Disney’s ‘Oliver & Company’: Rita’s Voice in Dodger’s Song

Though the villain of ‘Oliver & Company’ is a loan shark, the film mainly portrays poverty as something that just happens through strokes of bad luck, and which doesn’t have institutionalized causes via intersectional oppression from a capitalist society.


Written by Jackson Adler.


Disney’s Oliver & Company (1988), which is very loosely based on Charles Dickens’s novel Oliver Twist, is about an anthropomorphic ginger male kitten named Oliver, voiced by Joey Lawrence, navigating New York City and trying to find a sense of belonging. In his day-to-day-survival, Oliver in confronted with issues of class, race, and gender. The title of the film is both indicative of a stage musical “company,” as the animated film is a musical, that of a business company, due to its economic and capitalist themes and its taking place in bustling metropolis New York City, and even to companionship itself, highlighted by most of the characters being companion animals. Oliver eventually finds a friend and what Bitch Flick’s Brigit McCone refers to as an “unruly mentor[s]” in Dodger, a mutt Terrier voiced by Billy Joel, who introduces himself with the song “Why Should I Worry?”

Dodger and Oliver
Dodger and Oliver

 

While Oliver may seemingly be the protagonist of the film, the audience in encouraged to see Dodger as the hero that Oliver learns to see him as, and the story is largely from Dodger’s White cismale heterosexual perspective. While Dodger is a flawed character, he is also shown as the ideal urban dog/man, who is going to “cross that line” into success despite his impoverished past. He states that he belongs anywhere, and that he is “love[d]” in every part of town and by all kinds of people/dogs. In the same scene, if not sentence, he switches between slang, Spanish, and a use of language showing “higher” learning. As Natshee Blu Barnd states in her essay “White Man’s Best Friend: Race and Privilege in Oliver and Company,” Dodger is representative of a mixed European heritage, a sort of White “mutt,” and is representative of a blue-collar worker who feels he can “own” the town and is capable of “wear[ing] the crown” of fame and monetary success.

Tito
Tito

 

Dodger is able to feel comfortable wherever he goes and with whomever in the city, but Dodger’s friend, Tito, a Chihuahua voiced by Chicano comedian Cheech Marin and whose character is written to exhibit some harmful stereotypes of Latino men, does not have this same privilege. Both Tito’s speaking patterns and behaviors are frequently criticized by other characters, including Dodger. In order for Tito to be even slightly included by mainstream or upper class White society, or even in Dodger’s company (in every sense of the word), he is pressured to change himself, such as when the wealthy White Georgette attempts to make him wear clothing she finds more acceptable of a romantic partner. While Dodger’s appropriation of various cultures is considered “cool,” Tito’s very identity is considered comic relief, at best, despite both him and Dodger being poor, both stealing, both wearing bandanas, and both being able to switch back and forth between English and Spanish. The fact that Dodger is voiced by Billy Joel, a musician capitalizing on a working class background and appropriation of the musical styles and culture of People of Color, is not coincidental.

Rita
Rita

 

Tito, representative of a Man of Color, gets more screen time than Rita, a character coded to be a Woman of Color, most likely Afro-Puerto Rican. Both Rita’s speaking and singing voice actresses are Black (Sheryl Lee Ralph and Ruth Pointer), while she is drawn as an Afghan hound (a dog breed often incorrectly referred to as an “African hound”), but having a light brown coloring (though there are black Afghan hounds), and has a name often associated with Latinas. Rita is Dodger’s second in command of Fagin’s “gang,” Fagin being a White semi-homeless man who occasionally but often unsuccessfully steals and cons in order to survive, and who is voiced by Dom DeLuise. Rita and Dodger are good friends and possible love interests, and while they both show sexual interest in other dogs, Rita and Dodger are close and flirtatious with one another. However, Rita, the only female in Fagin’s “gang” of dogs, is always second to Dodger, and even though she questions him and makes fun of him, they do not have an equal partnership.

Rita is the closest character in the film to Dickens’s character Nancy, the sex worker with a heart of gold who protects Oliver. Oliver Twist was serialized from 1837-1839, and yet, sadly, Nancy has a more active role in the original story than Rita does in Disney’s 1988 film. Nancy goes against the wishes of her abusive boyfriend, Bill Sikes, to return Oliver to his grandfather and a wealthy lifestyle. She defies the men in her life, Bill and the successful criminal Fagin, for Oliver’s sake, and risks her own life to do what she thinks is right. Fagin manipulates Bill into murdering Nancy for this attempted act, since he fears it could compromise his safety and his pickpocketing business, but it is the murder of Nancy that brings down not only Bill, but also Fagin and his entire enterprise. Without the threat of these men, Oliver is able to live in safety and comfort with his wealthy grandfather. Though hardly a feminist character, Nancy is crucial to the story of Oliver Twist. Rita’s character in Oliver & Company has much less of a role, is no longer the leading lady, and is much less defiant to the male characters.

Rita and Oliver
Rita and Oliver

 

Rita briefly “mammies” the young White Oliver in her song “Streets of Gold,” encouraging him to see New York City as less threatening and to see survival via crime as fun, before Dodger and the others push Oliver into being their “lookout.” Dodger talks before the song, makes room for Rita’s song, then abruptly ends the song, showing his dominance over Rita and controlling her contribution to the story. When it comes to physically protecting Oliver, the closest Rita comes to it is when she sees Oliver blissfully sleeping in Penny’s mansion, and says to Dodger “Honey, let’s just forget the whole thing” about taking Oliver back with them and into poverty once more. Dodger instead chooses to listen to Georgette, a rich White dog show champion, over Rita. The gang then successfully kidnaps Oliver, though it is later shown that Rita was correct in that Oliver is happier living with a rich young White girl than he is with them. Though Dodger declines a romantic or sexual entanglement with Georgette, he still prioritizes the opinion of a rich White poodle/woman over that of a poor Woman of Color’s, even despite having just met Georgette and having worked and lived closely with Rita for what appears to have been a very long time. It’s also sad that while Rita is based on a lower class character from the film’s source material, the film added in a new female character who is wealthy and who takes up more screen time, contributes more to the story, and has more of a character arc than Rita. Wealth and Whiteness are clearly privileged over poorness and Blackness, despite the supposed but badly executed moral of the film being acceptance of one another.

Dickens’s novel addresses poverty and crime in 19th century Britain, specifically London, though Dickens largely blames these issues on Jewish people, specifically “the old Jew” Fagin, though Dickens also in part blames unjust laws and political corruption. Though the villain of Oliver & Company is a loan shark, the film mainly portrays poverty as something that just happens through strokes of bad luck, and which doesn’t have institutionalized causes via intersectional oppression from a capitalist society. In fact, the film largely blames poor people for being poor, tells them not to “worry” about the challenges and the kinds of stigma they face, glamourizes acts of survival, and overall tells oppressed peoples to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, as it were. Rita shows how this oppression has been internalized when she tells Oliver she will teach him how “the best survive,” implying that poor and oppressed peoples who have difficulty surviving just aren’t “the best,” or at least need to trying harder at their survival. She “others” people who are like her, and teaches Oliver this “othering.” These “others” are implied to be unwilling to learn the “best” ways of surviving, and to be lazy. The story harmfully moralizes that if poor and oppressed people cannot get by without government programs such as SNAP, then they are just lazy, or at best just need to learn the correct way to “survive.” Instead of addressing the underlying causes of poverty and oppression, Oliver & Company gives the conflicting messages of “Why should [you] worry [about your own poverty]” and the message that if you can’t get by in life, it’s largely your own fault. Yet, even characters who find economic success are criticized.

Roscoe and Rita
Roscoe and Rita

 

Roscoe and Desoto are Dobermans coded as Black, and having shiny black fur; they work for the loan shark Sikes. Sikes demands strict obedience from Roscoe and Desoto, while the hierarchy in Fagin’s gang is more relaxed. Roscoe and Desoto are drawn very similarly to one another, differentiated only by their voices and their red and blue collars. Roscoe criticizes Rita, saying, “You know Rita, I can’t figure out why you’d rather hang around a dump like this when you could be living uptown with a class act, like myself.” Though the male dogs in Fagin’s “gang” are the ones to respond to Roscoe’s statement, criticizing his intellect and ego, Rita makes her reason in choosing to stay in Fagin’s “gang” clear. When Sikes summons Roscoe, Rita says, “Run along, Roscoe. Your master’s calling,” her speaking voice actress Sheryl Lee Ralph emphasizes the word “master” and Roscoe’s fierce loyalty obedience to a rich White man. While Rita is loyal to Fagin, a White semi-homeless man, and to Dodger, she is not under contract to heed their every call, unlike Roscoe is to Sikes. At the end of the film, Rita interrupts Dodger’s reprise of “Why Should I Worry,” changing it to “Why Should We Worry,” and pulls him away from ogling other female dogs, though this hardly upsets their status quo, and Dodger’s position of dominance is not undermined by the inclusion of her voice in his song.

Rita joins in Dodger's song.
Rita joins in Dodger’s song.

 

Sikes and his henchmen/dogs are shown to be the villains of the story due to their physical violence, but Dodger’s violence in interrupting or censoring Tito’s and Rita’s words and actions are harmfully shown as good leadership. Rita is permitted a short song of her own so as to benefit Oliver and Dodger. Tito, and other characters representative of People of Color never have their own songs, while White characters Dodger, Georgette, and Jenny do, with Dodger’s song being not only reprised, but being the film’s main theme. Inclusion in an oppressive system/Dodger’s privilege does not result in equality or equity for People of Color. As Audre Lorde famously said, “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Dodger allowing Rita to change his “I” to her and Tito’s “We” does not negate that Dodger constructed the song, and it is his words, his tune, and his message that he is permitting them to support. America is run by a White capitalist patriarchy, and like Dodger’s song, its occasional and token inclusion of People of Color does not make a post-racial and post-feminist world.

 

 

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

recommended-red-714x300-1

 

Diversity Sells — But Hollywood Remains Overwhelmingly White, Male at NPR

Feminism’s oppression obsession undermines women by Shikha Dalmia at The Week

The Latest: Black Women by Brianna Cox at For Harriet

Patricia Arquette’s Feminism: Only for White Women by Amanda Marcotte at Slate

Carnival of Souls: A Coming of Age Story for Queer Women? by Casey Quinlan at The Toast

Yes on Knope by Rachel Fields at Bitch Media

Leonard Nimoy’s Mr. Spock Taught Us Acceptance Is Highly Logical by Eric Deggans at NPR

Leonard Nimoy’s Advice To A Biracial Girl In 1968 by Gene Demby at NPR

Black History & Women in Horror Month: Get To Know Marsha A. Hunt by Ashlee Blackwell at Graveyard Shift Sisters

Interview: The Activist Survivors of “The Hunting Ground” by Michele Kort at Ms. blog

What Happened When a Handsome, White Actor Shed a Tear Over ‘Glory’ by Kirsten West Savali at The Root

Pussy Riot’s “Don’t Cry Genocide” Featuring Le Tigre Members Appears on “House of Cards” by Evan Minsker at Pitchfork

A Toxic Stew: Risks To Women Of Public Feminism by Barbara King at NPR

 

 

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

Feminist Highlights and Fails at the 2015 Oscars

This year’s Oscars lacked racial diversity with all 20 acting nominees being white. The overwhelming whiteness of the Oscars, which hasn’t been this egregious in nominating people of color since 1998, spurred a Twitter boycott and the hashtag #OscarsSoWhite created by April Reign. In addition to racial diversity, once again the Oscars lacked gender diversity. No women were nominated for director, screenplay (adapted or original), original score or cinematography. The snub of Ava DuVernay especially stung.

J.K. SIMMONS, PATRICIA ARQUETTE, JULIANNE MOORE, EDDIE REDMAYNE

I usually eagerly anticipate the Oscars. As a huge cinephile, I love seeing films, actors, and filmmakers celebrated. But this year, I dreaded them.

This year’s Oscars lacked racial diversity with all 20 acting nominees being white. The overwhelming whiteness of the Oscars, which hasn’t been this egregious in nominating people of color since 1998, spurred a Twitter boycott and the hashtag #OscarsSoWhite created by April Reign. In addition to racial diversity, once again the Oscars lacked gender diversity. No women were nominated for director, screenplay (adapted or original), original score or cinematography. The snub of Ava DuVernay especially stung.

The Oscars may be the most visible celebration of filmmaking in the U.S. and possibly the world. This is why they matter. Whether we agree or not, they signify what films are collectively deemed important in our society.

The Oscars often overlook female filmmakers — only four women (no women of color) have ever been nominated for Best Director, only one has won (Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker) — and women-centric films. It was disappointing to see that all eight of the Best Picture nominees were written and directed by men, except for Selma, which was directed and co-written by Ava DuVernay, a woman of color. Each of the films revolves around men as the protagonists. However, Selma is a notable exception for spotlighting not only Martin Luther King Jr. but the vigilance and dedication of Black women and Black men in the fight for equality.

Lack of diversity amongst the nominations disappointed, and racism and sexism often tainted the evening. Yet powerful moments emerged during the awards ceremony.

PATRICIA ARQUETTE

 

Labeled as “the most feminist moment” of the night by many writers and those on Twitter, Patricia Arquette advocated for equal pay and women’s rights during her acceptance speech for Best Supporting Actress for Boyhood:

“To every woman who give birth to a taxpayer and citizen of this nation, we have fought for everybody else’s rights. It’s our time to have wage equality, once and for all. And equal rights for women in the United States of America.”

Yes, yes, a thousand times YES. Patricia Arquette’s speech was a powerful feminist declaration condemning the gender pay gap and the need for wage equality. Women earn 78 percent less than men for the same job. But women of color earn far less. Black women earn 64 percent less, Indigenous women earn 59 percent less and Latina women earn 54 percent less than white men. Hearing the words “wage equality” and “women’s rights” uttered on a national broadcast delights me. Meryl Streep and Jennifer Lopez excitedly cheering in the audience was the icing on the cake.

Arquette elaborated backstage, mentioning the ageism comingled with sexism that women actors face: “The truth of it is the older an actress gets, the less money she makes.” She is absolutely right. Male actors earn more than women. After the age of 34, women actors earn far less than their male colleagues. But unfortunately, here’s where Arquette’s speech unravels:

“It’s time for all the women in America and all the men who love women and all the gay people and all the people of color that we’ve fought for, to fight for us now.”

Sigh. Why couldn’t she have just stopped? My initial excitement faded to disappointment, irritation, and anger.

Her statement implies that LGBT people and people of color have achieved equality. They haven’t. LGBT justice and racial justice still have far to go. It blatantly ignores coalition building that has happened across movements. Arquette excludes women of color and queer women with her statement. Women have multiple, intersecting identities. To ignore that fact erases many women’s existence. When feminists talk about women’s rights, we should not be claiming, either overtly or covertly, “women” equals straight, white, cis women. We white women need to do a much better job to make feminism an intersectional, inclusive movement.

Julianne Moore and Eddie Redmayne won Best Actress and Best Actor for playing people with disabilities. Each actor mention ALS and Alzheimer’s in their acceptance speeches. Moore said: “I’m thrilled we were able to shine a light on this disease. … “Movies make us feel seen and not alone.” However, The Theory of Everything has been accused of being guilty of “inspiration porn” and using a person with a disability as “Oscar bait.”

Julianne Moore was absolutely outstanding in Still Alice. A chameleon, she melted into the complex, nuanced role. It was also great to see a woman win for a film revolving around a female protagonist. Considering the ageism of Hollywood and the Oscars, I appreciated seeing a woman over the age of 50 win. We need more roles for women in general but particularly women of color, queer women, older women, and women with disabilities.

JULIANNE MOORE

 

Suicide was discussed in two acceptance speeches. Dana Perry, the co-director of Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1 which won for Best Documentary Short, shared the tragedy about her son who committed suicide:“We should talk about suicide out loud.”  Best Screenplay winner Graham Moore (The Imitation Game) revealed his own suicide attempt:

“When I was 16 years old, I tried to kill myself because I felt weird, and I felt different, and I felt like I did not belong. … So I would like for this moment to be for that kid out there who feels she’s weird, or she’s different or she doesn’t fit in anywhere. Yes, you do. I promise you do. Stay weird, stay different.”

Not only did these two heartbreaking speeches illuminate suicide, but they ultimately gave a positive message, that for people suffering, you are not alone.

Selma may not have been honored with all the awards it deserved. But a tribute to the film and to racial justice was depicted in Common and John Legend’s powerful performance of “Glory” from Selma. Accompanying the uplifting yet searing lyrics, they visually recreated the march in Selma onstage. In their passionate acceptance speech for Best Song, Common spoke about the historic bridge in Selma where the civil rights march took place.

“This bridge was once a landmark of a divided nation. But now it’s a symbol for change. The spirit of this bridge transcends race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, social status. … This bridge was built on hope, welded with compassion, and elevated by love for all human beings.” 

John Legend highlighted institutional racism, incarceration of Black men and the prison industrial complex.

 Nina Simone said it’s an artist’s duty to reflect the times in which we live. … Selma is now because the struggle for justice is right now. We live in the most incarcerated country in the world. There are more Black men under correctional control today than were under slavery in 1850.”

Selma may be a biopic of an iconic civil rights leader. Yet as legend says, it remains extremely relevant, a reflection of the racism and white supremacy happening currently with the harrowing murders of Michael Brown and Eric Garner, and the activism in Ferguson and with #BlackLivesMatter. It was crucial to hear Legend discuss the pernicious racism of our criminal justice system. Sadly, the lack of applause for his statements by an audience often deemed liberal was extremely disconcerting.

COMMON, JOHN LEGEND

 

But perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised at the audience’s reaction, especially as many in Hollywood look the other way when it comes to racism and abuse of women. I cannot fully express my disgust at seeing Sean Penn, an abuser of women, as a presenter onstage. He made a racist joke when announcing Birdman, directed by Mexican director Alejandro González Iñárritu, as the Best Picture winner: “Who gave this son of a bitch his green card?” How lovely to see racism and xenophobia at the end of the Oscars. Sigh. Unfortunately the racism didn’t stop there.

Within the first few minutes of the show, Neil Patrick Harris said, “Tonight we celebrate tonight’s best and whitest, oh I mean brightest.” Here’s the thing: I love when a celebrity shines a light on inequality or injustice. But the “joke” felt more like a way to acknowledge the Academy’s glaring racism rather than actually calling them out and holding them accountable. It lets Hollywood off the hook for not taking measures to increase diversity. Harris also tokenized accents, did a “joke” where Black actor David Oyelowo read a denouncement of the Annie remake starring Quvenzhané Wallis and had Octavia Spencer “watch” his ballot predictions box as if she was his servant.

Thankfully, Iñárritu took the opportunity in his acceptance speech to counter Penn’s racism advocating for immigrant justice. He dedicated his Oscar for Best Picture to his “fellow Mexicans” and Mexican immigrants. He is the second Latino to win Best Director and the first Latino to win as producer for Best Picture. Iñárritu spoke of the need to build a new government in Mexico and for the need for rights for immigrants:

…I just pray they can be treated with the same dignity and respect of the ones who came before and built this incredible immigrant nation.”

What this disjointed awards show accentuated to me is the need for an intersectional lens in everything we do: our daily lives, activism, making media and consuming media. We can’t truly claim a milestone a victory if it only benefits wealthy, white, straight, cis, able-bodied women. We can’t call truly call ourselves feminists if we ignore the plight of those more marginalized or oppressed than ourselves.

Equal pay for women (along with highlighting the need for intersectional feminism), racial justice, mass incarceration, suicide, rights for people with disabilities and immigrant rights – all of these took center stage. Now if only the Academy had been so radical and the Oscar nominees had reflected such diversity.


Megan Kearns is Bitch Flicks’ Social Media Director and a Staff Writer, a freelance writer and a feminist vegan blogger. She tweets at @OpinionessWorld.

The Academy’s White Noise: Silencing the Lions

I said that I had hoped this year would be different. However, when the Academy announced its nominations, I was not surprised.

Black men and women, organized by character type, who have won Academy Awards. This is an updated infographic after Nyong'o's win last year. We won't get to add "Historical Civil Rights Icon" as a category in 2015.    Click to enlarge.
Black men and women, organized by character type, who have won Academy Awards. This is an updated infographic after Nyong’o’s win last year. We won’t get to add “Historical Civil Rights Icon” as a category in 2015.   Click to enlarge.

 

Written by Leigh Kolb as part of our theme week on the Academy Awards.

Two years ago, after Django Unchained was largely snubbed at the Oscars (compared to the Golden Globes), I looked at the history of the Black actors/characters who were awarded by the Academy over the years. Last year, I revisited that history as 12 Years a Slave dominated the awards circuit.

It’s fairly clear what roles Hollywood is most comfortable with: for Black characters, passivity, tired stereotypes, and villainy get the highest awards. Complex, powerful Black characters–especially those who appear threatening to white supremacy in some way–typically get passed over.

I hoped this year would be different. This year, institutionalized, implicit American racism seeped out of the pores of American cities and psyches post-Ferguson. This year, Ava DuVernay directed Selma, 5o years after the Selma to Montgomery march that led to the passage of the Voting Rights Act. The film is brilliant in its own right–DuVernay’s direction and David Oyelowo’s portrayal of Martin Luther King Jr. are incredible. Certainly the power of the film within the historical context would make the Academy sit upright and give credit where credit is due.

Instead, we got more of the same. Selma was recognized widely in Golden Globe nominations–best picture, best director, best actor, best original song (John Legend and Common’s “Glory,” which took home the award). And then, as always, the Academy turned up its white nose. While it’s up for best picture and and original song, DuVernay and Oyelowo were passed over.

At Rolling Stone, Peter Travers said,

“Why am I calling this year’s Oscars, on February 22nd, the ‘Caucasian Consensus,’ when Selma is one of the eight nominees for Best Picture? Because that landmark film about Martin Luther King Jr.’s 1965 civil-rights march has only one other nomination, for Best Song. Not one person of color appears among the 20 nominees for acting. Apparently, the Academy thought it gave last year when it awarded 12 Years a Slave the gold. The message from white voters? Don’t get uppity.”

Not one person of color.

I said that I had hoped this year would be different. However, when the Academy announced its nominations, I was not surprised.

I had to drive over an hour to watch Selma on the big screen, because none of the theaters in the small towns around me screened it (and they still haven’t).

This happened 20 minutes from my home.

The Voting Rights Act was gutted in 2013.

Writers had to defend DuVernay’s portrayal of an imperfect L.B.J.

In an interview, late author Chinua Achebe quoted the following proverb: “Until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” This proverb perfectly, painfully illustrates Hollywood’s–and America’s–hegemonic forces at work.

The hunters write history. The hunters glorify themselves. The hunters’ history infiltrates itself into the very fabric of our cultural narrative, so we’re only comfortable with seeing the complexities of the hunters, and the simplicity of the lions.

Selma challenged that narrative. Oyelowo–who felt destined to play King–and DuVernay dared to glorified the lions.

And the hunters simply wouldn’t hear of it.

Oyelowo and DuVernay
Oyelowo and DuVernay

 


See also at Bitch FlicksThe Academy: Kind to White Men, Just Like HistoryRace and the Academy: Black Characters, Stories, and the Danger of DjangoCaptain Uhura Snub: The Politics of Ava DuVernay’s Oscar 


Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature, and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. 

 

On ‘Annie,’ Lady ‘Ghostbusters,’ and “Ruined” Childhoods

And the matter of representation here is so important. Little Black girls deserve to see themselves on screen, to try to be like Annie the way I tried to be like Punky Brewster when I was a kid. They deserve to see this kind of Cinderella story, where the benefactor is a successful Black businessman (Jamie Foxx as cell phone-mogul and mayoral candidate Will Stacks, the less-creepily named equivalent to Daddy Warbucks). Black parents deserve to take their kids to movies that will show families like theirs. And people of all ages and all races need to see Black actors star in movies like this so the gross privileged reaction of “but the star isn’t white OH NOES!” goes away.

'Annie' (2014)  movie poster
Annie (2014) movie poster

Written by Robin Hitchcock.

Some conversations I have had about the 2014 remake of Annie, starring Quvenzhané Wallis:

“Got any exciting plans this weekend?”

“Yes! I’m finally going to get to see the new Annie!”

“Why are you excited about that?”

“Well I probably watched the old movie upwards of 100 times when I was a kid.”

“I would think then you’d want to avoid this one? It’s probably just going to ruin your childhood memories.”

“Is it weird that I feel weird about the new Annie being Black?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s just that my image of the character is a little redheaded girl with freckles.”

“Well the original image of the character didn’t have pupils in her eyes, so, things change.”

Comic Annie's creepy blank eyes.
Comic Annie’s creepy blank eyes.

 

When an Annie remake was announced in 2011, produced by Will and Jada Pinkett-Smith with their daughter Willow attached to play the title character, the “Annie can’t be Black!” nonsense started up, and ebbed and flowed with every new development on the film. Oscar nominee Quvenzhané Wallis cast. “Annie can’t be Black!” Trailer released. “Annie can’t be Black!” Film opens and enjoys modest box office success. “ANNIE CAN’T BE BLACK!”

The remake brilliantly takes on this “controversy” by opening on a white curly-haired redheaded girl with freckles named Annie, who tapdances when she finishes giving her school report. The teacher then calls up “Annie B.” and out comes Quvenzhané Wallis with her charm cranked up to 11. She gets the classroom to participate in her report on FDR and the New Deal, and I can’t imagine anyone in the audience not being won over by the new Annie in this one scene, unless your racism is the Klan kind and not the internalized “but Annie NEEDS to be white” kind. (Which is still bad, and you should work on that.)

Annie and her foster sisters.
Annie and her foster sisters.

 

In fact, the new Annie being Black is a huge benefit to this film. First, it gives it a reason to exist. Family-friendly movies with Black protagonists are desperately lacking. Plus, an all-white crew of plucky foster kids (in this movie, Annie is very adamant she is a foster kid and not an orphan, because she believes her parents to be alive) in modern-day New York would be unbelievable.  And it lets Quvenzhané Wallis star, and I defy you to name a more charming child actor working today.

And the matter of representation here is so important. Little Black girls deserve to see themselves on screen, to try to be like Annie the way I tried to be like Punky Brewster when I was a kid. They deserve to see this kind of Cinderella story, where the benefactor is a successful Black businessman (Jamie Foxx as cell phone-mogul and mayoral candidate Will Stacks, the less-creepily named equivalent to Daddy Warbucks). Black parents deserve to take their kids to movies that will show families like theirs. And people of all ages and all races need to see Black actors star in movies like this so the gross privileged reaction of “but the star isn’t white OH NOES!” goes away.

Family-friendly movies starring black actors are important.
Family-friendly movies starring Black actors are important.

 

The movie itself? I liked it a lot! It has some issues: 1) Cameron Diaz can’t sing 2) everything sounds a little excessively auto-tuned (Jamie Foxx and Quvenzhané Wallis CAN sing, so that’s no excuse) 3) The new songs don’t blend in as well as they could have 4) The Obamas do not cameo in place of Annie meeting FDR 5) Rooster Hannigan doesn’t exist, and Traci Thoms as Lily St. Regis stand-in doesn’t get to sing “Easy Street,” so the best scene from the 1982 movie turns into one of the worst in the remake (Cameron Diaz really, really, REALLY can’t sing).

And here’s the thing: it could have been TERRIBLE and my childhood would be intact! It wouldn’t make the old movie cease to exist, wouldn’t change my memories of loving it as a child. Also my childhood was a lot more than one weird musical with a racist caricature named Punjab serving as the inexplicably mystical valet to a guy named, for realskies, Daddy Warbucks.

The old Annie was racist.
Cringe!

 

And embittered dudes out there, your childhoods were more than Ghostbusters as dudes. Lady Ghostbusters will NOT ruin your childhood unless the movie is actually about them time travelling to steal your lunch money and eat your homework (I would actually totally watch that movie).

Look. Every now and then they threaten to remake Casablanca. At one point there were rumors of a Bennifer (that’s the former power couple Ben Affleck and J.Lo for those with a short celeb culture memory) version. And yes, this gives me the “WHY!? NO! HANDS OFF!” reaction that I suppose people are having to new Annie and new Ghostbusters. So I’m trying to be sympathetic and give people the benefit of the doubt here, that they aren’t just being racist or sexist.

Did the Looney Tunes take on Casablanca ruin my childhood or my adulthood?
Did the Looney Tunes take on Casablanca ruin my childhood or my adulthood?

 

But keep this in mind, childhood-defenders who are particularly upset when their childhood faves stop being white or male: changing the demographic profile of the stars gives these remakes a reason to exist. Like, if they HAD remade Casablanca with Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez, but made it about modern-day immigration issues (people forget that Casablanca was NOT a period piece) it might have been really interesting!  Making the Ghostbusters women gives them the ability to create relatively original characters instead of awkwardly attempting to replicate the old ones. And the world needs more women-led comedy films, like it needs more Black family films.

The world absolutely does not need more movies starring white people, especially white dudes. I say this as a white person. I’ve had my fill. Hollywood relies on remakes and reboots an incredible amount, and thank goodness they’ve taken to changing the race or gender of some of these characters or we’d be in a never-ending cycle of universal white dudeliness.

It's going to be ok.
It’s going to be OK.

 

So fellow white people, please keep in mind: you will still exist if you are not absurdly over-represented on screen. White dudes: Remember how upset you were when they made Starbuck a girl? Remember how that was awesome? It’s going to be OK.


Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town. She is an actual orphan so you should trust her take on Annie.

‘AHS: Coven’: Gabourey Sidibe’s Queenie as an Embodiment of the “Strong Black Woman” Stereotype

Firstly, a definition of sorts: the myth of the “strong Black woman” is loosely defined as a Black woman who is emotionally hardy to the point of feeling no pain. She is never fazed or hysterical. She is cold and calculating. She has no personal needs or desires and doesn’t complain. She can take a beating and come out on the other side unharmed. This is supposed to be seen as a good thing. Black women are “so strong” that no amount of abuse will break them. They will always keep plodding on. “Strong black women” are superhuman.

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This guest post by Cate Young previously appeared at her blog, BattyMamzelle, and is cross-posted with permission.

Last week, I read a great article by Nichole Perkins on Buzzfeed that talked about the way the character development of the leading ladies of both Scandal and Sleepy Hollow were working toward dismantling the harmful depictions of “strong Black women” in media. It was a great read, and I loved that someone else shared my conclusions about Olivia Pope’s characterization.
What stuck out to me however, was Perkins’ characterization of Gabourey Sidibe’s character Queenie on American Horror Story: Coven as a negative embodiment of the “strong Black woman” stereotype. She says:
Then there is Gabourey Sidibe as Queenie on American Horror Story: Coven, a “human voodoo doll” whose supernatural power is the inability to feel pain, even as she inflicts said pain onto someone else. […] These Strong Black Women feel no emotional pain, tolerate severe physical trauma with no reaction, and menace others with stone faces.
I love American Horror Story: Coven. But even though I had immediately made the connection to the racialized violence against Black bodies this season, I hadn’t picked up on Perkins’ perspective of Queenie as an SBW. After seeing the episode “The Replacements,” I not only vehemently agree with her, I also want to expand on her observations.
Firstly, a definition of sorts: the myth of the “strong Black woman” is loosely defined as a Black woman who is emotionally hardy to the point of feeling no pain. She is never fazed or hysterical. She is cold and calculating. She has no personal needs or desires and doesn’t complain. She can take a beating and come out on the other side unharmed. This is supposed to be seen as a good thing. Black women are “so strong” that no amount of abuse will break them. They will always keep plodding on. “Strong black women” are superhuman.
Immediately, we can see the issues with this so-called “positive stereotype.” It paints Black women as unfeeling, and incapable of emotional pain. It justifies abuses perpetuated against them as “not as bad” because “they can take it.” In essence, it makes Black women a target for “warranted” violence, because the belief is that said violence will not affect them.
Now, on Perkins’ original point, AHSC‘s Queenie is a Black witch (superhuman) whose magical power is to literally injure herself without feeling pain. The only way she is able to inflict pain on other people is to inflict it on herself first. Her suffering is part and parcel of her experience. And yet, she feels no pain, therefore hurting her isn’t really hurting her is it? She can take it! With Queenie, Ryan Murphy has conceived of a character that is the literal embodiment of a harmful stereotype.
That’s not all. In “The Replacements,” Fiona Goode (Jessice Lange) appoints the racist Madam LaLaurie (Kathy Bates) as Queenie’s personal slave as punishment for her bigotry. LaLaurie is openly racist towards Queenie and uses every opportunity she can to demean her, and “remind her of her place” even though their “traditional roles” have been effectively subverted. Queenie takes it all in stride until she realizes who exactly LaLaurie actually is and recalls her reputation for torturing her slaves.
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Later though, the minotaur that LaLaurie created comes back to haunt her, sent by former lover Marie Laveau (Angela Basset). Terrified, LaLaurie begs Queenie to protect her. The very same woman who she said wasn’t worthy to be served at breakfast, should put her own safety on the line to save her. And she DOES. Despite all of LaLaurie’s ill treatement, Queenie still feel compelled to protect her against the present threat. This plays into ideas about Black women being in service to white women, but never equal to them. Think The Help and Hilly Holbrook‘s “Home Health Sanitation Initiative.”
The other major issue I had with this episode was the presentation of Queenie’s sexuality. Queenie is presented as being the only one unworthy of love or sex. Early on, we learn that Queenie is the only virgin in the house. Later she tells LaLaurie that she is fat because “Dr. Phil says that kids from broken homes use food to replace love,” indicating quite explicitly that love is not something she feels she as access to. After confronting the minotaur to save LaLaurie, she offers to have sex with him as she masturbates:
You just wanted love, and that makes you a beast. They called me that too. But that’s not who we are. We both deserve love like everybody else. Don’t you want to love me?
So, not only is Queenie not worthy of love or sex, the only love/sex is entitled to is from a literal beast. And let’s not even get into the demonization of black sexuality by literally and figuratively turning a Black man into a beast. Queenie’s sexuality is degraded as being less than, a fact that she seems aware of. She is so “desperate and deranged” that she loses her virginity to an animal.
The use of the word “we” is significant to me also. Not only does Queenie see the minotaur as a beast, she sees herself as one too. She has internalized the idea that her blackness correlates to bestiality, and has now literally given into that characterization. The fact that she sees herself as equal to an animal that is subhuman and that that idea isn’t challenged in any way is a very problematic and racist way to portray black sexuality.

There is a lot of anti-Black sentiment tied up in Queenie’s character and it makes me uncomfortable and unhappy. It could be argued that half the story is about a racist slave owner who was renowned for her cruelty, and so anti-Blackness is to be expected in the narrative. But in my opinion, not enough is done to subvert those stereotypes. Having Fiona declare that she hates racists simply isn’t enough if every interaction of Queenie’s upholds the existing status quo. It is a disservice to have a talented actress like Sidibe, who has already been heavily maligned because of her weight, be characterized in a way that reinforces ideas about why she isn’t suitable for better more complex roles in Hollywood.

This isn’t the first time that AHS has had a problem with women. The show has a long history of disempowering women through rape, so it’s not surprising that it would also have a problem with Black women specifically. But to play into deeply racist ideas about Black womanhood is unsettling to me in a completely personal way. Having Queenie be characterized as a superhuman beast who is unworthy of love is a powerful message to send in a world rife with anti-Blackness where #stopblackgirls2013 can trend for an entire day. I can only hope that the rest of the season gets better.


Cate Young is a Trinidadian freelance writer and photographer, and author of BattyMamzelle, a feminist pop culture blog focused on film, television, music, and critical commentary on media representation. Cate has a BA in Photojournalism from Boston University and is currently pursuing her MA in Mass Communications so that she can more effectively examine the symbolic annihilation of women of colour in the media and deliver the critical feminist smack down. Follow her on twitter at @BattyMamzelle.

‘Smart Guy’: Intelligent Black Families and Race-Bending Tropes

The humor isn’t meant to put down white folks, but rather poke fun at the very real actions of white guys who attempt to adopt Black culture simply because it’s “cool.” This sort of behavior has existed in “white sitcoms” for nearly a century (making the Back character the “token” of the show) and it seems the only reason ‘Smart Guy’ comes under fire is because white critics are now seeing the characters they identify with in positions that aren’t of power or virtue.

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This guest post by BJ Colangelo appears as part of our theme week on Black Families. 

As a proud child of the 1990s, I was lucky enough to grow up with some of the best sitcoms on television. Perhaps my nostalgic love of these shows have clouded my view on whether or not these shows were any good, but I still stomp my curmudgeonly feet around and shout, “These kids today don’t know good TV!” I grew up in a lower-middle class family in an extremely diverse community, so I’ve always been exposed to multi-cultural families. Hell, my mom named my (white, red-headed) sister after a guest-starring character she loved on Hangin’ With Mr. Cooper. Disney Channel used to show re-runs of a lot of shows I loved growing up, and I distinctly remember running home off the bus to make sure I wouldn’t miss the “newest” episode of Smart Guy.

I. Loved. Smart. Guy. Growing up, I was a gifted child, so T.J. Henderson was a boy after my own heart. He was living the life I always dreamed of having. I probably wasn’t high school smart at 10 years old the way he was, but all I could think about was how awesome it would be to outsmart all of the older kids that picked on me for being so little. T.J. had a super-hip older sister named Yvette who was a staunch feminist and loved the fine arts. I saw a lot of myself in Yvette, even at a young age. T.J.’s older brother Marcus was the big man on campus, and I idolized how cool he was. The patriarch of the family was Floyd Henderson, the most caring father on TV (next to Danny Tanner of Full House), but was way, way cooler than Danny Tanner could ever hope to be.

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One of the biggest criticsms people seem to give Smart Guy, is that it’s “racist” against white people. First of all, “reverse racism” doesn’t exist, so I’m not going to even go into that argument. However, critics tend to site Marcus and Mo’s (Marcus’ best friend) white pal Mackey to be one of the major reasons the show is “racist.” Mackey is one of the few major white characters, and he’s a giant doofus. He consistently tries to “fit in” with Marcus and Mo, usually to no avail, and had a tendency to respond to his failures with, “It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?” The entire cast would nod their head in agreement and the canned laughter would play. Smart Guy isn’t racist, but it wasn’t afraid to race-bend a “token” character usually reserved for a Black man on a sitcom, and instead attach the attributes to a white character. The humor isn’t meant to put down white folks, but rather poke fun at the very real actions of white guys who attempt to adopt Black culture simply because it’s “cool.” This sort of behavior has existed in “white sitcoms” for nearly a century (making the Back character the “token” of the show) and it seems the only reason Smart Guy comes under fire is because white critics are now seeing the characters they identify with in positions that aren’t of power or virtue.

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Smart Guy definitely fell into the “Huxtable Effect” of making Black families palatable for white audiences at times, but it was never afraid to point out the indifferences and injustices Black families face on a day to day basis compared to white folks. It was a safe and “beginner’s guide to systematic racism” for white audiences. For example, in the episode “Working Guy,” T.J. gets a job working on (at the time) a brand new product called a DVD. As expected, Marcus is invading T.J.’s new gig and T.J. is left to explain to his coworker (an old white guy) to ignore Marcus, because he’s just T.J.’s brother.

“Oh, I get it – it’s a Black thing,” the guy exclaims. He raises his fist. “Righteous!”

“No, he’s my actual brother,” T.J. explains. “Same house, same parents… similar genetic coding.”

This is a common situation of a white person trying to relate to a Black person with limited knowledge of their culture, as well as the ever-popular trope of an older person trying to interact (and failing) with a younger member of society. However, Smart Guy’s influence is something far more important than allowing black families to be seen as something other than token.

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Unlike many sitcoms, Smart Guy focused on a single-parent household. In particular, Smart Guy focused on a household headed by a single, Black father. For the last two decades, the media has tried to paint Black fathers as absent, neglectful, and violent. Smart Guy showed a Black father not only successfully raising three children on his own, but also managing to keep the needs of his wildly different children in check. We all know the importance of representation, but the fact Smart Guy was picked up by The Disney Channel after its WB cancellation is absolutely vital to its existence. This means that Smart Guy was thrown onto one of the most popular and wildly accessed channels for children at the peak of its popularity. The people who grew up watching Smart Guy on their televisions as children are the same people who are now of voting age.

Smart Guy was also a little bit ballsier compared to shows like The Cosby Show. T.J. was a child of the new millennium, and the show wasn’t afraid to explore things like internet predators, systematic racism (like shoplifting accusations), and pre-teen sexual awakenings. At only 51 episodes, Smart Guy covered more topical situations than just about every other show on television at the time.

The ever popular statement of “racism isn’t something you’re born with; it’s something you’re taught” rings especially true for the audiences that grew up watching Smart Guy. By allowing children to see a Black family as something other than what Fox News wants to make them out to be, it gives children a starting point to develop their own beliefs and understanding of families that may look a little different from their own.

 


BJ Colangelo is the woman behind the keyboard for Day of the Woman: A blog for the feminine side of fear and a contributing writer for Icons of Fright. She’s been published in books, magazines, numerous online publications, all while frantically applying for day jobs. She’s a recovering former child beauty queen and a die-hard horror fanatic. You can follow her on Twitter at @BJColangelo.

Debunking the Missing Father Myth in ‘Happyness’

While many of the film’s events differ from Gardner’s memoir, the film compensates for this with its extremely authentic and loving portrait of a Black father/son relationship that is rarely seen in mainstream media.

This guest post by Rhianna Shaheen appears as part of our theme week on Black Families. 

The Pursuit of Happyness (2006) is a film based on the true story of Chris Gardner, an on-and-off homeless father turned self-made millionaire. While many of the film’s events differ from Gardner’s memoir, the film compensates for this with its extremely authentic and loving portrait of a Black father/son relationship that is rarely seen in mainstream media.

In 1965, Senator Moynihan employed the stereotype of the absent Black father in a report on Black poverty in America called The Negro Family: The Case For National Action. In it, he blamed absent Black fathers for the socioeconomic inequalities faced by Black communities. Although his racist, sexist, and classist arguments have been debunked again and again, this myth is still just as pervasive in today’s media. On the news, film, and TV, Black men continue to be criticized and scrutinized for being violent, abusive, or missing. It is therefore very rare that blockbuster films like The Pursuit of Happyness are ever made.

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Set in San Francisco in 1981, we follow Chris Gardner (Will Smith) as he struggles to balance fatherhood with his contract business selling bone-density scanners. While he’s sold most of them the business no longer make ends meet for rent or daycare, creating added stress for his wife Linda (Thandie Newton) who works as a hotel maid. When Chris meets a stockbroker one day he decides to look into the job opportunities at Dean Witter.

While Chris sells scanners he must also jump through a ridiculous number of hoops just to impress the manager, Jay Twistle (Brian Howe). After personally delivering his resume, Chris only manages to get Jay’s undivided attention (and a job interview) when he solves a Rubik’s Cube in a short cab ride home. How messed up is that?

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In fact, his search for the American Dream becomes more and more like a nightmare: hippie girls steal his scanners, parking tickets get him arrested, the IRS seizes his earnings, and cars hit him in the street.

But these are the sacrifices Chris will make to protect his son’s happiness.

When he lands the internship at Dean Witter and finds out it’s unpaid, Linda reaches her breaking point. She leaves him and their 5-year-old son Christopher (Jaden Smith) for better opportunities in New York. It’s not an idealized fatherhood, but his actions are always validated in the film, no matter how drastic. While Chris may not be able to provide financially for his son, he is able to give him the emotional support that he needs.

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One of my favorite scenes (and the most heartbreaking) comes when Chris and his son find themselves homeless, forced to sleep on the subway floor. It’s a traumatic experience. How does any parent even begin to explain that to their child? Instead, Chris turns the dirty subway into his son’s imaginative playground where dinosaurs roam and the restroom is their prehistoric cave.

Never revealing his circumstances to his colleagues, he continues to work tirelessly at his internship until one day they offer him the coveted full-time position. He has finally achieved happiness.

It’s a sympathetic portrayal of Black fatherhood that also demonstrates the severely limited life opportunities that poor Black people faced in the 80s and continue to face today. But does the film know that?

While Hollywood can sometimes surprise us with these positive representations, they never quite gauge the complexities of race and class in these narratives.

Chris is often the only Black man on screen, and in a room full of white corporate businessmen his Blackness is never acknowledged.

As Diane Shipley from Bitch Media writes:

“The movie shies away from any exploration of intersectionality and the fact that Gardner is black isn’t acknowledged (he’s much poorer than the Huxtables, but he lives in a similarly ‘post-racial’ world).”

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This isn’t too surprising when you consider that the real Chris Gardner blames “place-ism” rather than racism for his early hardships. In an interview he says, “He didn’t have a college degree or parents who were professionals. He didn’t play golf or have a network of well-to-do friends who could be prospective clients.” While all of this may be true, Happyness suggests that these were the only obstacles in his way.

Even producer and star Will Smith admits, “In this film, racism is conspicuously avoided.” It’s a conservative pursuit to happiness that feeds the harmful myth used by many GOPers that poor Black people don’t work as hard as white people. And if only they did then maybe they would be just like Chris Gardner and not unemployed, incarcerated, or uneducated at higher rates.

While Chris is poor, Black, and a good father, the film also does nothing to address the crippling socioeconomic disparities that affect other Black men like him. From the beginning, Chris says:

“I met my father for the first time when I was 28 years old. I made up my mind that when I had children, my children were going to know who their father was.”

Chris may debunk the missing father myth in his own individual story, but he does little to hold the system behind it accountable. According to Donna Peberdy’s Masculinity and Film Performance the film stresses:

“that the power of the individual is limited and that change is also necessary on a political level. […] Despite personal sacrifices, Chris ultimately relies on the brokerage firm to help him achieve the American Dream. Foregrounding individual responsibility can be seen as a political manoeuvre to take the emphasis away from government accountability.”

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This can be seen quite literally when the film diverts all social anxieties with a clip of President Reagan delivering bad news about the struggling economy.

Yes, this is a film for all audiences, but it was made especially accessible for white audiences. The first time I saw The Pursuit of Happyness I was 15 years old. I sat in a theater with a mostly white audience in a conservative military town. As a young white girl, I laughed, cried, cheered with the audience through my then “colorblind” lens.

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I remember the film’s marketing hook banking on Will Smith’s new persona as the “family man” and his real son Jaden Smith playing his movie son. Even in many of the interviews, Will stressed the Smith family values of “communication, education, and truth,” as if to sell the film on the authenticity of his own fatherhood.

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Another issue is the negative portrait of the mother (the film’s only female character). The mom has her shit together. When things get tough she provides for the family by pulling double shifts for four months. Chris, on the other hand, does not work overtime. Instead, he has invested all his life savings into the risky enterprise of overpriced bone-density scanners. When Linda leaves the picture, the filmmakers and Chris seem glad to be rid of her:

Chris: “Get the hell out of here. Christopher is staying with me.”

Linda: “You’re the one that dragged us down. You hear me?”

Chris: “You are so weak.

Linda: “No. I am not happy anymore. I’m just not happy!

Chris: “Go get happy, Linda! Just go get happy.”

I’m sorry, isn’t happiness what this whole film is about? Why must the Black mother be the villain? Why must one positive representation of Black fatherhood forgo that of the mother? And why on Earth would you make the white savior stockbroker more likable than her? Even when his son asks about his mother’s absence, Chris says, “mom left because of mom” omitting himself from any blame. I understand that the focus of this film is a father/son relationship, but a film should not need to reinforce the “patriarchal order of things” in order to achieve that.

While The Pursuit of Happyness is an extremely rare and accomplished narrative, it’s important not to overlook its flaws. Its powerful portrayal of a father/son relationship both on film and in life is extremely valuable in shaping future media. However, with Black films still struggling to break Hollywood barriers–both at the box office and the Oscars–it becomes imperative that we get these stories right, even if they aren’t deemed popular by the mainstream.

 


Rhianna Shaheen is a graduate of Bryn Mawr College with a BA in Fine Arts and Minor in Film Studies and Art History. Check her out on twitter!

 

As Goes Missouri, So Goes the Nation: ‘The Pruitt-Igoe Myth,’ ‘Rich Hill,’ and ‘Spanish Lake’

Rural poverty and urban poverty are not the same. Individual racism and institutional racism are not the same. However, these forces are woven together as they are fiercely kept separate in our common mythologies of what America means. We avoid difficult stories that disrupt the narratives we’ve come to understand.

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Written by Leigh Kolb.

For over a century, Missouri was known as a bellwether state; a politically split swing state (blue urban Kansas City and St. Louis bookend red rural communities), the state’s presidential vote almost always reflected the outcome of the presidential election. In the Civil War, Missourians fought for both sides. Demographically, economically, socially, and politically, Missouri has often been seen as a microcosm of America as a whole.

In an NPR article, the term “bellwether” is defined:

“You might be wondering where the word ‘bellwether’ comes from. Just think about Mary and her little lamb… she’d tie a bell around the neck of a wether (a castrated male sheep) who would lead the little lamb and the rest of the flock around until Mary came back. And when she returned, the bell signaled the flock’s location.”

The bell around Missouri’s neck has been sounding, tuning a nation in to the economic and divisive realities of a nation divided, economically and racially. Three recent documentaries paint a portrait of tragic desperation that is not isolated to middle America; it’s the struggle of a nation faced with the staggering reality of deep divides in class and race.

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The Pruitt-Igoe Myth

The Pruitt-Igoe Myth
The Pruitt-Igoe Myth

The Pruitt-Igoe Myth, directed by Chad Freidrichs and released in 2012, tells a more complex version of a modern myth. Pruitt-Igoe was a public housing development in St. Louis, built to be a shiny clean alternative to the tenements of the city. It was designed with the goal of “lifting residents out of poverty,” and was built using federal funding after the Housing Act of 1949. The documentary, which succeeds greatly in its usage of historical footage and current interviews with past tenants, paints a picture of a development full of hope. Those interviewed remembered Pruitt-Igoe as an “oasis in a desert,” and their time there had been incredibly exciting and happy. There was also fear, though. A complex portrait is drawn that leaves the viewer wondering, “What happened?”

The complex was segregated. Public housing was racially segregated until 1956; after that, many areas remained or became increasingly segregated due to redlining and “white flight” as suburbs became attractive options and were also subsidized heavily by government funding. Against the backdrop of a post-war economy that was not growing as expected, and the deep racism that permeated the country as schools were desegregated, Pruitt-Igoe was a socialist penthouse built on a racist, shaky free market.

Twenty years after its completion, it was fully demolished. The mythology that has surrounded its failure typically stigmatizes public housing and the residents; however, the real story has much more to do with the lack of maintenance and support, welfare policies that broke apart families, and decaying conditions coupled with increasing rent. While the government built the complex, the maintenance and upkeep was to be paid for with tenants’ rent. This model relied on a vibrant, growing city and economy.

That’s not what happened.

The government was also committed to pro-suburb housing policies, where middle class and working class whites went to live. The Pruitt-Igoe Myth does an excellent job outlining the history of economic decline and housing and zoning laws that were often unfriendly to poor and working class African Americans.

Another reality that the film reveals is the “control” that the welfare department had over those in the apartments who received aid, including the anti-family “man in the house” rule, which dictated that if an “able-bodied” man lived in the home, the family couldn’t receive assistance. For some of the interviewees in the film, that meant that their fathers had to leave the state, or hide when agents came to check and see if a man was living in the house. (And just a few decades later, conservatives decry the breakdown of the family as the cause of poverty and crime.) The rules were restrictive–telephones and televisions were not allowed. The theme of “control” runs through many of the former tenants’ narratives–the control that the housing authority attempted to have over them, and the lack of control they felt in their deteriorating living conditions.

Instead of fixing and maintaining the units, authorities made everything “indestructible” (caging in light bulbs for example). One former tenant said that that “made you want to destroy things.” While The Pruitt-Igoe Myth is ostensibly about a housing project, it is also about segregation, masculinity, poverty, distrust of law enforcement, racism, the decline of the American city, and whites’ deep fears of Black poverty and crime (the mythology of Pruitt-Igoe became a scapegoat to uphold those fears).

This iconic footage of Pruitt-Igoe being destroyed was used in the film Koyaanisqatsi. "Koyaanisgatsi" is a Hopi Indian word, and means "life out of balance."
This iconic footage of Pruitt-Igoe being destroyed was used in the film Koyaanisqatsi. “Koyaanisgatsi” is a Hopi Indian word, and means “life out of balance.”

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Rich Hill

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On the other side of Missouri is Rich Hill, a rural town with a population of just over 1,000. A former coal mining town, the economy of Rich Hill has declined rapidly in the last few decades, and its inhabitants are faced with poverty and a lack of employment opportunities.

Filmmakers Tracy Droz Tragos and Andrew Droz Palermo (who are cousins), grew up visiting family in Rich Hill. They stress the importance of showing poverty in America, and that we cannot keep those living in poverty “at arm’s length.” They directed Rich Hill, a beautiful documentary that focuses deeply on the lives of three young teenage boys who are up against a world that seems hopeless.

Between 2000 and 2010, poverty rates in Missouri doubled, at a rate 3.5 times the national average. Rural areas have been hit by declining manufacturing opportunities. The three boys chronicled in Rich Hill are all faced with devastating family situations. Andrew is good-looking and charming, and seems optimistic amid the chaos of his life–a father who does odd jobs, sings country music, and moves his family around constantly. Appachey lives in rage, and chain smokes at age 12. His mother had him when she was a teenager, and his father left when he was 6. Harley’s mother is in prison because she tried to kill his stepfather after his stepfather had raped him, and the cops did nothing. Harley lives with his grandmother. “I don’t need an education,” he tells us. “I just need my family.”

The film spans a year, and it’s punctuated by Fourth of July celebrations. Toward the end, the fireworks are juxtaposed with scenes of Andrew and his father arm wrestling, and the town chanting “USA!” in celebration. These scenes are stunningly beautiful and deeply sad.

Andrew says, “I keep praying. Nothing’s came yet, but I keep trying…”

Tragos said that in making the film, they were trusted because they had their grandparents’ name. She explains that this was “less of a nostalgia piece than for an urgent piece about these kids’ lives.” It’s clear that the filmmakers were pulled in to these boys’ lives (their website features updates and fundraising links for the boys and other organizations).

The plight of the mothers and grandmothers is overwhelming. It’s difficult to watch the one father who is in the picture; he has delusions of grandeur, and we can see Andrew following in those charismatic, aimless footsteps (although most viewers are completely charmed and heartened by Andrew’s grinning confidence). The boys are all smart and funny, yet they are faced with a system–whether it be the juvenile system, or a free-falling economy–that is completely against them and their families.

Harley
Harley

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Spanish Lake

Spanish Lake
Spanish Lake

 

Spanish Lake is an unincorporated township north of St. Louis eight miles away from Ferguson. Filmmaker Philip Andrew Morton lived there until he was 18. When he returned 10 years later, his childhood home and elementary school were abandoned, and he wanted to explore the phenomenon of “white flight” that occurred in St. Louis in the last half century.

He made Spanish Lake, which centers mostly on the white people who left Spanish Lake as they reflect upon the past. While these interviews make up the majority of the film, there is a bit of history that gives some context to the demographic shift. Spanish Lake was kept unincorporated due to anti-government sentiment, which led to a lack of social services and the building of Section 8 apartments, where many impoverished African Americans moved after housing developments like Pruitt-Igoe were destroyed. Realtors redlined neighborhoods, pushing whites in and out strategically. White people–fueled by racism and the lack of what had been strong, unionized labor opportunities–fled to other suburbs or rural areas.

In Spanish Lake, Morton captures a reunion of “Lakers”–former residents of Spanish Lake who have a reunion at Spanish Lake and drink beer while reminiscing about the past. Morton’s motivation in making Spanish Lake was his own nostalgia, as he remembers his childhood in Spanish Lake with a sense of pain and loss. While there’s no doubt that he also has a social awareness (that was certainly heightened as the timing of his film coincided with Ferguson making waves around the world, as Ferguson’s demographic shift has been similar to Spanish Lake’s), the overriding tone of the documentary is nostalgic, peppered with just enough history to give some context.

White former residents talk about the fights, and getting beaten up by “sisters,” and laugh about shooting a Black Santa off a new resident’s roof. The pain in these former residents’ comments is palpable, but it’s left unexamined. The documentary plays for more than 30 minutes before a Black person speaks. There are short clips of Black apartment residents thanking the local police force and their new (white) landlords.

Had Spanish Lake existed in a vacuum, it would have been a fine piece of nostalgic film that briefly illuminated a modern history of segregation and deeply entrenched racism and a decaying middle class as labor and manufacturing opportunities dissolved.

If viewers are looking for a nuanced commentary on “how Ferguson became Ferguson,” Spanish Lake is not enough. The Pruitt-Igoe Myth, full of authentic voices that speak to the fear and trauma of growing up in poverty and institutional racism, should be required viewing.

However, Spanish Lake itself does capture how many white Americans react and speak about a recent history of demographic changes, housing segregation, and school desegregation. It’s uncomfortable to hear their voices, but those voices are familiar and loud, all across America.

There’s a lot of talking, but not a lot of critical thinking. And when it comes to talking about race and class in America, that’s a painfully accurate representation.

 

White voices dominate Spanish Lake
White voices dominate Spanish Lake

 

Rural poverty and urban poverty are not the same. Individual racism and institutional racism are not the same. However, these forces are woven together as they are fiercely kept separate in our common mythologies of what America means. We avoid difficult stories that disrupt the narratives we’ve come to understand.

We don’t want to hear how, in so many ways, Pruitt-Igoe was set up for failure, and fit into a narrative that it was the residents themselves who were failures. We don’t want to listen to the young Black man who was a boy in Pruitt-Igoe, who loved quietly watching insects in a field before he saw his brother brutally murdered–then all he could think about was killing.

We don’t want to hear about rural poverty, and how the economy has gutted middle America and left in the rubble children who are failed by their parents, their schools, and the legal system. One audience member at a Rich Hill screening praised Andrew for his faith and encouraged him to keep praying, as if his optimism and charming smile would someday pay the bills.

We don’t want to hear the racism of former residents of a “nice area,” who can’t see that their own anti-government stance helped usher in low-income housing, which they were also against. Then there weren’t social services available–because they were against centralized government–and that lack of social services harmed everyone. In so many ways, Spanish Lake represents an entire nation of people who vote and scream against their own interests without any sense of introspection. What makes Spanish Lake jarring is the modernity of the footage. In The Pruitt-Igoe Myth, the footage of residents and officials of Black Jack, another township north of St. Louis who wanted to keep a certain “element” out of their neighborhoods is in black and white, grainy news reels of a time that seems so long ago. But it wasn’t. In Spanish Lake, former residents make the same arguments in broad daylight in high-definition.

We want to believe that it’s all simple. Segregated housing policies are a thing of the past, and we’re in a “post-racial” society. Poverty is due to laziness. People should just choose to live in better conditions and pull up their bootstraps, and ignore history. We want to ignore history.

That is the American mythology that has a chokehold on us all.

But the chain is tightening around Missouri’s neck, and the bell is sounding. We must leave the mythology in the past and deal with reality.

Because Missouri–its segregation, its poverty, and its denial–is America.

 

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7RwwkNzF68″]

[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/QNp0AuPiZ3Y”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yw38xwWu3r4″]

 

See also: “Mapping Decline: St. Louis and the American City”; “St. Louis: A city divided” at Al Jazeera America; For its poverty rate, Missouri should be placed on child neglect registry. at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch

 


Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature, and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

 

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