“When we look at the content of Oscar-winning roles by actors of color…we see that many were awarded for performances that conform to racist views on what makes for an authentic and believable performance.” – Matthew W. Hughey “Why should I complain about making $700 a week playing a maid? If I didn't, I'd be making $7 a week being one.” – Hattie McDaniel Effective storytelling relies on certain conventions that, if used too often or not in an intelligent or unique fashion, cane become derided as “tropes.” While the word doesn’t have an inherent negative connotation, it is often weaponized by film critics and historians to deride the storytelling methods of a movie for an overreliance or forceful handling of a trope (or tropes) which, in their minds, weakens the artistry and craft behind the movie in question.
When it comes to the “white savior” trope, a phrase at the center of sociologist Matthew Hughey’s 2015 article “The Whiteness of Oscar Night,” the criticism generally lies in how roles of nonwhite actors in cinema tend to strip away their agency in their own stories by instead being physically helped, “or at least morally redeemed,”[1] by a white person or group of white people. The films that Hughey identifies as being prime examples of this trope in action include, but are not limited to: Edward Zwick’s war drama Glory, Steven Spielberg’s legal drama Amistad, Clint Eastwood’s urban crime drama Gran Torino, and James Cameron’s sci-fi epic Avatar. As Hughey lays out, there are essentially three characteristics that qualify a film as following the “white savior” trope:[2]
Out of a desire to better understand how this trope functions in narrative films, as well as Hughey and other film scholars’ belief in the extent to which it has plagued Hollywood for centuries is actually founded on truth, I wanted to devote today’s blog to answer the following questions. First, does a film fitting the above criteria automatically mean that it embodies the “white savior” trope per Hughey’s above prescription? Second, if so, does the “white savior” trope inherently send the racially-charged message to the audience that Hughey and others believe that it does? So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) The inspiration behind the story of a racist criminal justice system in the Jim Crow South, as depicted in Harper Lee’s 1960 novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” is multifaceted. Lee’s own father, Amasa Coleman Lee, defended two black men accused of murder in 1919. Unsurprisingly, they were convicted, hanged and mutilated (supposedly convincing Lee’s father to never take another criminal case for the remainder of his law career). However, the specific character of Tom Robinson in her book could have come from multiple real-world examples. For one, a black man named Walter Lett was accused a raping a white woman near Monroeville, Alabama (Lee’s hometown) when Lee was ten years old. According to reporting from Lee’s father’s local newspaper, Lett was convicted and sentenced to death. In addition, Robinson’s strenuous journey from arrest and trial to imprisonment and death echo that of the Scottsboro Boys which involved nine black men convicted of raping two white women despite evidence supporting their guilt lacking credulity. Finally, the murder and lynching of teenager Emmett Till, a Chicago native, in Mississippi in 1955. While Lee has said she was aiming for a non-sensational portrayal of Tom Robinson, she admitted that both his story and that of the Scottsboro Boys equitably serve “the same purpose” of displaying Southern prejudices. To the first criteria, the 1962 To Kill a Mockingbird (which, in turn, is an adaptation of Lee’s 1960 novel) is not blatantly purporting to be a true story. However, it is clearly inspired by events in both the author’s life and (to some extent) by other notable examples of black men being falsely accused of crimes at the hands of the inherent racial prejudices of the Jim Crow South. Make of that what you will. As to the second criteria, To Kill a Mockingbird unquestionably qualifies. While not told from his point of view, the film’s second act focuses on the criminal trial of local field hand Tom Robinson (Brock Peters) who has been falsely accused of rape by Mayella Ewell (Collin Wilcox), the victimized and unhappy daughter of chronic “welfare king” and alcoholic racist Bob Ewell (James Anderson). The lawyer who works as Tom’s defense is Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck), the widowed father of our protagonist Jean Louise “Scout” Finch (Mary Badham) whose life and the safety of his children are put at risk in standing up for the strong sense of ethics that he instilled in them. Unsurprisingly, the fact that Robinson is being put on trial in 1930s Alabama for rape of a white women puts his life in danger. The all-male, all-white jury stacked with prototypical Southern racists given the time and place stack the odds squarely against Robinson’s moral character and Atticus’s legal defense. Yet, they both go to trial to reveal the truth about what happened between Robinson and Mayella. That, in fact, Tom tried to reject Mayella’s advances and when her father discovered what she tried to do he “cried wolf” so as to protect both his own honor and his daughter’s reputation. Finally, the extent to which the supposed “white savior” of To Kill a Mockingbird—Atticus Finch, that is—either physically save or morally redeem Tom Robinson, the “black victim” of the movie? Well, the answer is clearly no to both. Let me explain. Atticus’s entire legal defense of Tom is by showing to the judge, the jury, and the audience in the courthouse that to accuse him of being able to physically or sexually assault anybody is improbable (if not impossible). He highlights the discrepancies between Tom’s disability in his left arm and much of Mayella’s physical scars being placed on her right side. In doing so, he points out that Bob Ewell is right-handed before making his major argument: that, in actuality, Mayella was beaten by her father after Bob Ewell discovered her trying to seduce a black man. In his closing arguments, Atticus pleads with the obviously-biased jury to recognize Tom’s unquestionable innocence and acquit him of any wrongdoing. But they don’t listen, Tom is found guilty, and ends up being killed by prison guards trying to escape incarceration. So, in that sense, Atticus (who arguably fits the description of the “man of principal” as it aligns with the “white savior” trope) fails in his mission to save Tom’s life. But what about his moral redemption? Well, he only has to prove Tom’s innocence in the eyes of the racist jury who the audience never doubts for a second will convict him. Why? Because they’ve been conditioned by the time and place that they live in to be ignorant out of fear and prejudice for that they deem as different from—and thus inferior to—them. But the audience knows that because that’s one of the core themes of Lee’s novel! For anyone watching the movie that is not on Tom’s side, perhaps there is no movie out there that could sway them to think differently. Simply put, there is no need for the filmmakers to have Atticus morally redeem Tom in the minds of the audience because he is symbolic of innocence being destroyed by systemic evil despite the evident malevolence behind such an act. You could even say that Tom Robinson is the “mockingbird” of the film, and thus helps teach the audience the lesson that the story is trying to get across. So, the big question: does the narrative of To Kill a Mockingbird qualify as a “white savior” film? I’ll be honest, I am surprised to say that (in my humble opinion) it does not qualify. While there are some overtones with the image of a well-educated, well-spoken, and virtuous white man defending a simple, humble, plain-spoken black man in a court of law. But, according to the criteria outlined in Hughey’s article, it simply does not fit the mold of the “white savior” trope. Music of the Heart (1999) Based on an Oscar-nominated documentary from 1995 called Small Wonders, Wes Craven dramatizes the story of Roberta Guaspari (Meryl Streep) whose work as a music teacher in East Harlem helped inject, preserve, and foster music programs for underprivileged public-school children in New York City. Initially a substitute teacher for violin, Guaspari’s program expands to multiple schools but is threatened when the local Board of Education eliminates funding for it. This inspires Guaspari, with the help of her two sons Alexi and Nick (Kieran Culkin and Michael Angarano), her mother Assunta (Cloris Leachman), and several members of the East Harlem community (including former students and their parents), to organize a benefit concert called “Fiddlefest” to raise enough money to save the music program. So, Music of the Heart is based on a true story of a white school teacher inspiring (mostly) black and brown children in the inner city to love music in an effort to instill in them a love of the arts. Based on this description alone, I can see how people conclude that the film exploits the “white savior” trope to tell its story. That being said, I think the picture is a little more complicated than that. For starters, while Guaspari does largely exhibit the “inspirational teacher” paradigm her efforts are not explicitly about physically saving or morally redeeming the children in her classroom. Sure, one can argue that Guaspari sees her role as using the arts as the foundation for a moral framework for her students. But I don’t see it that way. As a musician myself, I never felt that learning an instrument or an appreciation of music translated to developing my moral character as far as it affects the world around me. Can it develop peoples’ self-esteem and work ethic? Absolutely. Aside from that, however, music (in my humble opinion) primarily acts as giving people, such Guaspari’s students, a creative outlet and (for some) a lifelong passion. Simply put, the impact of Guaspari’s actions has less to do with morally redeeming these children than with helping them feel self-worth and excited about life. Furthermore, one can interpret the plot of Music of the Heart as being heavily reliant on Guaspari’s drive to preserve the arts for these inner-city school communities. Without question, it stems from her. But my viewing of the film taught me that one of its core messages is less about the impeccable actions of one person than how people within a community can inspire each other and work together to accomplish a shared goal. In this instance, Guaspari and her family aren’t alone in their efforts to save Harlem’s arts programs. On the one hand, you have former students and parents joining her efforts to organize and put on “Fiddlefest,” as well as the black female school principal (Angela Bassett), which aptly exemplifies its message of “It takes a village” as I said earlier. Second, the benefit concert is nearly loses its venue until several famous musicians offer their support in securing Carnegie Hall for the concert. Among these musicians are three female violinists Karen Briggs, Diane Monroe, and Sandra Park, each of whom are people of color. Their presence in the final concert feels equitable next to the several white male musicians performing alongside them. At the end of the day, is Music of the Heart a fair example of the “white savior” trope? From a certain point of view, sure. But, in my humble opinion, it has several elements of its storytelling that keep it from fully relying on such conventions. Particularly in its emphasis on the importance of community organizing rather than simply following in the footsteps of one person, the film does a decent enough job injecting more nuance and diversity (both literarily and culturally) so as to avoid completely succumbing to such a pitfall as the “white savior” trope. Radio (2003) The story of James Robert “Radio” Kennedy was originally told in a 1996 article in Sports Illustrated, entitled “Someone to Lean On,” by Gary Smith. At the center of this story is South Carolina high school football coach Harold Jones (Ed Harris) establishes a strong mentoring friendship with Radio (Cuba Gooding, Jr.) by welcoming him into the fold of his school’s football program as an unofficial mascot and assistant coach. Despite pressure from parents of the student athletes and some of the school administrators, Jones increasingly involves himself in Radio’s life and care out of his guilt for neglecting an intellectually disabled child when he was younger. Ultimately, Jones is able to prevent Radio from being put in an institution by relinquishing his coaching duties so that Radio can finish earning his high school diploma without any harassment from players and their parents inflicted upon him as retaliation for Jones’s inability to help the school’s football team win a game. Unquestionably, our African-American protagonist in Radio lives a difficult and strenuous life due to how members of his South Carolinian community perceive and treat him for his “otherness” as a disabled person. It is not only his social ostracization but the physical and emotional humiliation he is put through several times throughout the film that make him a victim. This is more evident by the fact that Coach Jones saves him on multiple occasions, from getting him out of the gear shed after several students locked him inside to breaking him out of jail for being mistakenly arrested by an ignorant police officer. It goes without saying that Radio is physically saved more than once by the white “inspirational coach” of the movie. But is he morally redeemed? While this is a murkier question to answer, I would ultimately say that he is. To be clear, Radio is never a morally gray character by his actions or demeanor. Rather, because of his disability he is constantly portrayed as a victim who regularly relies on the interference of caretakers (mostly Coach Jones) looking out for him to keep him out of trouble. While he has family to look out for him some of the time, the death of his mother Maggie (S. Epatha Merkerson) around halfway through the runtime results in Radio being unofficially adopted by Coach Jones. The result: a potentially demeaning layer of racial paternalism coats Radio’s primary mentor relationship, adding more credence to the notion of Radio encapsulating the “white savior” trope. That being said, I do think that the motive for Coach Jones taking Radio under his wing is more compelling and character-driven than Atticus Finch defending Tom Robinson in To Kill a Mockingbird or Roberta Guaspari teaching children in Music of the Heart. Since Coach Jones feels burdened by a mistake from his childhood, he tries to make up for it by befriending Radio and looking out for his standing in the community as well as his future. This doesn’t necessarily save the movie by the end, but I appreciate it relative to other films like it that never fully flesh out the motivations of characters like this. All in all, Radio certainly embodies the “white savior” trope but I actually don’t think that is the primary reason why the story being told the way it does feels cheap and exploitative. Rather, how it portrays a person with a disability comes off much more problematic. This is largely due to the fact that Coach Jones repeatedly takes advantage of Radio under the guise of befriending and mentoring him by making Radio what is essentially an unpaid intern and spokesperson for his football team. This strips much of Radio’s agency away from him, and (im my humble opinion) is part of how the story of a disabled person is told than the story of an African-American person. This is also evident by the fact that the film never highlights race-based prejudice towards Radio as a result of his actions. Instead, the townsfolk (such as the cruel football players and harsh, unsympathetic parents) see Radio as a burden on the team because of his disability rather than his skin color. This adds up to the sad reality that Radio is not so much a story about an intellectually-disabled man overcoming adversity (like the death of his mother and social isolation) to become an active and popular member of his community as much as it is the story of a high school football coach ignoring his own family to mentor Radio in a misguided effort to make amends for a past misdoing. Thus, Radio’s character serves Coach Jones’s story arc rather than the other way around. And for me, that is the biggest issue with the film as opposed to its reliance on the “white savior” trope as a storytelling device. The Blind Side (2009) Unlike Radio, the story of well-to-do interior designer and socialite Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock) adopting the young disenfranchised boy from the ghetto Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron) does a better job of avoiding the “white savior” trope (or at least more sufficiently addressing it). But it still doesn’t succeed. Let me explain why. For the unfamiliar, The Blind Side is based on journalist Michael Lewis’s novel about Oher escaping poverty with the help of his adoptive parents the Tuohys to become a successful offensive lineman in the National Football League (NFL). The film depicts his initial academic and social struggles at the majority-white Wingate Christian School before joining the football team and how his burgeoning mother-and-son relationship with Leigh Anne, as well as his strong sibling bonds with Leigh Anne’s children “S.J.” (Jae Head) and Collins (Lily Collins), lay the foundation for Oher coming into his own before going to college. So, how does The Blind Side utilize the “white savior” trope? For one thing, Oher’s story is essentially the prototypical example of a person of color trapped in the ghetto escaping it due to the intervention of some charitable white people who feed, clothe, house, and (in this case) adopt him as one of their own. Several scenes in the film undeniably depict the violent, dangerous, and drug-infused reality of Oher’s home life where the only genuine prospects in life are to become either an addict or a violent criminal. Perhaps a better film could’ve handled this subject matter more delicately by emphasizing the individual nature of Oher’s story rather than allow the audience’s predispositions to color (no pun intended) how they view Oher as an example of this kind of phenomena that has been depicted in the movies time and again. Furthermore, Leigh Anne and her wealthy husband Sean (Tim McGraw) superbly fit the mold of principled, well-off white people who take it upon themselves to reach out to Oher and provide him safety, stability, and possibility for his life. Obviously, the film’s core relationship between Leigh Anne and Oher (while charming) fits this mold almost too well. That being said, I do appreciate how the film shows Leigh Anne’s initial motivation to take Oher in as not someone who sees the athletic potential in a tall, strong-looking, young black man who could achieve greatness. Rather, she simply passes him in the rain one night, recognizes what the right thing to do is, and offers him a place to sleep for the night. In that respect, The Blind Side sufficiently humanizes Oher’s story so as to put up a genuine effort to avoid completely embracing the worst attributes of the “white savior” trope. It doesn’t help the film knowing that Michael Oher himself has criticized how he was portrayed as almost genetically stupid rather than lacking a thriving, stable educational environment that helped him unlock his intellectual potential. To that extent, one could argue that the portrayal of Oher in The Blind Side is a modern usage of the “Uncle Tom” stereotype by making Oher emotionally submissive to his white caretakers most of the time. This certainly doesn’t help the case that the movie avoids the trappings of the “white savior” trope. All of that being said, I do enjoy The Blind Side more as a movie than Radio. The former’s charming principal cast (notably Sandra Bullock, who won an Oscar for her performance as Leigh Anne Tuohy) make up for the hollow friendship between Ed Harris and Cuba Gooding, Jr. in the latter. But it, too, embraces a “white savior” narrative like Radio does. On top of that, I think there is also a “rich savior” trope used in the film that positively embraces the notion of rich people housing, feeding, clothing, and educating poor people in order to earn credit for their future success. Thus, it strips agency away from Oher’s role in his story not only as an African-American man but also as someone born impoverished. I can still enjoy The Blind Side because of the powerful chemistry between Leigh Anne and Michael who put a convincingly selfless, tender mother-son relationship on the screen for the audience to fall in love with. But, that does not make up for how the film is, in fact, an example of the “white savior” trope. Green Book (2018) The winner of the Best Picture Oscar in 2019, Green Book dramatizes the professional and personal friendship between talented pianist Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) and the bouncer that he hires as his driver/bodyguard, Tony Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen), which forms during Shirley’s concert tour of the Jim Crow South during the 1960s. Its title is inspired by “The Negro Motorist Green Book” (named after its author Victor Hugo Green), a guidebook for African-American travelers to help them find segregation-free restaurants and lodgings while on the road as well as avoid the “sundown towns” where black drivers would be much more likely to be arbitrarily arrested. Not only is it based on real-life people and events, but Green Book does, in fact, subject its main black character Don Shirley to a variety of physical and social dangers merely as a result of his presence in the Deep South during this particular time period. Not only are there a number of instances where Shirley’s physical safety is threatened, but more often his attempts to entertain prejudiced, upper-class white audiences are stifled by his hosts’ treatment of him. One of the more effective scenes in the film emphasizes this ostracization when Shirley, before his performance begins, attempts to have dinner in the whites-only dining room but is adamantly refused by the white owners who suggest that he find a restaurant down the road more “suitable” to his “station.” So, throughout the movie dies Tony physically save and/or morally redeem Shirley? Well, yes to the first because he is his bodyguard. To that extent, I suppose you can argue that Tony is a “white savior” because of this but don’t forget…THAT IS TONY’S JOB! Shirley hired Tony not only as a driver but also to protect him if anyone acts aggressively towards the pianist. Thus, when Tony aids or defends him, he is doing because that is what Shirley is paying him to do. I think when critics deride Green Book as relying too much on a “white savior” narrative they unfairly ignore how much the central relationship between our two main characters subverts so much of what historically has made this trope racially charged in practice. Primarily, the fact that a working-class, uneducated white man becomes financially dependent on a well-to-do, creative and successful black man. This results in Tony (mostly) becoming subservient to Shirley’s will and whims due to the nature of their relationship. Are there nuances to this dynamic? Absolutely, but not to the detriment of Shirley’s character to conform to the “white savior” trope. Rather, the complexities injected into the story are there to develop Tony and Shirley’s relationship from a strictly professional one into more of an intimate and friendly one. Furthermore, Shirley’s character is not just there to develop Tony’s story arc or vice-versa. Tony’s observations of Shirley’s incredibly talent and tenacity in the face of systemic discrimination and derision cause him to grow and mature because of how he perceives the horribly dehumanizing nature of Jim Crow firsthand. Conversely, Shirley gains humility and a greater appreciation for people unlike him not because of what Tony says or does but instead experiencing this journey in the Deep South with Tony. In other words, Green Book teeters on making the central narrative conform to the “white savior” trope but ultimately avoids doing so by making the progression for both central characters reliant on going on this journey with each other. To that end, Shirley is never written as someone that requires moral redemption beyond simply warming up to Tony’s brash, abrasive, and ignorant nature. Rather, it is Tony—the white character in the movie—that must develop a better moral compass around how he perceives the nuances of race relations. Not only is Tony confronted with Jim Crow to better appreciate what Shirley (and, by extension, all African Americans and people of color) struggle with, but he must also reform how he sees races of people as culturally and intellectually homogenous by recognizing that a diversity of ideas and personalities is more essential to understand than a diversity of ethnic and racial backgrounds. Apparently, some critics of Green Book also argue that Don Shirley is a modern example of the “magical Negro” stereotype whereby he possesses some sort of unique ability to educate his white counterpart an important lesson which is his sole purpose in the story. But, once again, Shirley’s character does not exist solely for that purpose. While being hired by Shirley is the catalyst for Tony’s story arc, it is observing systemic racism in the Deep South firsthand and how the various African-American characters (not just Shirley) around him deal with it that helps him learn and grow. Thus, I don’t think this critique has that much merit. Ultimately, I believe Green Book avoids succumbing to the “white savior” trope by preserving Shirley’s agency as a flawed yet strong character who is not a plot mechanism for the themes or progression of his white co-star but instead goes on an equally compelling journey as Tony does by the end. With a couple specific exceptions wherein Ton performs the duties that he was hired to, he is no more responsible for “saving” Shirley than Shirley is for “saving” Tony. Looking back on all of these films, it remains clear to me that the “white savior” trope—while a useful lens through which to examine films oriented around stories of race relations—is relied on too much as a means of vehemently (and sometimes unfairly) excoriating movies with nobler intentions than they are given credit for. Sure, there have been films in the past (and some still being made) that strip agency from its black character(s) in order to allow a heroic white protagonist to save their lives or their souls in one way or another. But this trope being evident in some movies does not automatically mean that it is evident in most movies. Does the white lawyer of To Kill a Mockingbird, motivated by righteous principles, work tirelessly to prove the innocence of a poor black man? Yes, but that doesn’t mean that the lawyer is morally redeeming his client nor does it mean that he is morally perfect himself. Is the white violin teacher in Music of the Heart helping inspire and motivate black and brown children in underprivileged communities? Yes, but that doesn’t strip away the agency of others from the community who care just as much about these kids’ chances to explore their creative passions. Does a white bodyguard hired by a black pianist in Green Book performing his job to protect the pianist’s life and dignity mean that the pianist no longer has an active role in his own story? No, it does not. But even if Matthew Hughey and others were correct about every single film they surveyed and identified as relying on a “white savior” narrative, is the audience watching these movies more likely to come away viewing people of color in real life as incapable and submissive whose sole purpose is to be saved by white people? I can’t agree to that, because for as cynical as I can be I do have more faith in people than that. I hope I’ve made my point, but I would love to hear your thoughts. Do you agree with my assessments of these films as conforming to or avoiding the “white savior” trope? What other films do you think are worth examining for this storytelling convention? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst [1] https://contexts.org/blog/the-whiteness-of-oscar-night/ [2] Ibid
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Image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay In honor of Black History Month, I want to highlight the work of some African-American filmmakers by showering love and adoration onto some movies that (in my humble opinion) have not been given their due. A couple of weeks ago, I talked about Gina Prince-Bythewood’s romantic drama Beyond the Lights. Today, I want to shine a light on the sophomore directorial effort from F. Gary Gray (Straight Outta Compton, The Fate of the Furious): the female-led ensemble heist flick Set It Off.
Why is this movie worth your time? Keep reading to find out. 😊 What’s It About [NOTE: This section contains minor spoilers for “Set It Off.” If you’d rather see the film for yourself, skip to the next section.] Set It Off stars four African-American women living in Los Angeles and who are best friends: Lida “Stony” Newsome (Jada Pinkett Smith), Cleopatra “Cleo” Sims (Queen Latifah), Francesca “Frankie” Sutton (Vivica A. Fox), and Tisean “T.T.” Williams (Kimberly Elise). At the start of the film, Frankie is working as a bank teller but is summarily terminated because she recognized someone who was part of a recent robbery (although she didn’t personally know him). Down on her luck, Frankie joins Stony, Cleo, and T.T. at work as a janitor despite their boss Luther (Thomas Jefferson Byrd) disrespecting them and paying them poorly. As the women tire of their job, Cleo suggests they rob a bank to make some extra money. Frankie enthusiastically agrees, but both Stony and T.T. are initially reluctant to go along with the plan until both experience family-related trauma that persuade them otherwise. Thanks to Frankie’s inside knowledge of bank security protocols, the women pull off a series of bank robberies but end up getting the attention of LAPD Detective Strode (John C. McGinley) as well as deal with the problem of safely storing their stolen cash Blood begins to spill and relationships for formed and strained, causing some hesitations among some of the women who are certain that their luck cannot last forever. But, of course, they decide to do one last heist Stony becomes hesitant to continue their escapades but the women agree to one final bank heist before leaving town for good. And, as one might expect, it doesn’t go as planned as Stony, Cleo, Frankie, and T.T. do their damnedest to keep themselves from a life behind bars. Why It’s Worth Watching As far as heist movies go, they tend to be very hit-or-miss for me. Upon reflection, I think that this subgenre of action flicks just has so many pitfalls when it comes to writing, direction, and pacing that it can fall into that they’re more likely to fail than succeed. One of those pitfalls is the likeability, relatability, and chemistry of the lead “heisters.” Luckily, in the case of Set It Off, the lead ensemble exceeds expectations on that front. All four female leads in this movie play their roles exceptionally well. For one thing, the characters feel fleshed out enough for a movie like this without ever being overbearing with any strenuous side plots. They also avoid succumbing to racial stereotypes in their personalities and behavior by feeling different enough from one another as well as fulfilling some more traditional archetypes that often occur in heist movies. And while this characterization could be viewed as formulaic, the charisma and relatability of these women help the audience buy into their characters from start to finish. Ultimately, what makes this ensemble great is how they avoid one-dimensionality by exhibiting multiple behaviors based on the environment and situation. They can be strong and determined when robbing a bank, they can be funny and easygoing in private together, they can be scared when facing the prospect of death or watching a friend or relative die, and they can be vulnerable in spite of prior acts that would indicate that they’re hardened women from unfortunate circumstances. Needless to say, Set It Off works largely on the backs of Smith, Latifah, Fox & Elise collaborating onscreen to make each and every one of them lovable and empathetic criminals. Beyond the performances, F. Gary Gray seems to understand the kind of movie this could be and does a pretty standup job embracing the good of that while also avoiding the bad. Primarily, Gray utilizes his measly budget of nine million dollars to great effect in terms of the action and cinematography. While the robbery, chase and shootout scenes feel as bombastic as they should, the more intimate, character-based scenes feel more like an indie drama about four friends on hard times that give Set It Off a sense of tonal balance and variety that makes for some pretty good filmmaking. In addition to that, Gary’s handling of social commentary in the film could have easily come off as preachy or overly sentimental. Fortunately, his sensibilities (also on display in my favorite film of his, Straight Outta Compton) work well in this respect. Whether it be Stony losing her younger brother to police brutality or T.T. having her son taken from her custody, these characters represent examples of the brutal nature of society without ever making that the purpose for that character’s existence. Thus, one can watch this movie and enjoy it as an action heist flick on its own terms. However, if you’re looking for a movie of this genre with a bit more heart and ideas to explore, Set It Off undeniably fits that description. Other than being an underappreciated great film, Set It Off is also (in my humble opinion) an important film. Due to its critical and commercial success back in 1996, I argue that (along with films like Quentin Tarantino’s Jackie Brown) it helped lay the foundation for modern female-led heist movies like Ocean’s Eight and Widows that would not be as good as they are without this movie. To be clear, there are important movies in a historical or cultural sense that aren’t necessarily movies that I enjoy, Fortunately, this film happens to be both. All in all, Set It Off may not be the most popular heist movie. But it unquestionably deserves to be seen and talked about by more people than it has. I hope I’ve convinced you today to take a chance on it; I’m confident that you’ll be entertained and (perhaps) even emotionally moved by the time the credits roll. Have I convinced you to check out F. Gary Gray’s Set It Off? What’s a movie that you feel is underappreciated? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst “The problem with romantic comedies is you know the ending by the poster. So, they're not movies you can keep doing over and over again…” – Ryan Reynolds Romantic comedy seems to be one of those movie genres that can be so easily criticized for endless reasons. Whether it be cheesy or disingenuous performances, poor screenwriting, or unrealistic and pie-in-the-sky notions about love and intimacy, the timeless “rom-com” that has essentially been around since the birth of cinema is (in my humble opinion) one of the most difficult types of films to truly get right.
Can there be rom-coms with good acting but bad writing, or vice-versa? Sure. Are there rom-coms that are absolutely absurd but genuinely fun or, conversely, intelligently crafted and grounded yet don’t have that emotional punch to them? Definitely. In my humble opinion, this genre of moviemaking has nearly infinite pitfalls that, as the quote that opened this blog implies, it is nearly impossible to nail this kind of movie. Let alone nail it repeatedly. So, on this Valentine’s Day, I wanted to examine four old-school romantic comedies that excelled at what they were doing and accomplished the goal they set out to do. From the Golden Age of the 1930s to New Wave Hollywood of the 1970s, here are some of my favorite rom-coms that exhibit the best of the genre despite their age and potential to be stuck in their own time. So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) Coming off of two critically and commercially successful comedy films in 1934--It Happened One Night and Broadway Bill—director Frank Capra (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, It’s a Wonderful Life) was looking to make the adventure fantasy movie Lost Horizon starring Ronald Colman (Arrowsmith, A Tale of Two Cities, A Double Life). However, production was delayed a year to accommodate Colman’s other commitments and Capra went to work adapting Clarence Budington Kelland’s short story “Opera Hat” by collaborating for a fifth time with screenwriter Robert Riskin (It Happened One Night, You Can’t Take It with You). While Capra cast Gary Cooper (Sergeant York, High Noon) as his “first, last and only choice” for the title role, he faced a mini-crisis three day before principal photography began when the lead actress he hired, Carole Lombard (Mr. & Mrs. Smith, To Be or Not to Be), quit the production to star in Gregory La Cava’s screwball comedy My Man Godfrey (which ended up garnering her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress). Lombard was replaced with Jean Arthur (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Only Angels Have Wings). Capra reportedly treated filming like a workshop or exercise, spending five additional shooting days testing out new angles with multiple takes. This increased the film’s budget by forty-thousand dollars. Furthermore, the film’s working title was taken directly from the short story and was not changed until the publicity department at Columbia Pictures held a contest to replace it. Finally coming in at approximately 845,000 dollars, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town received critical praise and ended up earning two-and-a-half million dollars in theater rentals. Audiences and critics alike generally deemed it Capra’s best film released up to that point, which paid off at the Academy Awards the next year. The film was nominated for five Oscars, including Best Picture (the third for Capra of seven that he would get in his career), but only won Best Director for Capra (his second of three Best Director Oscars). Having grown up watching the 2002 remake of this film starring Adam Sandler, I was pretty familiar with the characters and basic structure of the story of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. A simple yet kind and humble man from a small town finds himself heading to the “big city” after his deceased uncle left him a large inheritance, and he discovers that his rural mindfulness and eccentric nature clashes with the urban sensibilities of modern American cynicism. So, going into watching Capra’s original cinematic take on Kelland’s short story, I was apprehensive that it would feel outdated and boring compared to Sandler’s over-the-top version. I was happy to discover that not only is the film fantastic despite its age, but rather it is great because of when it comes from. Simply put, Capra’s personification of the nuances and complexities of the “American dream” via the journey of Longfellow Deeds (Gary Cooper) from Mandrake Falls, Vermont to New York City fits perfectly into the 1930s. Much of the essence of what works for me in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town comes from Cooper’s performance as the title character. He manages to moralize to the audience through his performance rather than allow the writing to preach on his behalf. It is through his characterization of Deeds as a genuinely good man who ultimately refuses to let the greed and corruption of the city change his moral and emotional core that allows Capra to tell this story that transcends its own time and remain both enjoyable and socially relevant to this day. But what about the “romance” and “comedy” essential to this film being a rom-com? I’m happy to report that both work. Regarding the latter, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town heavily relies on the “fish-out-of-water” nature of Deeds’s eccentricities clashing with the straight-laced, boorish personalities of the city characters, like Deed’s uncle’s lawyer John Cedar (Douglass Dumbrille), to produce its laugh-inducing moments. Surprisingly, this works once again because of the cultural moment that produced this film. You expect it to be cheesy to a fault, so when it pulls that off without feeling excessive it earns your respect and admiration. At least it earned mine. 😊 Certainly, though, the romance subplot of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town doesn’t hold up given modern sociocultural sensibilities around relationship dynamics in films today. Once again, I was genuinely surprised how much the burgeoning love and respect between Deeds and reporter Louise “Babe” Bennett (Jean Arthur) resonated with me. While it does rely on Bennett deceiving Deeds at first, thus having to redeem herself in the end, I appreciate how the storytellers allowed a female character to take action on behalf of her male counterpart to resolve the central conflict. It is her passionate plea during his sanity hearing that propels Deeds’s name being cleared and Cedar’s selfish scheming against Deeds to fail. All in all, please do not judge Mr. Deeds Goes to Town by its age. It is a worthwhile watch this Valentine’s Day if you’re looking for an old-school romantic comedy with enough timelessness to its craft to make it still watchable nearly a century after it initially premiered in cinemas. Bringing Up Baby (1938) In March of 1937, director Howard Hawks (Sergeant York, Red River, Rio Bravo) was trying to get an adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s poem “Gunga Din” at RKO Pictures off the ground. However, it fell through and so he turned to look for a new project. Upon reading Hagar Wilde’s short story “Bringing Up Baby,” which made him laugh out loud, he purchased the film rights for just over one thousand dollars and hired Wilde and frequent John Ford collaborator Dudley Nichols (The Informer, Stagecoach, The Long Voyage Home) to write the screenplay (albeit with notable differences from the original short story). By the end of summer, Wilde and Nichols (after several drafts) produced a 202-page script. For the two lead roles, Hawks was briefly considering his cousin the My Man Godfrey star Carole Lombard for Susan Vance but producers wanted Katharine Hepburn (The Philadelphia Story, The African Queen, On Golden Pond) due to her New England background. The studio, however, was hesitant due to several of Hepburn’s recent movies offering little in box-office returns. In the end, she was hired and given bonuses for her performance. Regarding the male lead, Hawks disagreed with producer Pandro S. Berman (Top Hat, Jailhouse Rock) about who should play David Huxley. Whereas Hawks wanted silent-film comedian Harold Lloyd (Safety Last!), Berman offered the role to several notable actors, like Frederic March (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Best Years of Our Lives), the part but they turned it down. Ultimately, it was Hawks’s friend and business magnate Howard Hughes who suggested Cary Grant (His Girl Friday, The Philadelphia Story) for the part. Grant was initially hesitant about playing an intellectual character (despite the salary increase that RKO promised him), but he did accept the part based on Hawks’s promise to coach him during filming. Principal photography was supposed to begin on the first of September, but was delayed multiple weeks to secure some rights and add some more comedic scenes. Filming eventually started on September 23 and concluded nearly two months later on a production budget exceeding $760,000. Due to Hepburn’s struggles early on with overacting in an effort to be funny, Hawks had acclaimed Vaudeville performer Walter Catlett coach her. Infamously, Hepburn and Grant delayed filming on more than one occasion due to uncontrollable laughing fits (although Hawks extending shooting schedules by several days played a role, too). Furthermore, Hawks and Hepburn had a strenuous relationship on set. At one point, when Hawks shushed Hepburn and she scolded him by saying that she was friends with most of the crew, Hawks asked a lighting guy who he would rather drop a light on. Apparently, that shut Hepburn up afterwards. Due to the premise of the film’s story, Hepburn and Grant worked intensively with two animals on set. Notably, Nissa the “tame” leopard who had a trainer armed with a whip on set whenever her scenes were filmed. While Hepburn remained unafraid of the big cat, Grant was reportedly terrified. Yet, it was Hepburn that Nissa lunged at the one and only time anything like this happened (due to Hepburn twirling her skirt). But, thanks to the trainer’s crack of the whip, Nissa stood down. However, due to the potential financial and public-relations disaster of having a costly actor like Grant or Hepburn being injured on set by a leopard, he often used rear-screen projection or traveling mattes to shoot scenes with the leopard. The film went through a few cuts despite Hawks utilizing minimal cross-cutting in order to preserve its pacing within the frame rather than actual cutting of the film. Furthermore, there were some initial concerns about the rough cut of the movie passing muster at the Hayes Office (the pre-1968 Motion Picture Association) for its multitude of sexual references (such as Grant’s character saying he “went gay”), double entendres, and crass allusions (like when Hepburn’s character makes a reference to her aunt’s dog George urinating). Released widely in November of 1938, Bringing Up Baby received mostly positive critical reviews upon release. However, it struggled at the box office except in major cities such as Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Washington, D.C. It ended up making 1.1 million dollars during its initial theatrical run, making it a box-office flop which resulted in Hawks being replaced as the eventual director of Gunga Din. Retrospectively, Hawks vowed to never make a movie where “everybody [is] crazy” ever again. Despite Hepburn’s reputation as “box-office poison, many critics were surprised at her comedic chops. While Bringing Up Baby produced lackluster results at the box office at the time of release, it gained popularity and mainstream acceptance when it premiered on television during the 1950s. Within decades, its reputation was repaired and it was selected for preservation in the Library of Congress by the National Film Registry in 1990 (the second year of the Registry’s existence). I confess that I am not a huge fan of Howard Hawks’s filmmaking. In general, I categorize him with the likes of John Ford with an artist stuck in his own time too much to make films that are genuinely great to this day. But there is one notable exception: indeed, it is Bringing Up Baby. While I would not put the film in the same league as Capra’s Mr. Deeds Goes to Town as a genuine classic, it is pretty funny for much of its runtime. Much of the film’s humor relies on the gimmick of paleontologist David Huxley (Cary Grant) and free-spirited Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) tending to a tame leopard named Baby and the misadventures that ensue from this. In that sense, it rides the incredibly fine line of nailing physical comedy without succumbing to tackiness or shallowness. And the film (mostly) works on the backbone of its feline star Nissa the leopard who plays Baby (not to understate the efforts of Nissa’s trainer Olga Celeste) because much of the laughs in the movie originate from watching Grant and Hepburn “raising” her and keeping her out of trouble or, more often than not, failing to keep her from getting them in trouble. Unfortunately, the major drawback of Bringing Up Baby is its characterization of Susan Vance. While, in my humble opinion, she nails many of the comedic beats laid out for her I felt that Hepburn had little story besides falling in love with Grant’s character. Her personality feels antiquated for a female lead of her caliber, and her backstory or motivations are underdeveloped at best. This leaves some to be desired in Bringing Up Baby, which keeps me from wholeheartedly recommending the film. All that being said, it is still a very funny movie given that it came out nearly ninety years ago. And while it may not hold a candle to some of the best rom-coms from more recent memory, Bringing Up Baby is a fun-enough ride if you’re looking for a zanier rom-com than some other old classics. Lady and the Tramp (1955) As early as 1937, the creative team at Walt Disney Productions were developing an animated project centered on an English Springer Spaniel (specifically, story artist Joe Grant’s dog) named Lady. But by the early 1940s, Disney himself liked none of Grant’s approaches to the story because of the lack of action and Lady’s excessively sweet personality. But after reading the short story “Happy Dan, the Cynical Dog” by Ward Greene in 1945, Disney convinced Grant to incorporate a love story between Lady and a cynical dog (which had a number of working names before the team settled on “Tramp”). In the original tale, Lady had one next-door neighbors instead of two, Aunt Sarah was a more malevolent and overbearing mother-in-law but was softened for the final film, and her dogs were originally named Nip and Tuck before the team decided on Si and Am instead. Furthermore, Grant and Disney decided to keep the animation from Lady’s perspective (thereby rarely showing her owners’ faces). Also, the rat character was initially more comedic in nature but became scarier in the final film to increase the dramatic tension during the climax. Finally, a love triangle involving Lady, Tramp, and Boris (the Russian wolfhound in the dog found) was cut in order to focus on Lady and Tramp’s burgeoning relationship. Despite Grant leaving the studio in 1949, artists and animators used his original drawings to continue developing the story. When he agreed to write a novelization two years before the film’s release, he lost credit on the final cut of the film which was not rectified until Eric Goldberg included his involvement in the Platinum Edition DVD release of the movie in 2006. For animating the characters of the film, the Walt Disney team studied dogs of many different breeds to capture the essence of their movements and personality. Shockingly, Disney himself was initially going to cut the now-iconic “spaghetti scene” because he felt it was silly. In order to keep the scene in the final cut, animator Frank Thomas created the scene himself (making it more romantic) which impressed Disney and he decided to keep it. Released on June 22, 1955, Lady and the Tramp become a box-office hit and outpaced every other Disney animated feature since Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs). Throughout its lifetime in theaters, the film has earned 187 million dollars worldwide. Critically, the film was initially polarizing. While some felt it could be enjoyed by both children and adults, others deemed its tonal imbalance and flaws in animation to be subpar compared to prior Disney classics. However, in time, Lady and the Tramp has cemented its status as a classic of the Disney catalog as well as of traditional animated cinema. Having gone through much of the Disney animation catalog a few years ago, I was worried after watching several of the older “Golden Age” and “Silver Age” classics like Snow White and Cinderella that I would find little to love about any of these old-school animated flicks. Surely, there were some bright spots (notably Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio), but all in all I was convinced that nothing from the studio before the 1980s would appeal to me. But then I saw Lady and the Tramp, and my worries were extinguished. There is so much to like about this movie. In terms of the animation, it feels the most “alive” out of any Disney film that came before it. In large part, this is due to the kinetic nature of the dogs that the film centers on. And unlike prior animal-centric Disney flicks like Bambi or Dumbo, much of the audience is so intimately familiar with how dogs walk, run, jump, and lay that the animators at work here have the extra challenge of grounding their depiction of these characters within an environment that is as much relatable as it is cartoonish. Of course, what makes Lady and the Tramp better than most old-school Disney animated movies is its characters. Our two leads, Lady (Barbara Luddy) and Tramp (Larry Roberts), have a very naturally evolving chemistry over the course of the film. In essence, their arcs compliment one another and thus their budding romance works that much more because of it. While Lady learns humility and compassion from Tramp, she is able to teach him a thing or two about civility and selflessness by the end. And unlike some other, more unbalanced rom-coms of this era, I think this one pulls off giving both the male and female leads a satisfying story that allows them to fall for each other. While the two canine protagonists are magnificent, the supporting cast does well here also. The standouts for me are Lady’s neighbors and companions, the Scottish Terrier Jock (Bill Thompson) and the retired bloodhound Trusty (Bill Baucom), who offer some sillier moments of humor when compared to the more situational laughs brought on by Lady and Tramp’s misadventures. I also really like just how genteel and “normal” Lady’s owners are in their affection for each other. It acts as the cherry on top of a movie that celebrates true love in a way that feels both family-friendly but almost emotionally mature and thematically resonant for a film about cartoon dogs. I know that some of you might feel that choosing a Disney animated film as one of my favorite old-school romantic comedies is cheap, but I just couldn’t help it. Lady and the Tramp hit for me in the best ways, and it’s a movie that remains both timeless in its uplifting nature and relevant in its simplistic yet nuanced approach to storytelling. Go watch it, if for no other reason than for that iconic spaghetti scene. 😊 Annie Hall (1977) During the mid-1970s, director Woody Allen (Manhattan, The Purple Rose of Cairo, Midnight in Paris) wrote a screenplay draft about a man in his forties dealing with romance, his own ambitions, and the banality of life and sent it to Brazilian-born screenwriter Marshall Brickman (Sleeper, Manhattan, Lovesick) for feedback. With this project, Allen aimed to move away from relying solely on broad comedy in his movies because he wanted to “sacrifice some of the laughs for a story about human beings.” Once they had a screenplay they liked (which had cut a murder subplot that would later be made into Manhattan Murder Mystery), Allen and Brickman went to United Artists and asked for a four-million-dollar budget. The female lead and titular role of Annie was written by Allen for Diane Keaton (The Godfather, Radio Days, Something’s Gotta Give), with whom Allen had worked with before in films like Sleeper and Love and Death. Despite Allen’s insistence to the contrary, Keaton did confirm that the relationship between her and Allen’s characters was partially inspired by their former real-life romance. However, other elements of the film such as Allen’s character Alvy being a comedian who attended New York University and “Alvy” being a childhood nickname Allen stated were not autobiographical in nature. Principal photography occurred sporadically over the course of ten months, beginning in May of 1976. Much of the screenplay was changed during filming, notably Allen adding in context for Alvy’s childhood home sitting under a rollercoaster (inspired by the real-world Thunderbolt rollercoaster on Coney Island). Despite the two weeks given by the studio for post-production photography, the film went through several cuts as initial versions left Brickman feeling that the movie was too scattershot and not focused enough on the core of the narrative. Released in April of 1977, Annie Hall earned 38 million dollars at the domestic box office. When adjusted for inflation, it outdoes the 2011 fantasy comedy Midnight in Paris as Allen’s highest-grossing film to date. Critics at the film also loved it, with many calling it Allen’s best film at that point. Nominated for the “Big Five” at that year’s Academy Awards, it won four of them: Best Picture, Best Director for Allen, Best Actress for Keaton, and Best Original Screenplay for Allen and Brickman. In 1992, fifteen years after its release, the film was selected by the Library of Congress for preservation in the National Film Registry. The legacy of Annie Hall today is multifaceted. It has been revered for its sophisticated exploration of themes like love and sexuality, Jewish identity, and psychoanalysis. Furthermore, it remains a go-to film as a prime example of a cinematic love letter to New York City. The style created for Keaton’s character in the film by costume designer Ruth Morley (The Hustler, Taxi Driver, Kramer vs. Kramer) influenced the fashion industry of the decade despite Keaton’s dress style nearly being excluded from the movie. Strangely enough, Allen and Keaton have polar-opposite feelings about the film. Whereas Allen has been honest about his disappointment in how the final cut turned out and has rejected the idea of making a sequel, Keaton identified her character as her favorite role of her career and is happy that so many people see her in this role. Within its genre, Annie Hall has been a staple of modern romantic comedies and others in recent decades—from Rob Reiner’s When Harry Met Sally… to Marc Webb’s (500) Days of Summer—have been compared favorably to the film. I don’t consider myself a big fan of Woody Allen as a filmmaker, writer or actor. Many of his movies that I’ve seen are either inaccessible or sorely unfunny despite putting forth every effort to be just that. But, there are some notable exceptions. I wrote about my favorite Woody Allen flick, Midnight in Paris, last year. But a close second, and easily my favorite of his early classics, is Annie Hall. When contextualized within the broader rom-com genre, Annie Hall comes off as a watershed moment that allows the movie to feel very much in its own time but also thematically and culturally pressing if one makes connections to modern times. Much of this has to do with the writing. Allen and Brickman’s screenplay creates a mature and equitable yet playful dynamic between Alvy (Woody Allen) and Annie (Diane Keaton) that allows both characters to breathe and process their thoughts on the relationship on their own terms. In that respect, it is easy to understand why Keaton received an Oscar for her performance in the film. While Alvy’s narration serves as the framing device for the movie’s core perspective, Keaton’s Annie is very much the subject of Alvy’s exploration of what love is at its core. Thus, it is a movie about her but also it is about the idea of her. In exploring the intricacies of Alvy’s neuroses around his in-and-out-of-love journey with Annie, Woody Allen creates a modern comedic and romantic masterpiece which says that sometimes the people we think we are supposed to fall in love with isn’t enough to make that happen. Of the old-school rom-coms I’ve written about here, Annie Hall is undeniably the most modern in how it tells its story and in what it wants to say. Thus, it is indeed a transitional film of the genre that serves as a bridge between the corny and zany ambience of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Bringing Up Baby, and Lady and the Tramp with some of the best modern rom-coms. What are some of those films? I might blog about them…One day. 😊 But for now, I leave it with these old classics of cinema that are worth your time for the laughs and the heart. Take your pick. Which of these old-school rom-coms is your favorite (or least favorite)? What are some other rom-coms from way back when do you think are worth checking out? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst Image by Daniel Kirsch from Pixabay After having devoted the last few years of my life to consuming thousands of films across decades of cinematic history, I learned there are so many great movies out there that few (if any) people have heard of. In learning this, it’s become clear that devoting a series on this blog to sharing with you my love for films that are (in my humble opinion) underappreciated would be more than worthy my time.
Today I kick off my “Ever Heard of It?” series with a totally unexpected delight of a modern romantic drama: the 2014 film Beyond the Lights, directed by Los Angeles native Gina Prince-Bythewood. Not only because it is a great film, but what better time than the first Sunday of Black History Month to honor a talented African-American filmmaker? So, why is this movie worth your time? Keep reading to find out. 😊 What’s It About [NOTE: This section contains minor spoilers for “Beyond the Lights.” If you’d rather see the film for yourself, skip to the next section.] In Beyond the Lights, our main character is Noni Jean (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) who from a young age is taught by her mother Macy (Minnie Driver) to value nothing less than absolute commitment to one’s passion and strive for nothing less than total victory. Together, these virtues put Noni on a course to achieve fame as a British pop star by her early twenties. And yet, evident by one of the film’s startling first scenes, it is clear that Noni is unhappy with her life. While attempting suicide by jumping off her hotel balcony the night she won an award, she is stopped by young police officer Kaz Nicol (Nate Parker). Despite some initial tensions between Noni and Kaz over how her suicide attempt is dealt with in the media, they begin kindling a friendship and, eventually, a romance in spite of Macy’s stern disapproval. Whereas Noni’s public boyfriend and fellow performing artist Kid Culprit (Machine Gun Kelly) is superficial, Kaz shows genuine interest and offers wholehearted encouragement of Noni’s secretive creative desires to perform songs that she’s written but that are not in line with her pop image. Throughout the film, Noni and Kaz try to keep their relationship from being negatively affected by the pressures of fame, mass media culture, and Macy to little avail. In an effort to get away from it all, Noni is able to discover the essence of her true soul (emotionally and artistically) and gains the courage and confidence to ultimately return to her life in the spotlight despite Kaz’s caution that almost certainly nothing will change. But Noni’s outlook on life and her relationship with her mother has changed. She is able to confront Macy over her skewed perspective on Noni as being a pop star first and her daughter second. She decides to take greater creative control over her career, come out to the public about the truth behind what happened on the balcony, and start a new phase of her life where her and Kaz can be honest about their love for each other. Why It’s Worth Watching Even if you don’t know it, you may have heard of Prince-Bythewood’s directorial debut Love & Basketball. Or perhaps you’ve seen the Netflix original from two years ago The Old Guard, which she directed as well. Both of these films are good in their own right, but for my money Beyond the Lights stands out as the best of her far-from-prolific filmmaking career. Which is why it’s the film that I recommend that you watch more than her others that you watch. Stepping back and reflecting on my viewing of Beyond the Lights, it started making so much sense why I liked it so much. Most evidently is the pure talent exhibited by the film’s two leads, Gugu Mbatha-Raw (Belle, Free State of Jones, Loki) and Nate Parker (Red Tails, The Birth of a Nation). Particularly Mbatha-Raw excels in her portrayal of an aspiring young artist quietly going through intense and severe depression and self-loathing whose chance encounter with Parker’s character catalyzes her change in course for life. Through their slow-going yet passionate affection for one another, Noni and Kaz serve as one of the minimal examples of positive black love and romance that we’ve seen in cinema in recent history (for some others, check out Barry Jenkins’s If Beale Street Could Talk or Eugene Ashe’s Sylvie’s Love). While the actors give it their all here, it is the behind-the-camera direction of Gina Prince-Bythewood (who also wrote the film) that makes Beyond the Lights a truly special romance movie. For one, there is more going on thematically than just two young people falling in love. Mbatha-Raw’s character Noni, on top of dealing with suicidal ideations and the pressures of fame, must come to terms with the toxic nature of her relationship with her mother/manager and forge a new identity as a singer who puts her true heart and soul into her music. In that sense, the film works as both a uniquely told coming-of-age story and a compelling drama as it does a heartwarming romance between two kindred spirits. Upon reflection, what particularly impresses me about Prince-Bythewood’s work here is how she manages to make Noni’s interpersonal conflicts relatable and grounded. On the face of it, watching a young woman deal with worldwide fame as a pop star could come off as tacky, shallow, and/or exploitative in the wrong hands. Fortunately, Prince-Bythewood always emphasizes the humanity of Noni’s journey whether it be through her burgeoning love for Kaz or her search for renewed spirituality in her singing. For these things alone, Beyond the Lights is well worth your time to watch. On a technical level, the film is also very well shot and visually composed without ever drawing attention to it. So, credit to the cinematographer Tami Reiker (The Old Guard, One Night in Miami…) who uses the seven-million-dollar budget to surprising effect. Despite the movie’s small budget and independent nature, it manages to look and feel both grand and epic in scale yet in a specifically intimate and eloquent manner. Reiker apparently understands that Noni’s story shouldn’t feel like a stage play stuck in one or two places. At the same time, however, she grasps the need to tell this story in a world that is up-close and personal, to the point of being almost claustrophobic, in order to convey Noni’s internal obstacles and external pressures. All in all, please take the time on a Sunday afternoon to check out Beyond the Lights. Even if you’re not into romances or coming-of-age flicks, I assure you that the acting, writing, directing, and spirit at the movie’s heart will impress and entertain you. Take a chance on Noni, and you will not be disappointed. Have I convinced you to check out Gina Prince-Bythewood’s Beyond the Lights? What’s a movie that you feel is underappreciated? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst |
Austin McManusI have no academic or professional background in film production or criticism; I simply love watching and talking about movies. Archives
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