Ride On (Get On The Bus, 1996)

So I’m taking this class called “Wake Up!: The Films of Spike Lee.” Both African-American Studies and film theory? Sounds lit, right? Wrong. It is thoroughly lit. On the first day I had one of those moments where you sit back and think, “Yeah…this is what I wanna do.” Say what you will, but I am perfectly fine basking in my corny glory. So far, we’ve watched She’s Gotta Have It, Joe’s Bed-Stuy Barber Shop, Do The Right Thing and, if you haven’t already figured it out from the title, Get On The Bus.

(Courtesy of imdb.com)

I definitely went into this film with a high intellectual expectation, partly because I’m trying to stay woke (both literally and figuratively—this was another 8am dining hall experience), partly because I have a certain expectation from Lee’s films, and partly because I feel like the subject of the Million Man March shouldn’t be approached lightly. This film was made soon after the event took place, so the idea of criticism must have been very real. This was a direct response to a political moment—Lee and Bythewood must have been trying to say something! So what were they saying?

Well, before I get to class, I’ll throw some of my own thoughts out there:

This film was beautiful; it was complex; it was funny. It was a classic road-film that pulled at heartstrings, but at the same time required me to remain alert and be intellectually engaged. Get on the Bus is collage of Black men with diverse histories, outlooks, and personalities, all going towards (arguably) the same goal—they were traveling to the 1995 Million Man March in Washington, DC from Los Angeles…on a bus—the themes of continuity, moving forward, and togetherness are screaming at you. The tradition of African-American migration narratives is loudly whispering. 

What surprised me about this film was its strong focus on Christianity, especially by the end of it. With such a diverse (or seemingly diverse by some perspectives) group of characters, I didn’t expect for there to be a strong moral or religious leaning in one particular direction, especially not Christianity, considering the Million Man March was a Nation of Islam initiative. As just a film viewer (scholar? can I call myself that?) the choice seemed a bit odd in conjunction with the “everyone’s voice is important except Black Republican car dealers” leanings of the film. But as a Black Christian film viewer, I found it to be a really nice interpretation of God as a solution to the problem. Let’s be honest, Christian films tend to just not be that great. You were thinking it; I said it. You’re welcome. So I loved seeing a Christian worldview smoothly integrated into the plot, especially through character development. It wasn’t corny or condemning—it was rich and subtle at the same time. However, that subtlety came to a halt when I heard Kirk Franklin’s “My Life is in Your Hands” over the credits. Nostalgia.

 I also don’t think that it tried too hard to discuss this Christian perspective. It presented God as a solution to the many problems presented over the course of the film. To be fair, Ossie Davis’ voice can make anything sound like it’s the right answer. Well played, Spike. Well played. With that said, the Christian undertones didn’t seem to be dismissive. A lot of perspectives were presented and validated over the 3,000-mile road trip. I think that the prayer at the end was meant to unify the brothers both in form and in the context of the story itself. But in order for that to be an effective story device, the characters and all of their beliefs, quirks, and mistakes have to be presented as things that are worth unifying. Even Robert Guevere Smith’s character, who I’m till salty about. So it seems to me that the intention behind the use of Christianity might have pointed more towards the idea of the Black Church being a longstanding pillar in the African-American community through slavery, the Civil Rights Movement, and beyond, than towards it being the “right answer.” But I can dig both potential intentions, so I’ll just end this paragraph with an amen.

(Courtesy of movieforums.com)

I wasn’t really bothered by the absence of Black women in this film until Black women appeared on the screen. Kudos to the filmmakers for addressing questions about women’s roles in the Movement. But dang, did you really have to reduce our views and contributions to a rest stop. Really? It’s not like we haven’t been holding down the fort for oh, I don’t know, the last century. This film would have benefited from just being what it was—an exploration of the Black man and his role in our community and struggle for freedom. It tried to be a coverall and failed. Honestly, I wouldn’t have even been mad if we never saw a woman in the entire film. I’m a big believer in letting a story be what it is. When you write a thesis (y’all can get a head start on praying for my fourth year), you pick a very specific subject and explore that subject in depth with strict focus. The same idea applies here. This is like inserting Bugs Bunny into an episode of the Proud Family. I do also think that these and other flaws allow us to retrospectively examine the mindset of thinkers during this moment. Although annoying, maybe this is a learning opportunity. 

Visually, Get on the Bus was beautiful and very telling. The film made use of different mediums, creating a collage that was distinctly Lee and pushed viewers to consider what we are viewing beyond the scope of the story itself. For example, there were moments that pointed to cinéma vérité, when Xavier was recording footage for his documentary. I think that emphasized the reality and recentness of the Million Man March and allowed us to consider the character’s statements in a more academic way, shedding light on ideas that they expressed later in the film. We also saw a visual deviation from expected color balances during a few times that the men were not on the bus—this scenes were shot lake a western. This emphasized the idea of “man vs. environment.” Even though most, if not all of these men didn’t grow up in the Wild West (insert Kansas joke here), we find that many of them are products of their environments. I think that my favorite aspect of this film was the piecing together of different color pallets and camera perspectives. We moved from being a part of the story to being observers of the story constantly. That kept me on my toes and directed me towards themes that I might otherwise have missed. Also, I honestly just feel cooler when I watch films that look experimental. 

(Courtesy of moviepins.com)

The writing is really rich. The bickering and back and forth between the passengers is witty and playful and realistic. At the same time, Reggie Rock Bythewood was spitting bars every 2.4 seconds. He succeeded both in form as a screenwriter and in thought as a Black intellectual. He was getting his Langston Hughes and W.E.B. DuBois on at the same time (check out DuBois’ “Critera of Negro Art” and Hughes’ “The Negro Artist and The Racial Mountain,” if you’re not sure what I’m talking about). Byethewood achieved what I hope to achieve as an artist. 

This star-studded cast was enough to keep me interested. Roger Guenever Smith, Bernie Mac, Hill Harper, Ossie Davis, and Stacy from The Wood…whose real name is De’Aundre Bonds. You learn something new everyday. With these and so many other great names and faces, the acting was able to support the story. It was—what do the young people say?—on fleek. Can we please get a Black male ensemble of this caliber sometime during this decade? Does Redtails count?

(Courtesy of peachhut.be)

Like I mentioned before, I think that the fact that this film was released exactly a year after the Million Man March is significant. Its existence in a contemporary moment probably had an effect on the way that people viewed and thought about the film. So I keep asking myself, what would a film like that look like today? Where would we be heading, the 20th anniversary of the March, a Black Lives Matter Rally, nowhere at all? Would the characters be similar or completely different? I don’t know, but I think that, flaws and all, every generation needs a film like this. When is ours going to come? Who knows, maybe I’ll be the one to write it...

Step in the Name of Love (Southside With You, 2016)

No one in my family has been able to see Southside With You. Yes, it is precisely because we live in a rectangle made of farmland and probably because who in their right mind would show something positive about Barack and Michelle Obama in my town? I mean really, haven’t they given the Blacks enough???

 So, when a couple of my super smart, melanin-popping friends and I realized that it was playing nearby it was an instant must...and then a week later I spontaneously saw it for a second time with artists who make me even prouder to be a part of the Black intellectual tradition. Absolutely no regrets. 

(Courtesy of the lady at the front desk, the real MVP)

  

(Courtesy of the star of my next film)

Basically, Southside With You is the perfect first date film. (And a big hint to my long line of suitors, the Violet Crown is like my favorite place in Charlottesville. Bougie and indie? Oh. It’s lit.) Or…if you’re me and my comrades, it’s just really darn cute. Seeing Black love on screen is so refreshing. It’s beautiful. It’s magical. It’s rich and its hopeful. This was especially true because the film followed our President and First Lady, Barack and Michelle Obama on their first “date.” I love stories that span a single day.

Before seeing it, I was honestly a little skeptical. I mean, really, a movie about the leader of the free world while he’s still in office? It was one of those things where I didn’t really expect much, but had to go see it to support Queen Michelle and all of her Princeton graduate slayage. Also, I’m a believer in supporting Black films in general as long as I have no deep moral or political opposition to it. I’ll want someone to support me. It’ll be my job to keep them coming back. But, I digress. 

This film made me feel the way I do when I watch Pretty in Pink. I was able to find nostalgia in lives I’ve never lived. I was rooting for them, I was curious about them. I was falling in love with our President right along with Michelle. It’s one where you just sort of sit there and smile. Its beauty is found in its simplicity--a whimsical and thoughtful exploration of a single day, one specific moment in time. 

This was a really nice break from the more serious and complex films that I have been watching, partially, because I made the choice not to over analyze this one—I desperately needed to chill. Sometimes we need a little “ohmygosh this is soooo cute!” in our lives, yeah? However, that is not to say that this film failed to offer opportunities for intellectual engagement. One of the aspects of Southside With You that I enjoyed most was the layering and intertwinement of different artistic mediums. We saw everything from Ernie Barns paintings to Do The Right Thing to free-flowing dance to African drums to Gwendolyn Brooks poetry. I like when art, especially Black art, is in conversation with other art. It speaks to our collective struggle and psyche. Visually and cerebrally, this film was an elegant collage that had the unforgettable swagger of Mr. Obama himself. 

(Courtesy of shadowandact.com)

Between the swooning, I did, however, have a few critiques. I was consistently bothered by the fact that this film made me feel claustrophobic. There were just so many tight and close-up shots. We only got wide establishing shots, which to me is a bit of a shame. As someone who lived on the Southside for a while, I think that not using the environment to inform the story is a missed opportunity. It’s in the title, after all. I’m 10 years removed from the city and still it finds a way to enter so much of my writing. The film desperately needed to open up visually. Which brings me to my second critique: this movie was way too dialogue heavy. The backstories and emotions depended far too much on words. At moments, it was like I was reading some futuristic textbook on the Obama’s lives. I also found myself thinking occasionally, “Do people really talk like that? I mean, the Obamas are the Obamas but…do people really talk like that?” Lastly, Tika Sumpter’s attempt at a Chicago accent was cringe worthy. Whereas, Parker Sawyers did a great job at integrating the President’s iconic dialect into his speech patterns, Sumpter seemed more like she was doing an unnatural impression of the First Lady. 

(Courtesy of hollywoodreporter.com)

With those things said, I’d still call the movie good, not great, but good. Cuteness can overshadow a lot. The first time I saw Southside With You it put me in that headspace where I have to go watch another cute movie (brb going to find Brown Sugar). The second time, it made me want to make art myself. And, honestly, emotional pull is a mark of success in my book. Inspiring me to create things is an even bigger mark. I wish I could have seen the rest of the Obama love story, but... well, you know how it ends. 

The Rapists That Inspire Me

This is a post about confusion. A conflict between inspiration and condemnation, art and crime, blackness and womanhood. This post is about rape. It’s funny how the things that I gravitate to, art and Blackness (whatever that means) lead me to directly confronting a part of my struggle that is often an afterthought. 

Honestly, I’ve been one of those people who has put rape and sexual assault on the social justice back burner. It’s not that I haven’t found the subject gravely important, it’s just that I’ve always seen myself as Black before I saw myself as a woman. More Black Arts Movement than Women’s Suffrage, you feel me? Maybe not. One seemed pressing, the other was a fact. Intersectionality was something that I saw as real and necessary, but never really embraced for fear of losing sight of the great Black freedom for which my people long (that sounds so dramatic, but I am so serious).

Yesterday I watched She’s Gotta Have It for a second time…at 8am in the dining hall—weird, I know. And this time when I saw it, I was captivated. It was magic. You’ll hear more about that later, but this post was on my mind.  Again, I was so deeply inspired to tell stories through film. I was like #YesAllWomen and #BlackLivesMatter all at the same time.  But by 3:00, my inspiration had taken on a dark tint. After my professor gave his lecture, I just sort of…sat there. He made it so blatantly clear that I had let Nola’s rape exist as a minor plot point instead of the central crime of the film. And it was no thanks to Spike Lee who might not have dealt with the subject seriously enough. 

(Courtesy of uptownmagazine.com)

And so naturally my mind went to Bill Cosby. Well, maybe not so naturally, my professor did put a massive picture of him his slide show. Anyways, I couldn’t shake the thought, which was jarring because I’d done such a good job of leaving it out of sight and out of mind. And now I couldn’t.

Let’s rewind a few months, shall we? Bill Cosby, once beloved comedian, America’s Dad, and the brains behind The Cosby Show and A Different World was charged with multiple accounts of rape and sexual assault. Tragic.  Now fast forward.

(Courtesy of cosbyshowcaps.tumblr.com)

I still Watch A Different World. Real talk, it’s my favorite show. When I first heard about Cosby’s crimes, I can’t tell you how thankful I was that it wasn’t taken off of Netflix (bless up!)  I still have Ron and Freddy posters in my room, I still await a love like Whitley and Dwayne’s, and I still Imagine Hillman as my alma mater. I still look for the Cosby show when I’m flipping through channels, even though I know I won’t see it anymore because what network wants to see their logo next to the name of a criminal? So what do you do when you find out the mastermind between your Black utopia is a rapist? Well, if you’re me, you politely frown upon the media’s accusations and keep singing Aretha’s theme song. 

Again. Nate Parker. I cannot even explain how excited I was for The Birth of a Nation, a film about a slave rebellion led by Nat Turner. Honestly, I still am. As writer, director, and star of the film Nate Parker casted a vision and saw it through with boldness and swagger. He wanted to tell a story that is so deeply important to out people. Nate was brilliant; Nate was a mover; Nate was a shaker; Nate was Beyond The Lights and The Great Debaters; Nate was Sundance. Nate was making strides for me. And then it happened. Another light became the darkness. Alleged rapist. 

(Courtesy of blacknerdproblems.com)

These men made the kind of artistic and cultural impact that I dream of and pray for. I saw these timely accusations as The Man trying to take us down. I didn’t pay much attention to what ignoring these things said about men who think they have the right to take me down. And to be honest, I’m still a little skeptical. It often seems like every time we build something, it’s suddenly torn down. That’s a scary thought for a dreamer. Rape is rape is rape is rape is rape. I just can’t help but think that both sides of the argument are at play here. While before I pushed one aside to keep by heroes on their pedestals, after yesterday, I can’t ignore either. 

How do I at once admire and condemn men who I first thought to build me up, but instead tear me down? It feels wrong. 

What I do know is that I’m probably going to keep watching season 4 episode 8 of A Different World on repeat. I am going to go see The Birth of a Nation.  I still think She’s Gotta Have It is brilliant and want to watch every second of b-roll that Lee ever shot. What I’m unsure of is to what degree I can admire the men who made these things. And what if I love the things I watch—what if they make my heart dance? Am I a victim of systematic silencing? Am I asleep? Am I wrong? Maybe I’m just inspired. I don’t want an answer, really. I’m just thankful that I’ve come to a place where I am forced to think about it. 

So the question for me here isn’t about whether or not rape is wrong and should be punished. The answer to that is undoubtedly yes. I guess I’m asking if you can separate an artist from their work. Can you be inspired by the paths they’ve forged even if they left destruction in their wake? Is art only a representation of its creator or does it exist as a testament to something larger? I struggle with that myself as a screenwriter, director, and playwright. And, as I come to my close (the greatest lie a preacher ever told)...I just don’t know.