“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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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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