Race and Hollywood: it’s complicated
It’s not just about the number of black roles on screen, but what kinds of roles they are
It’s as if Hollywood has such a hard time imagining black stories that it has to pick the ones that come pre-made.
If the #oscarssowhite campaign is to have any real, lasting effect on equal representation in American film (which, sadly and in many ways, can be considered global film), it will have to broaden its platform so that we’re not only talking about the number of black roles (or lack thereof ) as an indicator of racial progress (or lack thereof ). We need to consider what kinds of roles they are, too.
The recent film “Race” is a good example: on one level, it’s an important step forward because it tells the story of a heroic, accomplished African American — 1930s Olympian Jesse Owens — and effectively demonstrates his role in broader historical events.
But (there’s always a “but” when it comes to this kind of thing) if we stop there, we miss a few crucial considerations: first, while the film is about an important black figure, it’s almost entirely a story told by white people. The film’s screenwriters, director, cinematographer, art director, production designer, composer and casting directors are all white. In this sense, the film reveals more about what’s wrong with Hollywood than what’s right.
Second: “Race” is a historical film. In and of itself this isn’t a problem, but the genre is overrepresented when it comes to films about black characters, as a look at previous Oscar nominees demonstrates: “The Color Purple,” “The Help,” “Dreamgirls,” “Selma,” “Amistad,” “Glory,” “Ray,” “Ali,” “Cry Freedom,” “Malcolm X,” “Twelve Years a Slave,” “Invictus,” “What’s Love Got To Do With It.” Step outside the Oscar circle and there are even more: “The Butler,” “The Great Debaters,” “Devil in a Blue Dress.”
Clearly, Hollywood privileges the produc- tion and recognition of stories about black people that take place in the past. This dearth of contemporary representations of black lives that matter not only suggests that the film industry struggles to portray progress for black Americans (both literally and figuratively keeping them from moving forward), but also that young black Americans are deprived of the imaginative potential of seeing representations of the full range of possibilities for their racial identity. In other words: as a young person, how do you imagine a life for your future self if the most celebrated and respected representations of your racial identity are in the past?
I wonder if the disproportionate number of biographies in the above list is a reflection of this lack of imaginative capacity. It’s as if Hollywood has such a hard time imagining black stories that it has to pick the ones that come pre-made. Real life stories insist that they can exist.
Third: “Race” is a film about an athlete. No, there aren’t many Oscar-nominated films about black athletes, but in the broader culture, black American men are only really visible (Barack Obama excepted) if they’re an athlete, a musician, or a comedian (Denzel Washington is perhaps the only contemporary American actor who has risen to fame without first establishing himself as a comedian, unlike Will Smith and Jamie Foxx). The athletic model of black masculinity is perhaps most disturbing because it shows just how little we’ve moved away from the days of slavery, when African Americans were only valued for their physical capabilities.
Modern sports demonstrate this bias again and again: the positions we associate with greater intelligence and control — the coach, the manager, the quarterback, the pitcher, the catcher — are dominated by white men, while black faces crowd the rest of the roster. Thanks to the likes of Cito Gaston and Isaiah Thomas, things are a bit better, but it’s still far too common to see a largely black basketball team, for example, being coached by a white man.
And so it goes in “Race,” which focuses on Owens’ relationship with his white coach, Larry Snyder, and it’s Snyder who elevates Owens’ skills to the Olympic level. Yes, this is certainly a realistic situation, given the lack of authority black people had in 1930s America, but the question that always needs to be asked is: why is this story being told now in this way? And what effect will it have on people’s ideas about race? The brain doesn’t filter all its incoming information as “fiction” or “non-fiction” — everything is part of the same flow that makes up our impressions and perceptions of the world around us. In this context, seeing yet another depiction of an older, wiser white man successfully training a young black man is problematic.
None of this is to suggest that “Race” isn’t worth seeing, or that Owens’ story isn’t worth telling. But if we don’t recognize just how challenging and complicated it can be to create really equal, progressive representations of race in our culture, we’ll never get past the era of #oscarssowhite.