Apparently there's been some beef brewing between Spike Lee and Tyler Perry. I hadn't really been following the story so I don't know when it began, but I found this recent post containing one person's summary of the situation. This is another good entry, with short clips of both directors' viewpoints. Both these links are short, interesting reads.
I love watching movies and I really enjoy analyzing them in my head or with another person. Spike Lee is one of my favorite directors, for movies such as 25th Hour, Summer of Sam, Inside Man, When the Levees Broke, and Bamboozled. I am trying to work my way through his catalog and I've also seen Do the Right Thing, Girl 6, She Hate Me, and Malcolm X. I have several more to get to and I look forward to seeing them.
I've only seen one Tyler Perry movie, and it was by accident: Daddy's Little Girls was playing on TBS one night and I got sucked in at the beginning. Before that, I had only known him as some playwright who had started making movies with his name at the beginning of every title, like Blake Edwards. In fact, I thought he was a woman for a while due to the title Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman. Anyway, I vaguely knew that his movies had a reputation of being silly and vapid, like all those Nutty Professor spin-offs. But Daddy's Little Girls surprised me with its relatively feasible storyline, occasional weighty moments, and general lack of the ridiculousness I had heard of in association with Tyler Perry. It was a cute romantic movie which also dealt with some class issues and defied some stereotypes. For example, the main character is a loving, devoted father who shares custody of his three daughters with a negligent, vindictive ex (a reversal of the usual male-female roles). However, it does reinforce other stereotypes, such as when the dad reaches his wit's end and deals with his ex's drug-dealing, abusive new boyfriend by giving him a public beatdown (to the tune of Sam Cooke's poignant "A Change is Gonna Come"). That beatdown scene, by the way, is heartbreaking and triumphant in the context of this movie, but it still doesn't do much for the male violence problem.
I haven't seen any other Tyler Perry movies, but it is generally accepted that the man is business-savvy and Not An Obvious Douchebag. Some might argue that Perry just cranks out mediocre entertainment to make money off a complacent black audience, and that he exploits black stereotypes for cheap laughs. That is in fact Spike Lee's argument (he calls it "coonery buffoonery"). But Lee has just as much a niche as Perry does; Lee makes jarring, complex, uncomfortable movies that examine (among other things) what it's like for dozens of different racial and ethnic communities to live in the packed sardine can called New York City. But not everyone lives in NYC, and not everyone shares his experience of cultural and racial reality. When Lee criticizes Perry's work, it seems a little bit too much like he's saying, "THIS is the black experience you should be portraying. The one you've chosen to portray isn't valid."
Even on Perry's sitcoms, I find some interesting storyline twists that make me think. There was an episode of House of Payne where the suburban married mother of three ended up relapsing into drug addiction and leaving her family behind. Is that a tired African American media cliche, or is it a realistic portrayal of the kinds of situations that Americans struggle with today? For every person who cringes at what they see as negative portrayals of minorities, there's gotta be someone (like me) who finds it surprising and refreshing that a sitcom is willing to even go there. Actually, here's a quote from Wikipedia about the show, confirming my impression of its tone: "While primarily a comedy sitcom, House of Payne is known for featuring dark themes and subject matter, such as substance abuse and addiction..." This has got to be a good thing.
But I also love Lee's cerebral approach to the issues that face Americans today, and I would never want him to start making goofy, crowd-pleasing movies (although I think he has been trying to increase his mass appeal with later movies). And I haven't seen any Madea movies but maybe they are insufferably trite and stereotypical (research to follow). And while Lee's criticism of Perry may or may not be warranted, he is definitely correct about some aspects of Hollywood such as the Magical Negro and tokenism.
It's an interesting debate. I think they both have important, valid points. What do you guys think about Spike Lee? What do you think about Tyler Perry? Is Lee too inaccessible, judgmental, and unsupportive? Is Perry a sellout who is sabotaging black cinema? Any movie recommendations?
(I need to watch some more Tyler Perry. As for Spike Lee, my favorite movie of his is Bamboozled, which I have watched several times, most recently last night. My boyfriend and I had a thoughtful discussion afterward on the Spike vs. Tyler topic, African American portrayals in the media, and how hard (impossible?) it is to truly comprehend and appreciate the issue without living inside it on a daily basis.)
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
My Black Neighbor
I have an embarrassing history of being a poseur. I'm one of those people who pretends to hear the joke and laughs, or pretends to understand it and laughs. I have acted like I knew what drug paraphernalia was to avoid looking lame (backfire: I was wrong!), and I used to fib about having met Lenny Kravitz once at a concert (my friends did, but I had lost them in the crowd earlier).
Sometimes I think my tendency to be a "poseur" relates to Atkinson, Morten, and Sue's 1989 model of racial and cultural identity development (R/CID). There are five stages: conformity, dissonance, resistance and immersion, introspection, and integrative awareness. Likewise, I think that we of the majority go through similar stages when developing our own awareness of diversity, as well as our own racial identity.
(I am half-minority, but so often I find myself relating to the experiences of Caucasians more than the experiences of Asian-Americans. I have experienced racism and insensitivity for being Asian, but overall I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks into Caucasian acculturation.)
Anyway, so I conformed to the majority identity for most of my life, and then dissonance started slipping in. I remember that my dad spoke with hostility about rap and hip hop, glaring or ranting if a rap video happened to be on MTV when he walked through the living room. Would you believe that I didn't feel okay about liking a hip hop song until well into college? It's true. I felt weird about it, like I wasn't supposed to be listening, like it wasn't made for my ears, like it would make me seem...lesser.
Somewhere along the line, I lightened up and started attributing value to music and other art forms that are sometimes diminished by Caucasians. Here's an example: I love most of Spike Lee's movies. If I understand correctly, his reputation among many Caucasians is that he's a race-card blowhard, kind of like the film director equivalent of Al Sharpton. I am fascinated by his treatment of race, enjoy his style of cinematography, and count Bamboozled among my Top Five.
But sometimes I feel like maybe I am kind of stuck in the resistance and immersion stage of cultural awareness. I took African-American history in college...to learn more, or to earn credibility? I have seen The Roots and Outkast and Lauryn Hill live...have I played up my attendance at those shows more than my attendance at Grandaddy and Twilight Singers shows? Am I a poseur?
Which brings me to the story about my black neighbor, and my previous post about white privilege. I have a neighbor who lives in the next building over. He's African-American. (I use the two terms interchangeably, but choose "black" when succinctness adds impact. I probably need to blog about this, too.) He has a car and a motorcycle, and he likes to clean them while blaring his music loud from the stereo. Invoking my new knowledge of white privilege, and realizing that my neighbor probably catches race-related flak on a daily basis for any number of traits that may or may not be tied to his race/culture, I almost always let him blare away. Most of the time it stops after a few songs anyway, and occasionally I like the music. But, honestly, it's usually distracting or disruptive to me and once it was late enough at night that I felt justified in asking him to please turn it down. He did.
So here's the question that haunts me every time this happens: Am I being less racist or actually more racist for these micro-decisions? In my attempt to counter my own white privilege, am I actually defining this guy by his race instead of recognizing his full personhood, including the possibility that he blares loud music from his car because he's inconsiderate, and not because he's African-American and that's something that African-Americans stereotypically like to do and the oppression of such is racially vindictive?
It's funny, because there are so many reasons for people to be offended by these questions right now. But they are the questions that go through my head about once a week, when he plays his music. What would you do? One cannot deny that I am trying to pay the utmost sensitivity to his experience as a black man, by trying to choose the most racially considerate reaction. After all, a white woman telling a black man to step in line has all sorts of ugly implications. But one could also argue that my obliviousness to his skin color might be the ideal expression of acceptance in a situation as mundane as parking lot turf wars. I don't want to define anyone by their race! But I don't want to be clueless about how their race impacts their everyday experiences, either. How many other people "correct" him on a daily basis? How many other times are his actions rejected by others, and how many times is his race, and not his own character, faulted for it? How likely is it that he blares his music in the first place because he feels the need to do something marginally subversive without immediately being put in his place? Does he even think about these factors? (Probably not, since most people are less neurotic than me.)
Why am I blogging about my neighbor's racial identity when I've never exchanged a word with him other than, "Could you please turn it down a little?" We do exchange waves sometimes, at least. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with him about what his side of these incidents is like. Again, would that be thoughtful or horribly offensive?
In the end, I'm okay with this confusion and ambiguity. In fact, I think it's the point of the whole exercise. Race and culture are tough topics to tackle, and this is an example of how hard it can be. It would be nice to have the luxury of simple, clear answers, but that is (yet again) a privilege that everyone doesn't have, and one that I am willing to give up. I will continue to feel like a poseur, to be uncertain whether I'm getting it all right or all wrong, to inadvertently say offensive things and have to eat crow about it afterward. I think that confronting my own ignorance is probably supposed to be a painful, awkward process. Hopefully all the awkwardness of this entry means that I'm doing something right.
Sometimes I think my tendency to be a "poseur" relates to Atkinson, Morten, and Sue's 1989 model of racial and cultural identity development (R/CID). There are five stages: conformity, dissonance, resistance and immersion, introspection, and integrative awareness. Likewise, I think that we of the majority go through similar stages when developing our own awareness of diversity, as well as our own racial identity.
(I am half-minority, but so often I find myself relating to the experiences of Caucasians more than the experiences of Asian-Americans. I have experienced racism and insensitivity for being Asian, but overall I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks into Caucasian acculturation.)
Anyway, so I conformed to the majority identity for most of my life, and then dissonance started slipping in. I remember that my dad spoke with hostility about rap and hip hop, glaring or ranting if a rap video happened to be on MTV when he walked through the living room. Would you believe that I didn't feel okay about liking a hip hop song until well into college? It's true. I felt weird about it, like I wasn't supposed to be listening, like it wasn't made for my ears, like it would make me seem...lesser.
Somewhere along the line, I lightened up and started attributing value to music and other art forms that are sometimes diminished by Caucasians. Here's an example: I love most of Spike Lee's movies. If I understand correctly, his reputation among many Caucasians is that he's a race-card blowhard, kind of like the film director equivalent of Al Sharpton. I am fascinated by his treatment of race, enjoy his style of cinematography, and count Bamboozled among my Top Five.
But sometimes I feel like maybe I am kind of stuck in the resistance and immersion stage of cultural awareness. I took African-American history in college...to learn more, or to earn credibility? I have seen The Roots and Outkast and Lauryn Hill live...have I played up my attendance at those shows more than my attendance at Grandaddy and Twilight Singers shows? Am I a poseur?
Which brings me to the story about my black neighbor, and my previous post about white privilege. I have a neighbor who lives in the next building over. He's African-American. (I use the two terms interchangeably, but choose "black" when succinctness adds impact. I probably need to blog about this, too.) He has a car and a motorcycle, and he likes to clean them while blaring his music loud from the stereo. Invoking my new knowledge of white privilege, and realizing that my neighbor probably catches race-related flak on a daily basis for any number of traits that may or may not be tied to his race/culture, I almost always let him blare away. Most of the time it stops after a few songs anyway, and occasionally I like the music. But, honestly, it's usually distracting or disruptive to me and once it was late enough at night that I felt justified in asking him to please turn it down. He did.
So here's the question that haunts me every time this happens: Am I being less racist or actually more racist for these micro-decisions? In my attempt to counter my own white privilege, am I actually defining this guy by his race instead of recognizing his full personhood, including the possibility that he blares loud music from his car because he's inconsiderate, and not because he's African-American and that's something that African-Americans stereotypically like to do and the oppression of such is racially vindictive?
It's funny, because there are so many reasons for people to be offended by these questions right now. But they are the questions that go through my head about once a week, when he plays his music. What would you do? One cannot deny that I am trying to pay the utmost sensitivity to his experience as a black man, by trying to choose the most racially considerate reaction. After all, a white woman telling a black man to step in line has all sorts of ugly implications. But one could also argue that my obliviousness to his skin color might be the ideal expression of acceptance in a situation as mundane as parking lot turf wars. I don't want to define anyone by their race! But I don't want to be clueless about how their race impacts their everyday experiences, either. How many other people "correct" him on a daily basis? How many other times are his actions rejected by others, and how many times is his race, and not his own character, faulted for it? How likely is it that he blares his music in the first place because he feels the need to do something marginally subversive without immediately being put in his place? Does he even think about these factors? (Probably not, since most people are less neurotic than me.)
Why am I blogging about my neighbor's racial identity when I've never exchanged a word with him other than, "Could you please turn it down a little?" We do exchange waves sometimes, at least. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with him about what his side of these incidents is like. Again, would that be thoughtful or horribly offensive?
In the end, I'm okay with this confusion and ambiguity. In fact, I think it's the point of the whole exercise. Race and culture are tough topics to tackle, and this is an example of how hard it can be. It would be nice to have the luxury of simple, clear answers, but that is (yet again) a privilege that everyone doesn't have, and one that I am willing to give up. I will continue to feel like a poseur, to be uncertain whether I'm getting it all right or all wrong, to inadvertently say offensive things and have to eat crow about it afterward. I think that confronting my own ignorance is probably supposed to be a painful, awkward process. Hopefully all the awkwardness of this entry means that I'm doing something right.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
How to avoid sanctimony
I've gotten really ranty lately. I've started taking stands and making call-outs that I never would have taken or made before. Especially on Facebook, I've instigated debates (i.e. picked fights) about meat-eating, feminism, racism, mental health, the beauty myth, and more. With this change comes a certain measure of embarrassment. You see, I have led my life until recently with a heavy mix of obliviousness, indifference, and moral relativism. I wore my apathy with pride and didn't give a second thought to most social constructs. Even now, I have only figured out a handful of things among thousands, and I'm still messing up a lot of the remaining stuff. In fact, I'm sure that I'm still contributing to many of society's problem despite the modest shift in values that I'm currently undergoing.
Here is a short list of things I've done before that I am now embarrassed about:
-I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, and a server at Bone Daddy's (a Hooters-like restaurant). I turned down the cocktail waitress gig but probably would have taken the Bone Daddy's gig if it were offered.
-I've held many, many stereotypes.
-I've asked to pet a blind person's seeing-eye dog, and what's worse, I actually thought it was friendly and affirming for me to do so.
-I've nurtured and flaunted stereotypically masculine skills and interests in order to look cool to guys.
-Although I wanted to play saxophone in 6th grade, I switched to clarinet because I guy I liked said he was going to play clarinet. As it turned out, he played saxophone.
-Related to above, I disdained clarinet as too girly and idolized saxophone as more guyish and cool.
-I had a vague fear of/disdain for rap and hip hop music.
And here is a short list of things I still do, although I'm not sure if I should:
-I defend Eminem's entire catalog of music, including his most misogynistic songs (although I'm still not sure what to make of his gay-bashing).
-I use the word "wifebeater" in reference to a tank top.
-I feel anxious about wearing sweatpants in front of my boyfriend, as if I will only be attractive when dolled up for the male gaze (and as if attractiveness is the most important virtue to have anyway).
-I buy most products without researching exactly what horrors I'm supporting with my money.
-I hold many, many stereotypes and am still not able to overcome them fully.
-I blog about what people should do, despite not knowing what I should do in many contexts.
But I don't want to remain silent just because I wasn't born with the ability to recognize and embody social justice 100% of the time. As I wrote in my first entry, I want to share my explorations in the hope that other readers and I will find a mutually educational forum. Still, I am painfully aware of how easy it is for me to sound sanctimonious. After all, I still don't know whether to forgive the Beastie Boys for their blatant and glorified misogyny, which they renounced decades ago! (And it complicates matters that "Girls" is such a catchy song.) So, returning to the title of this entry, how do I avoid sanctimony? Should I just shut up and let people make their own decisions without my unsolicited opinion? Am I right for being an instigator on Facebook among the very friends who have supported me and enabled me to think more critically about my own choices? Or can I find a better way to instigate, and to minimize the tone of self-righteousness that I'm afraid lingers on everything I say and write? Is it an inescapable personality flaw of mine? Is it forgivable; does the content hold despite the delivery? I fear this role and don't know how to play it gracefully.
At the root of all this concern for how to be a proper activist, there is shame for things I have said and done in the past. I began this entry as an attempt to own up to these past transgressions, to apologize for my sanctimony. But as I wrap it up, I realize that my bigger aim is to encourage readers to agitate and share their own opinions despite their own past mistakes. After all, if I'm not "allowed" to speak up because I've been wrong before, then logically others aren't "allowed" either...and that is definitely a faulty conclusion--the only way I've changed is by being educated by others. So I'll keep blogging about these things like the loudmouthed amateur that I am, as long as you all do the same in your own ways. Because god knows if I get to have a soapbox, so does everyone else.
Here is a short list of things I've done before that I am now embarrassed about:
-I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at a strip club, and a server at Bone Daddy's (a Hooters-like restaurant). I turned down the cocktail waitress gig but probably would have taken the Bone Daddy's gig if it were offered.
-I've held many, many stereotypes.
-I've asked to pet a blind person's seeing-eye dog, and what's worse, I actually thought it was friendly and affirming for me to do so.
-I've nurtured and flaunted stereotypically masculine skills and interests in order to look cool to guys.
-Although I wanted to play saxophone in 6th grade, I switched to clarinet because I guy I liked said he was going to play clarinet. As it turned out, he played saxophone.
-Related to above, I disdained clarinet as too girly and idolized saxophone as more guyish and cool.
-I had a vague fear of/disdain for rap and hip hop music.
And here is a short list of things I still do, although I'm not sure if I should:
-I defend Eminem's entire catalog of music, including his most misogynistic songs (although I'm still not sure what to make of his gay-bashing).
-I use the word "wifebeater" in reference to a tank top.
-I feel anxious about wearing sweatpants in front of my boyfriend, as if I will only be attractive when dolled up for the male gaze (and as if attractiveness is the most important virtue to have anyway).
-I buy most products without researching exactly what horrors I'm supporting with my money.
-I hold many, many stereotypes and am still not able to overcome them fully.
-I blog about what people should do, despite not knowing what I should do in many contexts.
But I don't want to remain silent just because I wasn't born with the ability to recognize and embody social justice 100% of the time. As I wrote in my first entry, I want to share my explorations in the hope that other readers and I will find a mutually educational forum. Still, I am painfully aware of how easy it is for me to sound sanctimonious. After all, I still don't know whether to forgive the Beastie Boys for their blatant and glorified misogyny, which they renounced decades ago! (And it complicates matters that "Girls" is such a catchy song.) So, returning to the title of this entry, how do I avoid sanctimony? Should I just shut up and let people make their own decisions without my unsolicited opinion? Am I right for being an instigator on Facebook among the very friends who have supported me and enabled me to think more critically about my own choices? Or can I find a better way to instigate, and to minimize the tone of self-righteousness that I'm afraid lingers on everything I say and write? Is it an inescapable personality flaw of mine? Is it forgivable; does the content hold despite the delivery? I fear this role and don't know how to play it gracefully.
At the root of all this concern for how to be a proper activist, there is shame for things I have said and done in the past. I began this entry as an attempt to own up to these past transgressions, to apologize for my sanctimony. But as I wrap it up, I realize that my bigger aim is to encourage readers to agitate and share their own opinions despite their own past mistakes. After all, if I'm not "allowed" to speak up because I've been wrong before, then logically others aren't "allowed" either...and that is definitely a faulty conclusion--the only way I've changed is by being educated by others. So I'll keep blogging about these things like the loudmouthed amateur that I am, as long as you all do the same in your own ways. Because god knows if I get to have a soapbox, so does everyone else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)