs, and in the most beautiful part of the film, she literally lets her hair down. Noni’s removal of her acrylic nails and extensions is her realization that she is more than the sexy images mounted on the walls. When he softly touches her face, reaches out and “boings” her natural curls, and kisses every inch of her face, audiences see her inner beauty. When she approaches Kid Culprit or walks on stage, it is always, shoulders back, boobs out, with a sultry look on her face. This is the first time Noni’s eyes are free of conflicting thoughts; constantly strategizing how she will present herself.
Beyond the Lights can be vaguely compared to the Richard Curtis film, Notting Hill (1999), in which an ordinary man’s life is changed when a beautiful actress walks into his bookstore. They fall in love, live happily ever after, and she abandons fame and fortune. Yet Notting Hill is written from the perspective of Will Thacker (Hugh Grant). It depicts how his dull life is changed when meets Anna (Julia Roberts) and how empty he is in her absence. As in Prince-Bythewood’s debut romantic drama, Love and Basketball, women are proactive in seeking romance. Monica (Sanaa Lathan) challenges Quincy (Omar Epps) to a game of one and one for his heart. Dido and Noni dictate which relationship they deem appropriate to pursue. Dido chooses John Davinier, while Noni chooses Kaz over Kid Culprit. They choose partners who will respect their newfound sense of self-worth and identity.
Ultimately, Dido and Noni’s suitors help them realize their new selves. However, it is exactly that, help. Dido does not reject Oliver’s marriage proposal because she is in love with John. She rejects it because she is comfortable in her skin and realizes her worth. It is a far cry from the Dido, who at the beginning of the film, gazes upon her image in the mirror and in tears, claws and beats at her breast. Though she must carry the burden of being looked down upon by members within her society, one that Dido is willing to undertake. At the end of Beyond the Lights, Noni stands up to her record label and pushy “momager,” and returns to England, where she presents her true identity on stage. She is wide-eyed, curly-haired, and sings, not underneath suggestive lyrics or studio produced beats, but with a live band and lyrics that come from her heart. As she stage dives into the pit of screaming fans, Noni beams with pride. Kaz showing up to support Noni, elevates her decision to follow her heart personally and professionally. Dido and Noni decide to follow through with the advice employed by their respective suitors. Again, choice is the key idea.
Belle and Beyond the Lights are films that are for women because they truly capture what it is like to be marginalized by society while working through personal growth. What is seen through the gaze of Dido and Noni’s narratives is that in order to function as a rich and diverse character, society must learn to be comfortable with women forming identities independent of two-dimensional categories.
Rachel Wortherley earned a Master of Arts degree at Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, films, and Netflix. She hopes earn an MFA and become a professional screenwriter.
And I don’t buy the excuse that Gray gives by calling these women story criticisms “side stories.” He showed Snoop Dogg in the film twice, and even had Tupac Shakur ( A.k.a. 2Pac) in a scene. Wouldn’t they be considered side stories too? Also, the movie is already long, so adding three minutes just to give us a glimpse of Yo-Yo with Cube, or a kick ass scene with The Lady of Rage in the sound booth rapping “Afro Puffs” with Snoop couldn’t hurt the narrative flow or length. It would take so little to show the world that women were there and are a part of N.W.A.’s legacy.
Straight Outta Compton poster featuring actors and original members of N.W.A.
“To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all of the time” – James Baldwin
“To be a woman who loves hip hop at times is to be in love with your abuser. Because the music was and is that. And yet the culture is ours.” – Ava DuVernay after viewing Straight Outta Compton
To love hip hop as a woman, and as a Black woman in particular, is to wage a continuous battle of cognitive dissonance. One can love the beats and artistry of music production, head bob with the best of them while marveling at the creative lexicon spit over a mic, while also cringing at the ubiquitous violence, sexism, misogyny, and mysogynoir. This has always been the burden of women who love rap. And yet we still listen and participate in all its incarnations as a culture. It has redefined music, dance, art, and fashion.
I remember my middle sister bringing home her first N.W.A. album by Ruthless Records. I was already knee deep into East Coast rap, and was initially put off by the antagonism towards women. When the Straight Outta Compton album dropped, I heard it on full blast everywhere when visiting relatives in Los Angeles. I was a fan of Ice Cube’s vocal confidence and that indignant anger he carried in all his rhymes. When he went solo, I used to laugh and marvel at his storytelling skills on his albums. They were at times hyperbolic performative masculinity comedies to me. Street poetry as hardcore storytelling.
Top: Ice Cube, Director F. Gary Gray and Dr. Dre. Below: O’Shea Jackson Jr., Jason Mitchell, and Corey Hawkins.
I was young, but smart enough to know that flinging terms like “bitches” and “hoes” was a reflection of male rappers’ insecurities with women, and the learned behavior of patriarchy. Rappers were no more, sexist, violent, or homophobic than America as a whole. But it was annoying to watch teen boys take on the negative mannerisms and posturing of their new rap Gods. Gangster rap blew up, and the only issues I had with the growth of that subgenre of rap is that it dominated everything. Instead of hearing a variety of rap styles and unique tall tales on wax and cassette, everybody wanted to be “hard” and a thug. Rap became boring. I had to leave for a minute to enjoy Fishbone, Living Colour, and the new music coming from the Black British R&B scene.
I remember the N.W.A. split, the bitter rivalry, the first time I heard Ice Cube’s “No Vaseline,” the shock of the Dee Barnes‘ assault (and others like Michel’le Toussaint) and how I could never be comfortable with Dr. Dre ever again, even though his beats were always banging with his work on Death Row Records. I remember the shock of Eazy-E’s death from Aids. Heck, I was blasting “Fuck Tha Police” when the Rodney King verdict became the L.A. Uprising. Truth be told, I still blast it now with the current policing problems we face today. Shit ain’t changed. There was just so much rich drama and bad blood surrounding the rise and demise of N.W.A, I was not surprised that a Hollywood studio decided to tell their story with Straight Outta Compton. The movie is a myth-making bromance steeped in the erasure (and hierarchal colorism—the casting call was racist colorism at its worst) of Black women in the rap game. It also highlights the historic and systemic law enforcement aggressions Black people still face.
It’s also one of the best music biopics you’ll see in awhile.
I went to see it three times. Once at the first showing it opened on Friday with only five people in the audience. (It was early in the morning.) My second viewing was with my family and friends in a predominately Black and Mexican audience. The third time was in a rich white neighborhood where I was the only Black person in the audience. Don’t let Hollywood fool you. A culturally diverse audience with women representing many of the viewers went to see this film. I predicted on its second day that it would make at least $60 million dollars opening weekend. It did. It’s an origin story, a coming-of-age tale, a historic snapshot, and a rare glimpse into Black male friendships on the come up.
Jason Mitchell as Eazy-E.
Let’s be real: Ice Cube, Dr. Dre (and Eazy-E’s widow Tomica Woods-Wright) are executive producers, so there is bound to be a watering down of controversial or less than flattering portrayals of their legacy. With that said, Straight Outta Compton’s greatest strength (besides a slamming soundtrack) lies in the casting of its key players. It really helps that they are all relatively unknowns, and the two standout s in particular are Jason Mitchell (Eazy-E), and Ice Cube’s spitting image, and real-life son, O’Shea Jackson Jr. (Ice Cube). These two are the nucleus of the film, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if the film would’ve been as good to me if Jackson hadn’t been cast to play his own father. It’s such a meta film viewing experience to see Jackson’s version of Ice Cube telling a record executive that he’s about to have a baby (which was himself at that time). Jackson brings a low-key urgency to Cube’s persona within the movie version of the group’s dynamic. It is a wonderful contrast to Jason Mitchell’s vulnerable and playful depiction of Eazy-E.
O’Shea Jackson Jr. playing his father, Ice Cube.
The synergy of all the actors pop, and you find yourself rooting for their success. It’s typical rags to riches lore, and the plot hums along despite the two and a half hour length. In real life they may have been considered the World’s Most Dangerous Group, but in the soft focus light of film, there is no complexity or hard edges. Eazy-E was a drug dealer, but he’s the nicest drug dealer you’ll ever meet. He’ll act hard when he’s jammed up, probably compensating for his small frame, but that’s about it. Cube is the family man, fighting to earn his fair share of profits. Dre (Corey Hawkins) just wants to make music and hates having to choose between homeboys when the inevitable group break-up happens. The cops may be external antagonists in the film, constantly reminding us that Black men need to be kept down just for being Black and breathing, but it’s the in-fighting over money that is the root antagonist. Many a group has broken up over big egos and non-paydays.
DJ Yella (Neil Brown Jr.) and the obligatory booty shots.
Women in the film, not surprisingly, play small tertiary rolls as doting mothers, comforting wives/girlfriends, and of course playthings to be used and disposed of immediately. There’s the obligatory pool parties with plenty of low angle male gaze booty shots, the after parties in hotels and tour buses with groupies who are tossed aside, and locked out of rooms naked. It is what it is. A film made by men who want to see T and A and think it’s funny to use women as punchlines. Typical. A drawback of the film is the erasure of women artists who were part of the success of Ruthless Records and Death Row Records. Women like the rap group J.J. Fad (who performed at my highschool back in the day), whose album Ruthless Records released first, to great success, which solidified the company as a legitimate business in the eyes of the music industry. Their album paved the way for the Straight Outta Compton album to come through blazing. These ladies opened the door, but there is no mention of them. Nor is Yo-Yo who rapped with Ice Cube with his Lench Mob Crew, or The Lady of Rage (one of the best lyricists to represent the Death Row crew).
Missing from the story, the women of West Coast rap, Yo-Yo and The Lady of Rage.
Both the screenwriter Jonathan Herman and director F. Gary Gray have made comments regarding the lack of visibility and the importance of the women to the accurate portrayal of the group (F. Gary Gray’s remarks in this one was disappointing). In a recent Rolling Stone interview, Ice Cube said some things that made me question why he still holds onto an outdated binary of women and sexual agency.
As a screenwriter, I must concede that I understand that a movie can’t have everyone and everything in it. To get everything in would require this to become an HBO/Showtime mini-series (which would be dope as hell). The take on the group this time around is just focused on the group. Juggling several narrative/character strings is difficult, and Herman does a good job of helping us track the core group. Like I said, I get this. It keeps the script tight and the plot moving. But it lessens the power of the story in the end.
By tabling the real-life misogyny for a less complicated narrative that would force people to see the group as flawed humans like everyone else, we get a sanitized version that doesn’t interrupt the audience’s investment in their likeability. There is no complexity to them, and therefore no messiness. This lack of complexity in showing how patriarchal police brutality, American racism/sexism/classism create self-hate in Black men that is then projected onto Black women and their rap lyrics, keeps Straight Outta Compton from being a great film classic. And I don’t buy the excuse that Gray gives by calling these women story criticisms “side stories.” He showed Snoop Dogg in the film twice, and even had Tupac Shakur ( A.k.a. 2Pac) in a scene. Wouldn’t they be considered side stories too? Also, the movie is already long, so adding three minutes just to give us a glimpse of Yo-Yo with Cube, or a kick ass scene with The Lady of Rage in the sound booth rapping “Afro Puffs” with Snoop couldn’t hurt the narrative flow or length. It would take so little to show the world that women were there and are a part of N.W.A.’s legacy. Scenes with Dre’s future wife could’ve been cut to make room for women in the rap game. Those scenes added nothing to the story.
Ice Cube (O’Shea Jackson Jr.) facing everyday police harassment in Compton.
L.A. Uprising after the Rodney King verdict. The film shows the relevance of N.W.A.’s music and real life police aggression.
With the strength of its weekend haul, their viral marketing campaign, and great word of mouth, Straight Outta Compton should be in the top five successful films of 2015. I doubt if it will be nominated for any major awards because there are no slaves, maids, hookers or overly downtrodden Black people. (There may be director award nomination nods for Gray, maybe even screenwriting noms for Herman, but I don’t see them winning because of Hollywood’s notorious lack of diversity in the Academy and other big time film awards members.) This is a movie about young Black men with odds against them turning themselves into iconic rap legends. All because a young drug dealer took a chance on some friends who had talent, and invested in the possibility of being more than what they were, and more than what people thought them capable of. It’s a classic Horatio Alger story, with dynamic young actors bringing life to the fabled history of West Coast Rap. It does what it is supposed to do: entertain. Once again, I will live through my cognitive dissonance, lament not seeing my girls Yo-Yo and Rage, but admire the music, nostalgia and history Straight Outta Compton brings to the masses. It’s a film with heart and soul, not perfect or completely honest with itself, but so worth the viewing.
The realm of sci-fi and fantasy offers many possibilities to challenge the status quo. It’s the ultimate platform to show diversity and portray a more nuanced characterization of people. Let’s hope that ‘Sleepy Hollow’ can pull of what it has planned and there will be no need to dust off the #AbbieMillsDeservesBetter hashtag.
Television as an mirror that reflects the cultural dynamic that’s present in our society. Ha. There are a few shows that get it right–see the socio-economic depiction in The Wire or the gender politics in Mr. Robot–but more often than not, television formats succumb to trite stereotypes and travel the well-trodden path of TV tropes. The recent change in the TV landscape, “The Golden Age of diversity and representation,” made it seem that there were more roles for actors of color. Yet, the numbers from the 2015 diversity report on Hollywood, Flipping the Script – from UCLA’s Ralph Bunche Center for African American Studies – are only marginally better than previous years.
Veteran showrunners Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci are known for their teamwork in sci-fi – see Fringe, Cowboys & Aliens,Star Trek: Into Darkness. They took a chance on a script by Phillip Iscove, who was toiling away as an assistant at UTA, and Iscove sold his pitch based on the “man out of time” element. They teamed up with director/executive producer Len Wisemen, mostly known from his work on the Underworld franchise, to create one of the more kooky TV formats: Sleepy Hollow (2013).
The conversation has shifted in recent years when it comes to the portrayal of Black women who have graced our screens. From the groundbreaking start with the working single mother Julia Baker on Julia, to the mid-1970s with the working-class housekeeper Florida Evans in Good Times, followed by educated womanhood in the form of Clair Huxtable in the 1980s with The Cosby Show, to the Black professionals such as Maxine Shaw in Living Single, independent women Pam and Gina in Martin, to Whitley in A Different World. Funnily enough, in the 1990s most channels featured shows with a diverse cast. However, once the ratings were high enough they would replace them with mostly white-orientated shows after the network got traction – see UPN, CW, WB, FOX.
Most would say that the reign of Shonda Rimes and her Shondaland production company paved the way for Black characters such as Miranda Bailey in Grey’s Anatomy, Olivia Pope in Scandal, Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder. Other networks followed suit and there’s Mary Jane Paul on Being Mary Jane, Rainbow Johnson on Black-ish, and we can’t forget about Ms. Cookie Lyon on Empire. It’s refreshing to see a variety of Black women represented on the screen. Characters who’re not molded in the archetypes that are damaging society’s perception of Black women – think Strong Black Woman, Mammy, Jezebel, Video Vixen, and so on.
Not every (main) Black character gets the treatment they deserve and debunk archetypes. Characters such as Tara Thornton in True Blood, Bonnie Bennett in The Vampire Diaries, Lacey Porter in Twisted, Iris West in The Flash, and Abbie Mills in Sleepy Hollow, are coming together as captivating women who are used to promote diversity in the show and are slowly pushed aside when the fan base is secured and TPTB still think they have to cater to a certain demographic. Well, it seems that the bait and switch tactic never went out of style.
Abbie, Ichabod, and Frank
The premise of Sleepy Hollow sounds farfetched, but somehow it work(s)(ed). The show is loosely based on The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving. Ichabod Crane (Tom Mison) wakes up in our century and has to stop the Headless Horseman from starting the Apocalypse. He meets Lieutenant Abbie Mills (Nicole Beharie) and together they are the “Witnesses” who will stop the Apocalypse as is written in the Book of Revelation. The duo gets help from Abbie’s sister, Jenny Mills (Lyndie Greenwood), who has in-depth knowledge on the evil forces and artifacts. The stern Captain Frank Irving (Orlando Jones), Abbie’s boss, who reluctantly starts to believe in their cause; and finally the whispery Katrina Crane (Katia Winter), Ichabod’s wife, who “tries” to help the team whilst being stuck in ‘a world between life and death’ a.k.a purgatory, which is ruled by the main antagonist Moloch.
In essence, it’s a tried formula. There’s the overarching mythos of Sleepy Hollow, sprinkled with an ‘army of evil, Lt. Abbie Mills as the reluctant character who works hard and suppresses her own demons and deals with family concerns. Of course her partner is a snarky, knowledgeable yet flawed British hero who fully believes in the mythology. Nevertheless, the chemistry between Mison and Beharie is electric and lured fans in to join the duo on their (un)believable journey. Credit also goes to the multi-racial supporting cast with John Cho as police officer John Brooks, Nicholas Gonzalez as Detective Luke Morales who’s also Abbie’s ex-boyfriend, Jill Marie Jones and Amandla Stenberg as respectively Frank Irving’s ex-wife Cynthia and daughter Macey.
Season 1 was fun, period. It was accepting of all the cheesiness and ran with it in order to create solid (cult) television. Sure, the dialogue was clunky, there were small loose ends, the pacing was off, but it didn’t matter. The diverse cast really made it work. In October 2013, executive producer Heather Kadin even joked: “[..]because we have so much diversity in our cast and we’ve had the freedom to cast our villains and victims however we want, so we can kill as many white people as we want.” It now turned out that it was too good to be true.
Sleepy Hollow became the surprise freshman hit of the season. Fox quickly renewed the show after only two episodes aired and didn’t order the back nine episodes – usual concept for network shows – and kept the show at 13 episodes. Fox later upgraded the show to a total of 18 episodes for season 2. So, the showrunners had the time – there are 10 months between the first and second season – to focus on season 2 in order to make it bigger and better. Right. From the mediocre promotion for the second season, to the casting announcement of Matt Barr as Indiana Jones’ reject Nick Hawley who essentially plays the same role as Jenny Mills, to Alessandra Stanley’s inaccurate NYT article that unjustly called Beharie a sidekick. It was merely the alarm that showed us how season 2 would play out. The bait and switch was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Solving crime with the Mills Sisters
Season 2 has aptly been named by some as “the screenwriters guide of how not to write a show.” One of the catalysts of the demise of season 2 is the fact that Kurtzman and Orci left to do other projects and instilled their faith on showrunner Mark Goffman. Sure, Goffman earned his stripes with series such as White Collar, but he couldn’t handle Sleepy Hollow.
It’s mindboggling that the Juilliard-trained Beharie, who proudly advocated for her character in an interview with Essence – and didn’t expect to portray a tough, cop character with her 5′ 1″ stature and African American background – was pushed aside in favor of “The Crane family drama.” Katrina Crane’s story arc was deplorable. She was touted as a powerful witch from the start. Instead she was only used as a plot device in the first season. They tried to flesh her character out in season 2 and failed. Ichabod Crane became a moping know-it-all (more than usual) who ignored Abbie’s advice to keep focused on their common goal. Fringe’s John Noble was wasted as Ichabod and Katrina’s son who turned out to be The Horseman of War and got his mother pregnant with an evil, demon baby – don’t ask. Not to mention that the Headless Horseman became a woobified character, “grew” a head, and turned out to be Katrina’s ex instead of a menacing villain. The Powers That Be (TPTB) molded Katrina into a damsel in distress that ate up the screen time that should have further explored the relationship between Abbie and Jenny, Abbie and Ichabod, basically everything surrounding Abbie Mills.
The other members of “Team Witness” didn’t fare better. Lyndie Greenwood was promoted to series regular, but was most of the time nowhere to be found in favor of Nick Hawley. Captain Frank Irving and his family’s storyline was cast aside, only to be shortly revived in the most ridiculous way. The show was at its best when Team Witness came together to fight evil and showed the underlying dynamic between the different characters. Add that with the casting of House of Cards actress Sakina Jaffrey as Sheriff Leena Reyes, who has an connection with Abbie’s past, but was severely underused throughout the show.
The diversity of the cast gave the wobbly storyline that extra spunk. Characters of color who seamlessly worked together and aren’t focused on anyone’s race and color – though the show doesn’t hide from commenting on race. Abbie and Jenny are normal, intelligent, layered characters with flaws who’ve showed their vulnerable side, thus debunking the archetype of “The Strong Black woman.” Most fans – and critics- were frustrated after eight episodes had aired of the second season. The diversity and representation went right out of the window with the start of season 2.
Social media further added fuel to the fire within the fandom. At the start of the first season, Orlando Jones quickly broke the fourth wall. He created his own Tumblr page and participated in fandom discussions. Jones actively created more promotion for the show than whatever the Sleepy Hollow PR department was/is trying to do.
Nicole Beharie’s Instagram Post
The unrest in the fandom sparked the #AbbieMillsDeservesBetter hashtag, where fans could vent their frustrations and asks the writers and staff of Sleepy Hollow why Beharie has been pushed to the background in a show in which she’s a lead character. Sleepy Hollow writer Raven Metzner came under fire on social media when he lashed out to the “haters” of the show. The show slightly redeemed itself with the last four episodes – even with the plot where Abbie was transported back to Ichabod’s time and was seen as a slave, they tiptoed the line with the racial insensitivity, but handled it well. Now, not only was Abbie shelved in the show, apparently Beharie was initially left out on the DVD commentary for season 2.
Sci-fi and fantasy writer Genevieve Valentine at io9 made some valid points when it comes to the trajectory of the show. In a series of Tweets she explains, “The unexpected success of season 1 relied heavily on tweaking tropes – not least of which was the trope of the white mythical heroes. [..] This show cannot be trusted with its own story, and that’s a sad place of no-faith to be coming from with the cast and potential it has.” So, the bait and switch from season 2 didn’t work out as planned. Fans and critics alike have voiced their opinions, but will the necessary changes be made?
The criticism didn’t go unnoticed. During the TCA press tour in January, Fox TV chairman and CEO Dana Walden mentioned that the show will be less serialized and have a slightly lighter tone in the future. Well, one of the first changes is a cross-over with the crime procedural show Bones (!). Soon after came the news that Orlando Jones involuntarily left the show. This is a blow for the promotion of Sleepy Hollow. Neither Mison nor Beharie are very active on social media whether it’s promoting the show or engaging with fans; however, Greenwood picked up the baton from Jones.
Furthermore, on August 2, the new showrunner Clifton Campbell (The Glades), told TV Guide that the Headless Horsemen won’t return this season. He said, “But we have a new framework and a new set of rules for the mythology.” Yeah, look how that previously turned out.
The storyline will jump one year ahead. This will give Ichabod the time to grieve over his wife and son, and maybe get a job to start paying the bills. Abbie will be more focused on her job now as an FBI agent. Still, the casting for season 3 went off with a rough start with the announcement of Nikki Reed (Twilight) as series regular Betsy Ross (the legendary seamstress apparently had a thing with Ichabod back in the day), and she will bring a “smart and sexy edge” to the show. Wayward Pines’ Shannyn Sossamon will play the mysterious woman Pandora who asks Ichabod and Abbie for help. It almost seems that TPTB didn’t get the memo. Fans and critics alike asked for more focus on Ichabod and Abbie and Team Witness. Luckily some recent additions seem promising. Lance Gross (Crisis) makes his debut as Abbie’s boss and we’ll see the return of fan-favorite Zach Appelman as Joe Corbin.
So, why stick with Sleepy Hollow? First off, Nicole Beharie is captivating as Lt. Abbie Mills and we need to see more diverse Black leading women on tv. After all, that’s true representation. Secondly, the nuanced relationship and charm between Tom Mison and Nicole Beharie. It’s a natural chemistry that seems so effortless. It would be a waste not to enjoy it while you can. Thirdly, the bait and switch tactic was disastrous for the show; TPTB are still trying to recover from that, it’s only onwards and upwards from here.
The realm of sci-fi and fantasy offers many possibilities to challenge the status quo. It’s the ultimate platform to show diversity and portray a more nuanced characterization of people. Let’s hope that Sleepy Hollow can pull of what it has planned and there will be no need to dust off the #AbbieMillsDeservesBetter hashtag.
Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law) and American pop culture. See her blog here.
The film also focuses on the relationship between Smith and Ma Rainey, who mentored Smith and gave her guidance on developing her stagecraft. Mo’Nique portrays Ma Rainey, known as the “Mother of the Blues,” in a rich and layered performance and has so much charisma she steals every scene she’s in.
Queen Latifah was born to play the Empress of the Blues. Queen Latifah stars in Bessie, the new biopic about the early life of legendary blues singer Bessie Smith. The film will premiere Saturday on HBO. Mo’Nique, who has her first stand out role since Precious, reminds us why she won the Oscar in 2010.
Directed by Dee Rees (Pariah) from a screenplay by Rees, Christopher Cleveland, and Bettina Gilois, the story is by Rees and acclaimed playwright Horton Foote, who died in 2009. The film focuses on Smith’s early years as she struggled as a young singer to eventually become one of the most successful recording artists of the 1920’s. She earned $2,000 a week – an unheard of sum – at the height of her career.
The film also focuses on the relationship between Smith and Ma Rainey, who mentored Smith and gave her guidance on developing her stagecraft. Mo’Nique portrays Ma Rainey, known as the “Mother of the Blues,” in a rich and layered performance and has so much charisma she steals every scene she’s in.
Both Queen Latifah and Mo’Nique received Critics Choice nominations the other day and the Golden Globes and other accolades are sure to follow.
The cast includes Michael Kenneth Williams (Boardwalk Empire, 12 Years a Slave) as Bessie’s husband; Khandi Alexander (Scandal) as Bessie’s abusive older sister, Viola; Mike Epps (The Hangover) as the singer’s bootlegger romantic interest; Tory Kittles (True Detective) as Bessie’s older brother Clarence; Tika Sumpter as Lucille, Bessie’s longtime lover.
At the recent premiere at the Museum of Modern Art, nobody worked the red carpet harder than Mo’Nique, who talked to all the journalists clamoring for her attention.
Bessie has many explicit sex scenes and Queen Latifah’s character has a nude scene that’s integral to the story but sure to get audiences talking. Ma Rainey was gay and Bessie Smith was bisexual, and the film doesn’t shy away from showing scenes of their characters having sex with both men and women. A standout is a scene early in the film where Mo’Nique and Queen Latifah dress up in drag, smoke cigars and do a song together to a boisterous audience.
Director Dee Rees
Here’s a red carpet interview with Mo’Nique, who looked terrific in a blue lace gown, and was warm and thoughtful in her replies to all the journalists:
Were gay women who performed on stage more open about their sexuality in the time of Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith? (Of course they didn’t have to contend with social media.):
Mo’Nique: I think back then there was a strength that said I’m unwavering about who I was born to be. Don’t we still fight with it today? But figure what she had to walk through then? It was illegal. They got locked up. If you were seen with the same sex so to have that kind of strength back then is absolutely beautiful.
What was the key to finding her character?
Mo’Nique: Her music, (I found it) through her music. If you listen to Ma Rainey you’ll really understand Ma Rainey because she sang from her soul. She sung her truth and that’s how I really got to understand who that woman was because there’s really very little written information about this woman. She’s so hidden and now history, you have to dig really deep to get that little bit…. And she told the truth. And even back then, she was fighting for wage equality, so we’re still having that fight today but definitely she kicked open the doors so we can even go to the meetings to have those discussions.
They were friends. And she was Bessie Smith’s mentor and she was very motherly but she was that type of mother that knew when she had to let go and let that baby fly and go see it for herself. And when the bird flew back home she was right there waiting for her. That’s what that relationship what. And what I so appreciate about her, we don’t often times see those relationships anymore, you don’t see it where two friends go through it, they fall out, but they’re still willing to love each other through it and come back together.
Queen Latifah
What does she see as Ma Rainey’s influence on A&R and jazz?
Mo’Nique: It’s truthful. It’s very honest. It’s very from the soul. When you listen to those singers back then, they couldn’t pretend. They couldn’t fake it because the people would know it and they were those singers that when you sat there, you know how they say music moves you? That was that type of music that moved you and made you make a decision, may it be the right, wrong or indifferent, but when you listen to that music it was like you know what? OK, “I’m gonna finish this darn liquor and I’m gonna make a change.” That’s what that music was back then. Absolutely beautiful!
What were the key factors that made her want to take on the role of Ma Rainey?
Mo’Nique: It was Ma Rainey’s strength. Her integrity. You know when you read that script and you understand that the sacrifices that woman made for little girls like us, and she had no idea that she was doing it, it was just the right thing to do. So when you read those lines, and you understand that that woman is talking to me for me, off the pages, and she’s saying Monique keep pushing. Keep going in the right direction and don’t waver from what you know is right. Look at my story and when you look at that woman’s story it’s not like most of our stories, where we die broke, alone, miserable. When you look at her story she had a very full life.
Before she made her way into the theater, I asked Mo’Nique if she actually sang.
Mo’Nique: All day long!
Later at the after party I asked the 36-year-old director about how she discovered Bessie Smith’s music, she told me it was through her grandmother: “She played Bessie Smith’s records all the time.”
Paula Schwartz is a veteran journalist who worked at the New York Times for three decades. For five years she was the Baguette for the New York Times movie awards blog Carpetbaggers. Before that she worked on the New York Times night life column, Boldface, where she covered the celebrity beat. She endured a poke in the ribs by Elijah Wood’s publicist, was ejected from a party by Michael Douglas’s flak after he didn’t appreciate what she wrote, and endured numerous other indignities to get a story. More happily she interviewed major actors and directors–all of whom were good company and extremely kind–including Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Morgan Freeman, Clint Eastwood, Christopher Plummer, Dustin Hoffman and the hammy pooch “Uggie” from “The Artist.” Her idea of heaven is watching at least three movies in a row with an appreciative audience that’s not texting. Her work has appeared in Moviemaker, more.com, showbiz411 and reelifewithjane.com.
If these women aren’t seeing any positive images of themselves on screen, how are they able to construct an identity of truth? Even though they can rely on their community for positivity, if it’s not reinforced through media representation then it renders that support useless.
This guest post by Chantell Monique appears as part of our theme week on Fatphobia and Fat Positivity.
When thinking about positive images of fat Black women in television, one normally thinks of any television show starring Queen Latifah or Jill Scott. Unfortunately, work by these two women is not enough to combat the plethora of stereotypical and fat-phobic images that plague fat Black women. While it has been difficult to find positive images of fat White women on television, for the past five years there has been more positive visibility than that of Black women. There is a slow and steady body-positive movement taking place in the form of social media and television representation; however, due to White privilege and constant stereotyping, fat Black women have been excluded from this conversation. Including Black women in this movement can potentially lead to more fat-positive representation, e.g. complex characters and romantic love interests, thereby allowing fat Black women to challenge stereotypes and restructure their image to include desirability and worth.
Tess Holliday, plus-size model and body-positive activist
Poet Sonya Renee Taylor wrote a passionate piece for The Militant Baker titled, “Weighting to be Seen” in which she discusses the body-positive movement and the lack of women of color involved. She highlights a few names of bloggers and “body positive heroines” noting that aside from their body sizes, it’s their whiteness that allows their images of “bravery” to go viral. Taylor says, “Our society tells us fatness is not beautiful. Blackness is not beautiful. So even while reclaiming size diversity as beautiful, the presence of Blackness complicates the narrative.” She argues that although there is a body-positive movement occurring, including Black women in this conversation “complicates the narrative”; therefore, it’s easier to leave them out altogether. She’s not asserting this is by anyone’s conscious choice, but it’s a result of White privilege. Taylor says, “Being seen in our bodies, in our fullness and beauty is a birthright women of color have never had…the vehicle to even beginning to dismantle weight stigma is to be seen as fully human in this society [which] is a privilege that requires white skin…” Taylor’s observation of the body-positive movement challenges the notion that all women can and have been included; in addition, it underlines why there has been a lack of fat-positive representation of Black women in television.
Melissa McCarthy in Mike and Molly
Hollywood has a complicated relationship with fatness, especially female fatness; how it chooses to deal with fat bodies indicates a general lack of respect, and worth. We’ve witnessed fat female bodies being used a comedy, marginalized or ignored all together. Yet over the past five years, we’ve seen a modest amount of fat-positivity in terms of female representation. For example, Melissa McCarthy in Mike & Molly (2010-)–Molly is the protagonist worthy of a romantic relationship which fuels the show’s storyline. In addition, Drop Dead Diva (2009-2014) follows the love and career of a feisty model reincarnated as a plus-size attorney. It must be noted, being reincarnated in the form of a plus-size woman can be seen as a punishment; however, once the show deals with this theme, it rarely mentions her fatness in a negative way. Instead, the viewer gets to watch the heroine argue cases and fall in and out of love. After a string of strong film performances, Australian actress Rebel Wilson landed a starring role on her own show, Super Fun Night (2013-2014). Even though it got canceled, she was the lead, not a stereotypical sidekick. Another body-positive representation is HBO’s Girls (2012-); Lena Dunham’s ability to showcase her body on television either casually or sexually highlights the notion that no matter the size, women are complex, sexual and beautiful beings. The last and most interesting body-positive handling of a fat woman is in Showtime’s Homeland (2011-); although not a fully flushed out character, a plus-size woman engages in “fat sex” with the hunky male lead that stunned most viewers while also commenting on idea that yes, fat women have sex! These images, in conjunction with the body-positive social media presence, bring awareness to fatness in a way that encourages consideration and thought. Unfortunately, like Taylor points out, the faces that represent this movement are White, which leaves fat Black women alone to battle engrained stereotypes such as the ever-present Mammy.
Gabourey Sidibe red carpet appearance
In “Mammies, Matriarchs, and Other Controlling Images,” Patricia Hill Collins argues that stereotypes such as The Mammy “simultaneously reflect and distort both the ways in which black women view themselves…and the ways in which they are viewed by others”; therefore, if the image of the Black woman is relegated to an asexual nurturer who lacks desirability, how can she or others see her as worthy of love? This notion has been egregiously reflected in television; for example, Cate Young writes an article for Bitch Flicks that investigates the treatment of Gabourey Sidibe’s Queenie in American Horror Story: Coven. She uses the Strong Black Woman stereotype in order to analyze Sidibe’s character, asserting that “Queenie is presented as being the only one unworthy of love or sex.” While Young doesn’t mention Sidibe’s size, one can only assume it was easier for AHS to portray a fat Black woman as unlovable instead of a thin one. Thin Black actress experience stereotyping also but there is substantial proof that indicates Hollywood is comfortable showcasing them as more lovable than fat Black women.
Amber Riley as Glee’s Mercedes
Unfortunately, there aren’t fat-positive images of fat Black women comparable to those of fat White women e.g. leading characters that show some semblance of depth and complexity. Instead, fat Black women have been pushed to the margins of television, infiltrating stereotypical roles that communicate undesirability. To illustrate, Amber Riley’s character on Glee (2009-) never had a lasting romantic relationship. We were able to see the majority of Glee’s cast fall in love and engage in sustainable relationships but not her. At one point she dates two gentlemen but finally decides not to be with either one. While one can appreciate a woman’s right to be single, not giving the plus-size Black girl a romantic relationship implicitly reinforces her undesirability. Through these images, fat Black girls are able to shape their identity but if television says their undesirable, if affects their self-perception.
Jill Scott, one of Hollywood’s go-to plus-size Black women
There has been constant discourse regarding representation of fat Black women in television and because images help to shape our identities, consuming negative images can impact how fat Black women see themselves. Dwight E. Brooks and Lisa P. Hebert, authors of “Gender, Race, And Media Representation,” argue, “How individuals construct their social identities, how they come to understand what it means to be male, female, black, white…is shaped by commodified text produced by media…”; consequently, there are no innocent images out there and relying on stereotypes in order to define a group of people greatly impacts their self-perception. This can be directly applied to fat Black women who have been characterized as undesirable and unworthy of romantic love. If these women aren’t seeing any positive images of themselves on screen, how are they able to construct an identity of truth? Even though they can rely on their community for positivity, if it’s not reinforced through media representation then it renders that support useless.
1990s Living Single starring Queen Latifah
There are talented fat Black actresses desperate to play complex characters without submitting to mainstream standards of beauty but there are no substantial roles available to them. During the 1990s Golden Age of Television (Living Single, Moesha, The Parkers, That’s so Raven, etc.) there were countless parts for women of color but as times have changed, so have the opportunities. We’re unable to rely on Queen Latifah and Jill Scott to speak for a whole group of women and because a powerful showrunner like Shonda Rhimes has normalized diversity on television, it seems unfair to ask her to create characters that actually look like her, especially after all she’s done for Black women. This means fat Black women must not only become part of the body-positive movement but perhaps the face of it; in addition, we must look for creative ways to tell our stories, taking an active role in our media portrayal. Only then can we combat White privilege and stereotypes in order to restructure our images to include desirability and worth.
Chantell Monique is a Creative Writing instructor and screenwriter, living in Los Angeles. She holds a MA in English from Indiana University, South Bend. She has previously written for Bitch Flicks and is a contributor for BlackGirlNerds.com. She’s addicted to Harry Potter, Netflix and anything pertaining to social justice and Black female representation in film and television. Twitter @31pottergirl
Umbridge works as Undersecretary to Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. Through her position in the patriarchal wizarding government, Umbridge enables job discrimination, segregation, incarceration and harsh sentencing, and physical violence and genocide against marginalized people. She not only politically supports these efforts, but personally enacts violence against marginalized people and their allies, including children.
Written by Jackson Adler as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.
When I saw the words “Unlikable Women” in regard to this Theme Week, I immediately thought of Dolores Jane Umbridge from the Harry Potter franchise. Umbridge works as Undersecretary to Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. Through her position in the patriarchal wizarding government, Umbridge enables job discrimination, segregation, incarceration and harsh sentencing, and physical violence and genocide against marginalized people. She not only politically supports these efforts, but personally enacts violence against marginalized people and their allies, including children. She is assigned by the ministry to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in Harry’s fifth year of schooling, and also as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor to make sure that the school is run how the ministry desires. Umbridge was already representative of every person to was put in a position of power and trust who abuses that power and trust for their own self interest and sense of self worth and enjoyment. Many children have experienced such ill behavior from teachers, though hopefully not to the same extent as Umbridge treats her students, and Umbridge is arguably the most hated Harry Potter character by the fandom. However, when they vocally condemn the character, fans don’t always list the many violent actions the character condones and practices, but instead often insult Umbridge for her looks, for her love of pink, for her age, for her size, and for her love of cats, getting some form of satisfaction from this sexism and ageism against a character they despise so much. This is certainly problematic, especially since by condemning these aspects of this cruel character, they condemn middle-aged and older women as a whole, including the talented actress Imelda Staunton who plays her in the films. Also, overlooking Umbridge’s oppression of marginalized groups (even the ones to which she belongs) is erasure, which in itself is a violent act and promotes other violent acts, of marginalized groups and their experiences. While merpeople, werewolves, and centaurs do not exist in the real world, the ways in which they are marginalized and attacked in Harry Potter are very real for many people around the world and throughout time, including those being persecuted today.
On J.K. Rowling’s website Pottermore, “the place to explore more of the magical world of Harry Potter than ever before and to discover exclusive new content from J.K. Rowling,” Rowling has confirmed that Dolores Jane Umbridge is “half-blood,” and provided more of the character’s background. While not entirely a surprise for fans, it confirms that the Umbridge in the Harry Potter books sets herself against those with whom she has shared lived experiences as both a female non-“pureblood,” making her more culpable than many of the other villains in the story, who have largely lived in ignorance and privilege since childhood, such as Bellatrix Lestrange. There is a strong correlation between “blood status” in the wizarding world and racism in our world, and I believe that Umbridge is representative of a Biracial Black and White woman who claims only Whiteness and helps the White patriarchy in its violence against people of color, especially fellow women of color, and their allies in an attempt to gain power and decrease its marginalization of her own life.
Fan art of Hermione Granger via mariannewiththesteadyhands.tumblr.com
The British wizarding society in Harry Potter is in many ways more equal in terms of gender and race than real world Britain and America. While characters in the book series still face microaggressions (and occasionally stronger discrimination) due to their gender or ethnic makeup, it seems that J.K. Rowling wanted to create a (somewhat) diverse cast of characters whose abilities are not (typically) questioned due to their gender and/or ethnicity, similar to Shonda Rhimes’ approach to casting for Grey’s Anatomy. Sadly, those who cast the Harry Potter films mostly cast White actors, and screenwriter Steve Kloves and the many directors of the film series limited the lines and character development of White female characters and male and female characters of color. The role of Dean Thomas would probably not have gone to Alfred Enoch, and been given to a White actor instead, had Rowling not insisted that the character is Black to director of the first two films Chris Columbus, who she described as “slightly taken aback” by the amount of background information she had for the character. Despite the casting of Emma Watson, much of the fandom sees main female character Hermione Granger as a woman of color, usually Black or Black and White Biracial, and some see Harry himself as Biracial, usually Black and White. Race and gender are (almost) non-issues for most witches and wizards in J.K. Rowling’s story, but discrimination itself is still a strong topic, just often in regards to fantasy creatures in place of people of color. This can be interpreted as dehumanizing the lived experiences of people of color, and while it can be argued that J.K. Rowling’s approach puts the focus more on the actions of the oppressors than on the bodies of the oppressed, thereby possibly avoiding victim-blaming or grief porn, there is a strong tradition of White sci-fy and fantasy authors appropriating the experiences of people of color to add drama to their whitewashed stories, and however good her intentions may have been, Harry Potter still falls into that trend in many ways. However, the main topic of discrimination in Harry Potter is “blood status,” the story’s middle ground between the Grey’s Anatomy-style representation and the appropriation of people of color’s lived experiences of oppression.
In the wizarding world, many witches and wizards look down on muggles (people with no magical abilities), and believe that the fewer muggles in one’s lineage, the better. Witches and wizards who come from muggle families are called “muggle-borns” or by the highly discriminatory “mudblood,” and are considered by many to be just as inferior as muggles. “Half-bloods” are more generally accepted, though they still face some discrimination, and in order to be successful in wizarding society, many “half-bloods” play up their wizarding lineage, or deny that they have any muggle lineage at all, thereby claiming to be “pureblood,” such as in the case of Dolores Jane Umbridge. Rowling’s use of “blood status” in the wizarding world can easily be compared to peerage in Great Britain, and while it is not a requirement of “blood purity”/peerage that a “pureblood”/peer have no people of color in their lineage, or that they are wealthy, it remains that Whiteness and wealth often go hand in hand with “blood purity”/peerage. The first character the reader meets in the series who vocally prides himself on being “pureblood” is Draco Malfoy, who has a “pale” face, “white-blonde hair,” “cold grey eyes,” is from an incredibly wealthy family, lives in a mansion, has two devoted parents, a servant (just one is enough, as Dobby is a talented house elf capable of powerful magic), and is overall a clear representation of a child raised and wrapped up in privilege. White patriarchal Draco is the first character we hear use the word “mudblood,” and he uses it against Hermione Granger, who, again, is often and can easily be seen as a Black girl. She is described as having “bushy brown hair,” has brown eyes, and is the first to voice that house elves are “slaves,” taking the shocking revelation that Hogwarts runs on slave labor quite personally. Pansy Parkinson, the eventual girlfriend of Draco Malfoy, often teases Hermione about her hair, and also teases Angelina Johnson (who is indisputably Black) about her hair, going so far as to say that Angelina’s braids look like “worms coming out of [her] head.” Draco also teases Hermione about her hair, and in a chilling scene in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in which Lord Voldemort’s supporters start marching through a huge wizarding event, openly torturing muggles, Draco says to her “Keep that big bushy head down, Granger” if she doesn’t want to be attacked by Death Eaters (of which Draco’s father Lucius is one) and be forced to “show[…] off [her] knickers in midair,” though it would “give us all a laugh.” In this scene, he is saying to her that she needs to be submissive, or that she will be forcibly, and possibly sexually, assaulted by his father and his father’s friends. The first time, and every time after, that Draco calls Hermione a “mudblood” there are strong racial overtones specific to violence against Black women, and it carries throughout the entire series, and especially into scenes such as the one described above.
“Blood status” is then a thinly veiled metaphor for race in the Harry Potter series, and most often in terms of Black and White. Dolores Umbridge claims that she is “pureblood,” and enjoys the privileges of passing as such. Umbridge grew up with a wizarding father who worked as a janitor, and a muggle mother. Umbridge lived the intersectional oppressions of race, class, and gender. Umbridge’s sadism is compared to Bellatrix Lestrange’s by Rowling, and they share further similarity by their devotion to patriarchal figures, with Umbridge’s devotion to Cornelius Fudge, and Bellatrix’s to main villain Lord Voldemort. As Audre Lorde states in “Age, Race, Class, and Sex: Women Redefining Difference,” “white women face the pitfall of being seduced into joining the oppressor under the pretense of sharing power.” Umbridge also “face[s] [this] pitfall” by metaphorically only claiming her White/wizarding lineage. This is because “For white women there is a wider range of pretended choices and rewards for identifying with patriarchal power and its tools.” Audre Lorde further explains “It is eas[y] […] for white women to believe the dangerous fantasy that if you are good enough, pretty enough, sweet enough, quiet enough, teach children to behave, hate the right people, and marry the right men, then you will be allowed to co-exist with patriarchy in relative peace-“. Umbridge certainly internalizes this fantasy, using her “girlish” laugh, dressing herself and her office overtly and extremely feminine, and by the way in which she chooses to teach her students. Bellatrix is not only “pureblood”/White, but is naturally conventionally attractive. As Rowling states, she marries a man she does not love, taking “a pureblood husband, because that was what was expected of her,” though “her true love was always Voldemort,” albeit as obsessive form of love, which I think is more like that created by Stockholm Syndrome. Much like White women’s relationship with the patriarchy, Voldemort had no love for Bellatrix, loving “only power and himself,” “value[ing] people whom he could use to advance his own objectives.” Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters are more openly violent than the ministry, though the Ministry of Magic has many of the same biases as Voldemort, and are more discrete in how they treat those they deem inferior to themselves. Cornelius Fudge is “blinded by the love of [his] office” to what is best for the wizarding community at large, as Dumbledore states in the novel of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Fudge and the ministry most likely overlook Umbridge’s sadism because, on the surface, she comes across as unthreatening to their privilege. She plays into the single, middle-aged cat lady stereotype, and constantly compliments and supports Fudge in order to gain favor.
(Left to Right) Imelda Staunton as Dolores Umbridge, Emma Thompson as Professor Trelawney, and Maggie Smith as Professor McGonagall
Umbridge finds an enemy in Professor Minerva McGonagall, whom Rowling has revealed on Pottermore to also be “half-blood,” as well as a feminist. McGonagall works closely with Albus Dumbledore, a known ally to all marginalized groups in the wizarding world. Professor Dumbledore uses his White male/wizard privilege to uplift the talented women/witches around him, as well as that of marginalized people of all genders, giving the deserving McGonagall the position of Deputy Headmistress. Umbridge has had to resort to less direct means to get favor from the patriarchal ministry, including become extreme in her violence against those against whom the ministry is biased, including fellow female non-“purebloods.” McGonagall, who usually shows solidarity with her fellow female colleagues, frequently makes her ill feelings towards Umbridge clear, and is unabashedly happy when Umbridge is forced to leave the school. Due to their ages, it is likely that McGonagall either taught or attended school with Umbridge, and she and Dumbledore are further threats to Umbridge due to their knowledge of her past and her “blood status.” Umbridge is therefore relentless in her ambition to gain and then use authority over McGonagall and Dumbledore. Though betrayal and loyalty to “blood status”/race is not as much of a theme in the relationship between Umbridge and McGonagall in the films, especially as both actresses are White and Rowling’s biographical information on the characters may not have been known by most of the film team, Imelda Staunton and Maggie Smith portray the resentment and anger between two opposing women well. Maggie Smith’s McGonagall is particularly supportive of Emma Thompson’s Professor Trelawney, opposing Imelda Staunton’s Umbridge in her ill treatment of other women. Their characters are then representative of White women who support the patriarchy, and White (perhaps even intersectional) feminists.
J.K. Rowling’s biography of the Umbridge on Pottermore reveals a bit of how the character developed resentment, ambition, and cruelty. However, the Harry Potter film series does not contain such extra information. In the books, it is left up to the reader to decide if Umbridge truly believes the things she says, or if she is merely doing whatever it takes to keep and gain power. In the films, Imelda Staunton’s performance as Umbridge is absolutely terrifying in her sincerity of every discriminatory word she utters, every belief she claims to possess, and in every new rule and punishment she enforces. Her self-righteousness is reminiscent of White female conservative Christians who feel incredibly justified in her hate and discrimination, a sort of person with whom Rowling is perhaps particularly familiar, as she had faced discrimination from fellow Christians for raising her first child alone for a number of years. In interviews for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, in which the character of Umbridge first appears, Staunton states that she and her director worked closely to make sure that Umbridge came across as a multi-faceted and realistic character. In the scene in which Umbridge first forces Harry to write in his own blood “I must not tell lies,” the book Umbridge merely comes across as bullying, cruel, and sadistic, taking true pleasure in Harry’s pain. However, when both characters are seen as “half-blood”/”Biracial,” Umbridge’s actions can be seen as an attempt to educate a young Biracial boy in how to get by and get ahead in a world dominated by White patriarchy. Staunton plays up Umbridge as an attempted mentor to her students, even though Staunton and most of the actors playing her students are White. When Staunton’s Umbridge forces Harry to write in his own blood, she seems nervous, upset, and sad at the violence she is about to inflict upon him. However, she comes to the decision that such a drastic measure is necessary for the good of the wizarding world, and even to Harry himself. She wants the lesson to “sink in” that what he did was “wrong.” In an interview on the DVD for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, Staunton reveals that her Umbridge is “making the most of what little power she has, [and] she will hang onto it […] until her last breath,” and, evidently, also onto her convictions. In the film Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, again playing up the connection to White female conservatism, this includes the right to dictate the sexual and romantic behavior of the students. Staunton’s Umbridge’s belief that supporting the patriarchy is the right thing to do, including the right thing to do for women and girls, which adds extra conflict to her arguments with Maggie Smith’s McGonagall and Emma Watson’s Hermione Granger.
Joe Walker as Dolores Jane Umbridge in Starkid Production’s A Very Potter Sequel
Another interpretation of Umbridge is that in Starkid Productions’ A Very Potter Sequel, the second of three musical parodies of Harry Potter franchise viewable on Youtube, and highly popular among the fandom. While not entirely feminist, Starkid does delve into the sexism that Umbridge undoubtedly must face in her day-to-day life, and the unhealthy way in which she copes with it. While J.K. Rowling compares Umbridge’s loyalty to Fudge with fellow sadist Bellatrix Lestrange’s loyalty to Lord Voldemort, Starkid Productions compares Umbridge with Hermione, with the common thread not being sadism, but the sexism faced by both from their male peers. Like Staunton’s Umbridge, Starkid’s Umbridge plays up Umbridge’s attempted mentorship of her students, especially in regards to Hermione. This is representative of what Brigit McCone describes in “Reclaiming Conch: In Defense of Ursula, Fairy Octomother,” with older female characters’ lessons often being important to the growth of female characters, though patriarchal storytelling reconfiguring these characters as villainesses instead of mentors/fairy godmothers. In the books and films, Hermione has this mentorship split between McGonagall and Umbridge, with them being similar to the nice mother and evil mother tropes described in Katherine Murray’s post “Child-Eating Parents in Into the Woods and Every Children’s Story Ever.” Starkid’s A Very Potter Sequel is void of McGonagall, and Umbridge takes on more of a multi-faceted role as attempted mentor to Hermione. Umbridge even gives life lessons to her female students, including Hermione, upon first meeting them, informing them of “the way the world works” for “frumpy” girls and women, and saying that she will be there “mama.” Umbridge is played by Joe Walker, who also plays Voldemort in the musical trilogy, and while the character being played by a cisgender man causes some potentially dangerous mixed messages, it does emphasize the harm both Voldemort and Umbridge has caused Harry Potter, with both being the only characters in the books to leave lasting scars on Harry, and also emphasizes the way in which the fandom relates to the two villains. Though both Umbridge and Hermione are again played by White actors, their physical and emotional similarities are explored in a way similar to how they could have been further explored in a film version that saw the characters as Biracial able to “pass” as White and a Black girl attempting to find her way in a White patriarchal world. Starkid’s Hermione claims about herself and Umbridge that “We’re both ugly, we’re both bossy, and nobody likes us,” showing how internalized unrealistic (and White) standards of beauty are internalized, how the assertiveness and confidence of women is erased by claims that they are “bossy,” and how reinforced these ideas are in every day life within a (White) patriarchal culture. Sadly, the characters’ needs for self-validation by White men is emphasized in Starkid’s production, with Ron and Hermione’s condescending monologues to Hermione about self-acceptance (undermined by their hope to gain a homework tutor/romantic partner), and Umbridge only finding happiness after rape by centaurs (no, really). Umbridge’s rape is somewhat representative of empowerment via rape fantasy, such as described in Brigit McCone’s “Blurred Lines: The Cinematic Appeal of Rape Fantasy,” though this positive interpretation of rape is still incredibly harmful, as McCone also describes. In the books, however, it is through gender and racial solidarity that lead to the defeats of Umbridge, the Minitry, Bellatrix, and Lord Voldemort.
Umbridge is a complicated character in each form of media she inhabits, and though her violence and discrimination is hateful, she is a woman (of color) trying to navigate through a (White) patriarchal world. She is successful in gaining (some) privileges for herself due to her actions, though at the expense of fellow non-“pureblood”/White women and other marginalized groups. Dumbledore claims that “it is our choices […] that define who we really are, far more than our abilities,” and yet this quote of his mentions nothing of the effect that circumstances can have in affecting life choices. Though circumstances do not entirely excuse her crimes against marginalized groups, and she is rightfully arrested and imprisoned after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, as confirmed by Rowling via interview and Pottermore, excusing her violence as merely innate is ignoring the way in which society institutionally encourages that sort of behavior. Hopefully a more thorough understanding of the character encourages a more thorough understanding of the ways in which society and individuals inhibit human rights, especially those of women of color.
When I searched my mental rolodex for Black female characters in film or television who are unlikable my mind continued to circle. I was lost.
Viola Davis at the SAG Awards
This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.
“Thank you … for thinking that a sexualized, messy, mysterious woman could be a 49-year old, dark skinned, African-American woman who looks like me.” – Viola Davis, Screen Actors Guild Awards (2015).
Viola Davis resounded these words in her acceptance speech at the 21st Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards when she won for “Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Drama Series” for the ABC hit series, How to Get Away With Murder (2014). Davis’ speech shows how images of Black women in television are only beginning to change. Before the inception of ABC’s Scandal (2012), a Black woman in a lead television role had not existed since 1968’s Julia starring Diahann Carroll. Since Scandal, Fox’s Sleepy Hollow (2013) and How to Get Away With Murder have been allowed to flourish on network television. Viola Davis’ portrayal of Annalise Keating is brass, vulnerable, sexy, and threatening–all of which is the complete opposite of misconceived images of Black women as docile, maternal, and continuously doting. She is usually a figure who serves others while sacrificing her personal wants and needs.
Mo’Nique as Mary Ann Johnston in Precious
When I searched my mental rolodex for Black female characters in film or television who are unlikable my mind continued to circle. I was lost. With the exception of Mary Lee Johnston (played by actress and comedian Mo’Nique) in the 2009 Lee Daniels’ film Precious, I could not name one character. Writers and executives appear to have an inherent fear of writing women of color as unlikable, even evil. Often a character who looks and feels like Annalise Keating is ascribed as the “angry Black woman.” In fact, Alessandra Stanley, writer for the New York Times, attributed this ignorance in her article, “Wrought in Rhimes’s Image: Viola Davis Plays Shonda Rhimes’s Latest Tough Heroine,” in which she accuses the series’ executive producer Shonda Rhimes and Annalise Keating of being angry Black women. Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy) and her angry rants should takes notes, lest she be an “angry white woman.”
Then I remembered two recent characters from television. Yvonne “Vee” Parker of the Jenji Kohan, Netflix series, Orange is the New Black (2013) and Erin Gray of Neil Cross’ BBC series, Luther. Kohan and Cross create two women, whom also happen to be Black, who are unlikable and even volatile in the perception of general audiences.
Lorraine Toussaint as Yvonne “Vee” Parker in Orange Is the New Black
Jenji Kohan is masterful in her conception of Vee because the quality that makes her unlikable is her ability to be likeable. In Season 2, Episode 2: “Looks Blue, Tastes Red,” we flashback to see Tasha, a chubby, little, 11-year old Black girl croons the Christina Aguilera ballad “Beautiful” to prospective adoptive parents. She can recite the periodic table and memorize up to 56-digits of pi. Yet, despite this they choose another child. Suddenly a tall, dark figure, big hair, in sunglasses approaches, sits, and lights a cigarette. She looks over and Tasha and recognizes that she is from a group home. The woman asks if Tasha cares to learn “the trade” (the drug trade) and Tasha refuses. She wants to find her “forever family.” In that moment, Vee awakens Tasha to the reality that she may die waiting for her forever family and in the same moment Tasha becomes “Taystee Girl,” a nickname that will follow her into Litchfield Prison.
A couple of scenes later a teenage Taystee, who dons a uniform from the local fast food restaurant, is headed to work. Once again, Vee approaches Taystee to convince her to join the business. Here, Taystee continues to be resistant. She wants to make her own way. However, the third time, Vee does not approach her, rather Taystee goes to her. Taystee, crying and desperate, turns to Vee lamenting that her situation in the group home has worsened. This time around, Vee rejects her until Taystee proves that she can be an integral asset to the business. As in the beginning of the episode, she shows off her math skills as she did for the adoptive parent and this time it works. Vee takes Taystee under her wing.
Danielle Brooks as “Taystee” in Orange Is the New Black
Kohan uses these flashbacks in order to demonstrate the humanity beneath the face of prison. In Taystee’s flashback audience see that she was a lonely child searching for her “forever family” but she unfortunately found refuge in the wrong person. A pivotal flashback occurs when Taystee arrives from the craft store with googly eyes, owl, and horse stamps. Her idea is to label their heroin with a stamp in order to market it better. Despite the context of the conversation, what audiences learn is that Taystee is a businesswoman with bright ideas who wants to move beyond working for a “connect.”
As Taystee vocalizes this information, Vee is in the kitchen cooking dinner for R.J. (another young employee of Vee) and Taystee. In this moment, Taystee gazes at Vee as though she is a God-send. Here, Vee is the nurturing, maternal figure that Taystee has always wanted. Another scene in which Vee’s maternity is showcased occurs in real time at Litchfield prison. Vee quickly becomes close to Suzanne who is known to fellow inmates as “Crazy Eyes.” Suzanne who is afraid of Piper—due to Piper’s brutal beat down of another inmate in the previous season—becomes withdrawn around her. Vee sees this and tells her: “at the end of the day, you are a garden rose and that bitch is a weed.” That moment allows for Suzanne to “see” herself for the first time and it solidifies her loyalty to Vee.
Uzo Aduba as Suzanne “Crazy Eyes” Warren in Orange Is the New Black
Vee’s declaration to Suzanne is the same method that allows her to insert herself into the lives of the other inmates: Black Cindy, Janae, and to some extent Poussey. Each of these women has experienced some type of loss in their past. Janae, a promising career in track and field, Black Cindy, her daughter, and Poussey her true identity. Vee is their opportunity to prove their worth at the prison amongst the women; to them she sees their purpose. She also becomes the maternal figure of the Black women in the prison where that role is vacant. The Hispanic inmates have Gloria, while the Caucasian inmates have “Red.” Vee’s ability to charmingly seduce individuals is what makes her most diabolical. Her maternity is sinister, a quality that is comparable to the description of the elms in playwright Eugene O’Neill’s play, Desire Under the Elms. Like the elms, Vee appears to “protect, yet subdue.” Vee predatorily isolates the group, specifically Taystee, from Poussey who quickly sees Vee as a danger. Vee uses her feelings of isolation in order to hurt her. For audiences the separation of Taystee and Poussey is the first offense. The second and third come to fruition in the form of injuring Red and allowing Suzanne to take the blame. As Black Cindy attempts to stand up to her, she and Janae quickly see that Vee’s physical threats are to be taken seriously. She is willing to discard of anyone in order to get what she wants. Just ask Taystee’s friend R.J. whom she sleeps with and murders all in one night.
On the flipside of this is DS/DCI Erin Gray on Neil Cross’ BBC series Luther. Erin is the only woman on the police force which includes Detective Chief Inspector John Luther (Idris Elba). She is meticulous, driven, and she follows rules by the book. Despite her name, there are no “gray” areas in her concept of the law, just black and white. Erin is the only woman in newly formed “Serious and Serial Crime Unit” therefore has to prove herself as a woman and a woman of color. The first time audiences meet her she asks DS Justin Ripley, Luther’s partner, in reference to Luther’s police tactics: “is he really as dirty as they say?” Ripley quickly comes to his defense and continues to do so as the season progresses.
Nikki Amuka-Bird as DCI Erin Gray in Luther
Erin continues to question Luther’s methods. A prime example occurs when Luther orders her and Justin to confiscate the mobile phones of the public at a crime scene investigation. Erin questions, “On what grounds?” However, Justin explains that to Luther “confiscate” means something different. Erin does not completely understand Luther’s policing nor agree with them. This comes to a head when she witnesses Luther breaking into DSU Schenk’s computer files—in actuality he is obtaining files to set a teenaged prostitute free from her employer. As a result, she becomes suspicious and reports the case. However, she alerts Justin to her concerns, inadvertently allowing him enough time to wipe the history from Schenk’s computer. As a result, Erin is embarrassed and humiliated in front of her superior. She leaves the Serious and Serial crime unit in disgrace.
This moment is what allows Gray to join the unit that investigates police corruption and she is promoted to Detective Chief Inspector. She joins forces with formerly retired DS George Stark to investigate Luther and bring a case against him. In the process, Gray attempts to convince Ripley that Luther needs to be stopped. Season three is when Gray begins to become unlikable for audiences. According to most audiences Gray is labeled as “annoying,” “grating,” and a “stupid bitch.” Upon my first viewing, I also found Gray unlikable. However, now I understand why audiences dislike her.
Erin Gray and Luther (Idris Elba)
Gray’s biggest fault is that she goes against not just the main character, but a multitude of characters who support Luther. One of them being the beloved psychopath Alice Morgan (Ruth Wilson). Audiences are quick to love the deliciousness of a possible intimate relationship between Alice and Luther and seemingly overlook the fact that when we meet her she murders her parents and the family dog, and gets away with it. She is clever, delightful, and continuously fights for John Luther. Alice like many of the women on the show has been saved by Luther (he cunningly helps Alice escape the mental institution). Erin is threatening because even as she faces the barrel of a gun in season three, she does not need to be saved by John. Erin’s ability to be independent of the main character is what makes her unlikable. She works to better herself and the law. It is also significant that the majority of women in the shows history who need saving, including the victims, are Caucasian women. While I am not advocating that Black women or women in general, should be diminished to damsels in distress, it is obtuse that a majority of victims are of a specific demographic and gender. In a sense this disparity establishes how audiences are supposed to see Erin Gray in comparison to others. Because she is not a victim, she is other.
Though Vee’s story on Orange is the New Black is closed by Rosa, the escaped inmate who runs Vee over with the prison van, seemingly killing her, Erin’s is very much open. In the aftermath of her attack, audiences last see Erin on a stretcher, shell shocked, and speechless. For audiences her non-death may have been a disappointment, but she has been scared straight into ultimately believing in Luther. Viewers of Orange is the New Black and Luther have equally been satisfied in some capacity by each woman’s demise.
Unlikable white women characters
Claire Underwood, Maxine Lund, Mavis Gary, and Hannah Horvath are just a few of the many unlikable female characters in film and television. They are met with distaste, yet this quality places them under a microscope because they are often people we know. Viola Davis’ statement in congruence to Vee Parker and Erin Gray demonstrate that minorities, whether they are Black, Hispanic, or Asian, want to diversify their roles in film and television. While the general landscape of roles for women of color appear to be expanding on television, film continues to fall behind in the diversity of characters. She should be liked and disliked, loathed and loved, and the bitter pill to swallow, yet the one that we need.
Rachel Wortherley is a graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York and holds a Master of Arts degree in English. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.
But they did not do it for fame or hardware, they saw a new industry that they could use to instill pride and confidence in their community and propel the race forward. So for this Black History Month, we can proudly say #EarlyCinemaSoBlack.
This is a guest post by Deborah Riley Draper.
Fortunately I have the honor and privilege of preserving and elevating the historical contributions of people of color everyday. But, since it is Black History Month, I would be remised if I didn’t take this opportunity to highlight some of the original baddass chicks of cinema. Contrary to the misconceptions and blatant neglect of historical fact, Black women have enjoyed success and failure in the movie-making business since the industry began practically. And not too unlike today, these trailblazers of the Silent Movie Era operated fully and completely outside of the Hollywood or the burgeoning Hollywood system.
Of course, most people are familiar with Zora Neale Hurston and her books because Halle Berry starred in the 2005 TV movie adaptation of Their Eyes Were WatchingGod produced by Oprah Winfrey. The Harlem Renaissance bad girl was not only a celebrated novelist and playwright but a noted anthropologist as well.She produced ethnographic films in 1928 capturing the lives, customs, and beliefs of Southern people.If you are ever in the Library of Congress, be sure to check Hurston’s filmography.
Seven years before Hurston’s films and exactly 100 years before #OscarsSoWhite was trending, the legendary Black newspaper TheChicago Defender mentioned the “three-reel drama” Shadowed by the Devil, penned and produced by Mrs. Miles Webb, in their section “Among the Movies.” Around the same time, photographer Jane Louise VanDerZee Toussaint Welcome, personal photographer of Booker T. Washington and sister of famed Harlem photographer James VanDerZee, and her husband Ernest Toussaint Welcome opened The Toussaint Motion Picture Exchange.Jennie directed Doing their Bit, a short detailing the efforts of Blacks in the military during WWI. Another film pioneer, Maria P. Williams, produced, distributed, and acted in her own film, The Flames of Wrath (1923) and the Norfolk Journal and Guide printed, “Kansas City is claiming the honor of having the first colored woman film producer in the United States.” And Williams’ best friend, Tressie Souders was lauded by the Black press as the first African American woman director for her film, A Woman’s Error (1922), which was distributed by the Afro-American Film Exhibitors’ Company based in Kansas City, Mo.These woman ignored stereotypes, Jim Crow laws, and the lack of women’s rights to get behind camera to capture and document important stories.They used a pen and a camera to create important pathways and springboards to fuel the march to equality.
It is important to mention, since we are talking about woman who used film to impact the social consciousness of a very racially oppressive society, the writer Drusilla Dunjee Houston.She wrote the screenplay, “Spirit of the South: The Maddened Mob,” one of earliest African-American responses to Thomas Dixon and D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation (1915).She was unable to get it financed and produced.
Black women have been involved in every aspect of film from the beginning.While Oscar Micheaux is regarded as the father of Black independent cinema, we must also applaud the women who stepped out prior to men and women of all races to create jobs, opportunities and provide authentic depictions of them on the screen.These woman found their own spark and seed money to create a lane, a voice and compelling narratives that would accurately depict African American life and inspire the next generation. They pioneered cinematic techniques and introduced ways to flourish outside of Hollywood.They were entrepreneurs with start-up film companies.Maybe one day, they will trend on twitter or receive posthumous recognition for their contributions. But they did not do it for fame or hardware, they saw a new industry that they could use to instill pride and confidence in their community and propel the race forward. So for this Black History Month, we can proudly say #EarlyCinemaSoBlack.
Though not cinematic pioneers, two historically significant women will be featured in the upcoming documentary Olympic Pride, American Prejudice.The film captures the heroic turn of 18 African American athletes who defied racism on both sides of the Atlantic to complete in the 1936 Olympics.And, Louise Stokes and Tydie Pickett, the first Black women ever selected to an American Olympic team, bravely and proudly stepped onto the U.S.S. Manhattan to represent the U.S. almost 30 years prior to the Civil Rights Bill.This film is currently funding on Seed&Spark.Please support the telling of this significant chapter in American history and a precursor in the modern Civil Rights movement.Click here to contribute or log on to www.1936olympicsmovie.com to learn more.
Filmmaker Deborah Riley Draper has a proven track record for creating compelling brand stories as an advertising agency executive. Draperʼs first documentary, Versailles ʼ73: American Runway Revolution, brought to life the legendary 1973 fashion battle between five French and five American designers. Versailles ʼ73 has screened all over the world and received acclaim from critics and fans alike, including the New York Times, LA Times and Harperʼs Bazaar. The film was selected to the St. Louis International Film Festival, NY Winter Film Awards, John Hopkins Film Festival, Marthaʼs Vineyards African American Film Festival, Denver Film Society Winter DocNights, and Gateway Documentary Festival as well as selected to screen at fashion and design festivals in Canada, Saudi Arabia, Croatia, Estonia and Australia. Versailles ʼ73 is distributed through Cinetic/Filmbuff on VOD in North America, Europe and Australia. The documentary has also been optioned for development into a feature film.
Draper is currently completing production on Olympic Pride, American Prejudice, the story of the 18 African American athletes of the 1936 Summer Olympic Games. She is also completing two feature film scripts. Draper recently contributed to several museum projects, including The Groninger Museum in The Netherlands exhibition on Marga Weiman, Museum of the City of New Yorkʼs Stephen Burrows: When Fashion Danced and the Andre Leon Tallyʼs An American Master of Inventive Design at SCAD. Draper will be a contributing writer to the Fall 2015 NKA: Journal of Contemporary African Art Fashion Edition.
Draper has been making long format content and commercials for more than 15 years for clients such as Coca-Cola Classic, Sprite, The Georgia Lottery Corporation, Blue Cross-Blue Shield, ExxonMobil, Fedex, Bayer CropScience and HP. She is currently the Client Service Director at Iris Worldwide. Prior to iris, Draper spent eight years at BBDO and three years at the Publicis network agency Burrell Communications Group. Her advertising work has won two Regional Emmy Awards, Gold Effie, and numerous Addys.
The avid Florida State University Seminole is frequent lecturer for the AAAA Advertising Institute and a 2014 Distinquished Visiting Professor at Johnson & Wales University, Florida Campus.
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