Opening weekend of this film saw me sitting quite disgruntled, in a popular stadium theater in Atlanta. The auditorium was full. Folks were buzzing around trying to find friends who'd come earlier and acquired seventy-nine seats for their entourage, twiddling with their phones waiting for the movie to start, and talking with anticipation and excitement. The crowd was a true hodge podge and cross section of Atlanta society. There were blacks and whites, gays and straights, men and women, the movie aficionados, and the literary intelligencia all waiting with bated breath for the New York Times bestselling book to finally reveal itself on the silver screen. And then there was me. A black bitch with an attitude. I had the great fortune to be seated next to a black gay couple on my right. And then the quite serious misfortune of sitting right in front of two white guys, one of whom took what I can only hypothize as a sadistic delight in kicking the back of my seat endlessly throughout the film. I didn't black out on him cause I was already seething with black rage and indignation. Needless to say, if I'd gone off, it wouldn't have been pretty for any one, least of all him.
I was present, but not necessarily of the here and now while in the semi dark movie auditorium. I was watching this movie against my better judgement. But how, I reasoned, could I adaquately describe why I detest this film without having viewed it? I just wish my money hadn't contributed to its opening weekend box office total. I watched the audience with curiosity. I saw a look of overwhelming acceptance grace the faces of all who walked around me: the young white couple who weren't even born when I was struggling with race in elementary school (one of my white friends, who I thought was my roll dog, informed me that she had been invited to another friend's birthday party and it was being held at a country club in Somewhere, NJ, but that I wasn't invited and couldn't go because I was black. Funny how some things are remembered forever), the bromance going on behind me, the older black couples who no doubt could remember these olden days as not so olden, and the plethora of black women aged around my years, who came in staggering groups of countless numbers. All coming for the sheer love of the story, the characters, the book, and whatever else. Unlike yours truly, who sat glumly in her seat as though it were an all day Sunday sermon that she couldn't escape.
Finally folks settle in, the lights go out, trailers roll, and at long last, the movie starts. I, admittedly, wasn't sitting there with the opennest of minds, but I did leave room for the possibility that I was wrong. I hadn't read the book and so, I could just be mistaken. Afterall, there were some truly credible black actresses in these roles, ones that I respected. Chief among them, Viola Davis. She's absolutely mesmerizing on screen. I saw a Law and Order: SVU marathon on USA Network yesterday (there's always one of those goin on) and she was in several of them as a defense attorney for some killer/rapist, whatever. And I just enjoyed her. Always have. Her strength and power come from her silences. She says the most when she says nothing at all. Powerful. So, I thought, this could be, just could be something. And then it started. And I watched. And I watched some more. And I rolled some eyes, sucked some teeth, exhaled with exasperation, and realized in the end that I had it right all along. And the sad thing is, every review I read from Time Magazine to Entertainment Weekly, tout this film as being exceptional. Right up there with Citizen Kane. Everyone but me. And here's why.
This film, and I wager the book as well, didn't show me or tell me anything that I didn't already know. These were not new characters chock full of new experiences as it pertains to the civil rights struggle. And my chief complaint, is that yet again, the film illustrates that the black urge to resist was the idea of some white person. In this case, a young wanna be journalist who basically uses their plight to further her career. I'm tired of seeing that story told over and over and over again. It's like The Emperor's New Clothes. You keep telling me that it's a wonderful new outfit, but really I'm naked as a jay bird! Well, I ain't buyin it this time.
I had reservations about seeing The Blind Side for the same reason. But I made allowances for that film, ones I wouldn't have made otherwise, because it was based on a true story. A nice white family did in fact take in a destitute inner city black child, and that child did succeed in football and was actually drafted into the NFL in 2009 by the Baltimore Ravens. On the surface, if I heard there was a fictional story based on the same information, I'd be highly upset. But those things did happen in his life, so I went with it on the film's behalf. At that point, you can make the family exceptionally good and the inner city black youth exceptionally down trodden and ghetto-ed out. It's just a matter of tweaking incidentals.
But The Help is all fiction. Yes I know it's based on the authors' recollections of her childhood with her Mammy...I'm sorry, Nanny. But she didn't actually interview the real women, or at least I don't think she did. If so, she certainly didn't do what (who I'm assuming is her alter ego) Skeeter, did. That would have been a much more interesting perspective. Her novel and subsequently the movie, was just taking real life experiences and watering them down to a fictional account of what the black perspective was for maids in that town, in that time. Why not actually put real people's truths down on paper? Why leave it up to her white sensibility to guess at how these women truly thought and felt?
I'll say it right now. Yes, I am one of those people who believes white folks, or at least some, can't accurately write about the black experience. They've never had to see things from the black point of view. So no matter how well seeming they are, and no matter how many times they voted for Obama, it doesn't mean that they truly understand all the levels of the black point of view. Unless they've done something illegal, their hearts don't quicken a pace when they're pulled over by the cops. The thought of being accosted by those in charge of protecting them doesn't even seem real. It's not a consequence they really have to entertain.
I say this, even as The Color Purple is one of my favorite films of all time. And I constantly forget that Steven Spielberg directed it. But he's a unique type of director. He's one who first of all, knows how to tell a story. He didn't come into that project thinking, I wanna tell the story of how hard it is to be black at this particular time. At least I don't think he did. The end result doesn't say that, so I'm thinking he didn't. Instead, he found his "in" if you will, by focusing on the character of Celie, and just let her tell her story. He didn't do anything extra. He didn't need to. Just allowing his focus to remain on that character, she was able to illustrate that her life was hard, she had to make hard choices as did those around her, she had to deal with institutionalized racism. It was just everyday life. He didn't get sidetracked with being a white director trying to tell a black story. He was a director allowing the character to tell her story, and she was a black woman. I balked at saying "and she just so happened to be black" cause that's a dismissive statement in my opinion and I hate when I hear that. I'm black. I don't just happen to be so, I am so. And I'm proud of that. Yes, I'm a woman. Yes, I'm an American. Yes, I'm a lot of things, and just as those other things receive their own weight and respect, so should my blackness.
But what The Help did, was just reinforce characatures instead of fleshing out fully realized women. Minnie was the tough talking, sass mouthing, fat black mammy type. She's an excellent cook who never burns her fried chicken. And she suffers at the hand of an abusive husband (of course) and an evil white lady boss. Then she finds herself bonding against her better judgement with her new boss, a woman who's on the outs of the society circle cause she's a little too Marilyn Monroe and not enough June Cleaver. And this new boss doesn't see color really, and has to be learned by Millie how she's supposed to treat black folks. Like, she's not supposed to eat lunch at the table with her. She's gotta go on back and eat at the dining room table as nice upstanding white folks is supposed to do. Reminds me a little too much of Gone With The Wind. Mammy was constantly doing that to Rhett Butler. This is an obvious movie convention to let everyone know this is a good white person. And of course since they're both outsiders, they realize there's nothing different whatsoever between black and white. As they used to say when I was a kid, Like, gag me with a spoon!
I didn't feel the script was well written at all and I just kept seeing convention after convention. It was on display. At least have the common sense to behave like the Wizard of Oz and hide behind the damn curtain! Then there's Viola Davis' character Aibileen. Silent and strong. She endures the death of her son by some racist white folks, yet she keeps pressin on. And I have to say, the biggest piece of movie crap was Minnie's revenge. The only time I cracked a smile was when one of the black gay men sitting next to me cried, "that's not believable!" I couldn't agree with him more. I saw it coming before the big reveal. And as an audience member, I hate that. I don't like to know where you're taking me, otherwise what's the point of going on the ride? Surprise me. That was just stupid. Baking her shit into a pie to feed to mean ol white girl Bryce Dallas Howard. Clearly it was just put in there to give the audience a cathartic moment so they could revel in their despise of that character. Don't tell me how to feel. Just allow me to feel it. Obvious audience manipulation won't serve you well with me. It turns me off immediately. But as if on cue, the audience did what they were expected to do. They "oohed" when they were supposed to and "awwwed" when it was required. Like the moment the little white girl Aibileen was caring for told her "you're my real mommy". Cause again, movie convention said that her mommy was neglectful and bad.
There's just so much, I could go on and on. And I think I will. Like the other maid who asked Bryce Dallas Howard (can't remember her name at the moment) for a $75 loan so she could send one of her twin boys to college. Now, what I know of the south at that time, makes me highly doubt that any black maid would have EVER done that! This movie, like so many before it, perpetrates the idea that to the black maid, she was not only beloved by certain members of the white family she served, but that she also loved them. And that's not entirely accurate. That's a balm that white people apply to cover up their own feelings of guilt or shame, perhaps. They need to believe that. But why we black folks continue to do the same is beyond me. It was just their job, folks! Think about your job. Removing all monetary repercussions, if your boss told you to get out and never come back, would you wail and throw yourself upon the floor, then die of a broken heart cause you could no longer work for that person? Cause you could no longer be with that person? Most people I know hate their bosses, or at least have something negative to say about him/her. They don't wanna be all up underneath them like that. Yet, movies and white people's version of black life will have everyone believing that we luvs massa so much, us caint live without him. Gimme a fuckin' break! It was a job. A job you did to feed your babies. You kept your mouth shut, your eyes open, and your wits about you. In other words, head down and mind your business. Which is why believing a black maid in Jackson, MS circa 1963, would have dared to ask her white boss for money is beyond unbelievable. Particularly since a lot of white men in that time, in those neck of the woods, were either clan members, white supremecists (belonging to the White League of America or some such nonsense), or were sympathizers of those who did even if they didn't partake themselves. So why risk having the clan burn a cross on your lawn for $75? I call bullshit on that.
I have nothing against any of the performances in the film. I have to say, that was pretty nice to watch for the most part. I feel the actors did the best they could with what they were given. Viola and Bryce were my favorites because they were able to hit some really beautiful notes. They didn't try too hard and made some nice discoveries. But it's the overall message of the film that irritates me. Since this was a ficitional account, why did Aibileen need Skeeter to give her the idea of writing down her stories? Yeah, she'd written stuff before, but they were just prayers. The idea of using their experiences as a way of revolution came from Skeeter. Why? It would have been more impactful for Aibileen and Minnie to make that decision for themselves. That way they wouldn't have had to wait for someone else, someone who's oppression wasn't as equal (I'm sorry ladies, but if it comes down to not being able to open a checking account without my husband, and not being able to, I don't know, enjoy virtually any freedom, I'll take the checking account situation every time. White women suffered, this is true, but they still enjoyed the cloak of their whitehood to stem the tide of their oppression, and that's saying a helluva lot), to give them their power and their voice. They would have discovered it on their own. Personal empowerment is only truly powerful when it comes from within.
This movie robbed them of that opportunity, and it is because of that, that I judge it as harshly as I do. The Civil Rights Era was complicated and in many ways, I'm not sure we've fully recovered from it. It's a loaded time in our history, and because of that, because of the sacrifices so many African-Americans made, we, the ones left behind to tell their tales (even the fictious ones) owe them more than a sanitized version of black and white. Racism is more than a wound and it's more than a cancer in our society. It's an infection. The only way to treat it is to gut the wound, clean it, and stitch it up. Yes, it'll hurt. Yes, it'll be disgusting and bloody. But that's the only way to heal. Be honest. Tell a better version of the truth. This movie could have and should have done better. I'm sure most or some will not agree and that's fine. But these are my well thought out two cents.
Till next time, lovers!
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