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Watching While White: How Moves Tackled Race and Class in 2016 Watching While White: How Movies Tackled Race and Class in 2016
(about 1 hour later)
A. O. SCOTT Last year at this time, you and I were cheering for Hollywood, specifically the range and quality of large-scale, big-money commercial movies, including new entries in ancient franchises like “Mad Max” and “Rocky.” In the past year, the big studios reverted to type, with decidedly uninspiring (though hardly unprofitable) iterations of the Marvel and DC comic-book universes, meh new “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” episodes and the profoundly inconsequential returns of Jason Bourne, Jack Reacher and Bad Santa.A. O. SCOTT Last year at this time, you and I were cheering for Hollywood, specifically the range and quality of large-scale, big-money commercial movies, including new entries in ancient franchises like “Mad Max” and “Rocky.” In the past year, the big studios reverted to type, with decidedly uninspiring (though hardly unprofitable) iterations of the Marvel and DC comic-book universes, meh new “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” episodes and the profoundly inconsequential returns of Jason Bourne, Jack Reacher and Bad Santa.
But I think we agree that 2016 was nonetheless a good year for cinema: for movies that reveled in the specificity of the medium, found fresh uses for old techniques and told stories that combined the force of novelty with the shock of recognition.But I think we agree that 2016 was nonetheless a good year for cinema: for movies that reveled in the specificity of the medium, found fresh uses for old techniques and told stories that combined the force of novelty with the shock of recognition.
MANOHLA DARGIS It was a great year partly because of movies like Barry Jenkins’s “Moonlight” and Ava DuVernay’s “13th” — put another way, it was a great year if you looked beyond most of what the major American studios released. The divide between what critics tend to praise (and what receives much of the love at the Oscars) and what the studios release (and what most people can see at the multiplex) has been wide for a while. Yet that divide seems starker than ever, given that most studios no longer release the smaller, relatively more independent movies they did a decade ago.MANOHLA DARGIS It was a great year partly because of movies like Barry Jenkins’s “Moonlight” and Ava DuVernay’s “13th” — put another way, it was a great year if you looked beyond most of what the major American studios released. The divide between what critics tend to praise (and what receives much of the love at the Oscars) and what the studios release (and what most people can see at the multiplex) has been wide for a while. Yet that divide seems starker than ever, given that most studios no longer release the smaller, relatively more independent movies they did a decade ago.
SCOTT Pixar, “Star Wars” and Marvel are all part of the Disney brand family, so you would have had to work hard to avoid one of their products at the multiplex: The top-grossing movies in the United States last year were “Finding Dory,” “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story” and “Captain America: Civil War.”SCOTT Pixar, “Star Wars” and Marvel are all part of the Disney brand family, so you would have had to work hard to avoid one of their products at the multiplex: The top-grossing movies in the United States last year were “Finding Dory,” “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story” and “Captain America: Civil War.”
DARGIS That reminds me of a line in Wim Wenders’s 1976 film, “Kings of the Road”: “The Yanks have colonized our subconscious!” It’s a brilliant observation about the pervasiveness — for better, for worse — of American pop culture, including its cinema. I guess we need to amend that line for Life Under Disney. Except that these days, the major studios, all multinationals, rarely release movies that could inspire new generations of filmmakers at home and abroad or the kinds of arguments that ran through some of the greatest films of the 20th century.DARGIS That reminds me of a line in Wim Wenders’s 1976 film, “Kings of the Road”: “The Yanks have colonized our subconscious!” It’s a brilliant observation about the pervasiveness — for better, for worse — of American pop culture, including its cinema. I guess we need to amend that line for Life Under Disney. Except that these days, the major studios, all multinationals, rarely release movies that could inspire new generations of filmmakers at home and abroad or the kinds of arguments that ran through some of the greatest films of the 20th century.
This isn’t the end of American cultural imperialism, mind you; I’m just noting that these studio movies seem increasingly irrelevant in every way except financially. Disney gobbled up 26.4 percent of the 2016 box office with just over a dozen movies, most conceived to sell one thing: Disney. True, some disseminate a few ideas, including niceness — a smiley-face ethos that extends to what might be called diversity lite.This isn’t the end of American cultural imperialism, mind you; I’m just noting that these studio movies seem increasingly irrelevant in every way except financially. Disney gobbled up 26.4 percent of the 2016 box office with just over a dozen movies, most conceived to sell one thing: Disney. True, some disseminate a few ideas, including niceness — a smiley-face ethos that extends to what might be called diversity lite.
Today’s corporate cinema doesn’t speak to, and lie about, the United States and its values the way that the old Hollywood did, perhaps because we know better or are more cynical or because it’s hard to know what the country stands for now. Once, the movies could pretend that all men are created equal (as long as they’re white) and that good guys win (as long as they’re white guys), even as offscreen life made a lie of those fantasies. This corporate cinema doesn’t sell an idea of a nation and its ideals; it sells brands and products, and the little diversity it provides onscreen often tends to feel like an extension of its brand. So it will be interesting to see how Ms. DuVernay, a strong voice for inclusion, does with her next movie, “A Wrinkle in Time,” which she’s directing for … Disney!Today’s corporate cinema doesn’t speak to, and lie about, the United States and its values the way that the old Hollywood did, perhaps because we know better or are more cynical or because it’s hard to know what the country stands for now. Once, the movies could pretend that all men are created equal (as long as they’re white) and that good guys win (as long as they’re white guys), even as offscreen life made a lie of those fantasies. This corporate cinema doesn’t sell an idea of a nation and its ideals; it sells brands and products, and the little diversity it provides onscreen often tends to feel like an extension of its brand. So it will be interesting to see how Ms. DuVernay, a strong voice for inclusion, does with her next movie, “A Wrinkle in Time,” which she’s directing for … Disney!
SCOTT For a lot of 2016, it seemed as if the dominant story was going to be about what, for want of a better word, is often called diversity, meaning the often frustrated, sometimes partly successful struggles of filmmakers who are not white men to work within a system that remains rigged against them.SCOTT For a lot of 2016, it seemed as if the dominant story was going to be about what, for want of a better word, is often called diversity, meaning the often frustrated, sometimes partly successful struggles of filmmakers who are not white men to work within a system that remains rigged against them.
DARGIS In one significantly fraught way, the 2016 movie year began in earnest in February with the re-emergence of #OscarsSoWhite after the all-white slate of acting nominees was announced. Other objections surfaced over “Doctor Strange” and the casting of Tilda Swinton in a role that had been an Asian stereotype in the original comic. “Gods of Egypt,” “Ghost in the Shell,” “The Great Wall” — each month brought new argument and more protest. But the year also brought us excellent films from black directors working outside the studios, including “Moonlight,” “13th,” “O.J.: Made in America” and “I Am Not Your Negro.” The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences also diversified its membership — and ended lifelong voting rights, inspiring accusations of ageism.DARGIS In one significantly fraught way, the 2016 movie year began in earnest in February with the re-emergence of #OscarsSoWhite after the all-white slate of acting nominees was announced. Other objections surfaced over “Doctor Strange” and the casting of Tilda Swinton in a role that had been an Asian stereotype in the original comic. “Gods of Egypt,” “Ghost in the Shell,” “The Great Wall” — each month brought new argument and more protest. But the year also brought us excellent films from black directors working outside the studios, including “Moonlight,” “13th,” “O.J.: Made in America” and “I Am Not Your Negro.” The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences also diversified its membership — and ended lifelong voting rights, inspiring accusations of ageism.
All these discussions have made me think that we need to start talking about something we rarely do, which is how to think about whiteness — our own and the movies.All these discussions have made me think that we need to start talking about something we rarely do, which is how to think about whiteness — our own and the movies.
SCOTT “A man watches a movie, and the critic must acknowledge that he is that man.” Those words, written by Robert Warshow in the ’50s, stand as one of the founding slogans of our profession. Whoever else we may be, we’re moviegoers just like everybody else.SCOTT “A man watches a movie, and the critic must acknowledge that he is that man.” Those words, written by Robert Warshow in the ’50s, stand as one of the founding slogans of our profession. Whoever else we may be, we’re moviegoers just like everybody else.
But a lot of unexamined assumptions lurk within Warshow’s idea, in particular an unthinking universalism that supposes both the critic and the ticket-buyer to be male. The old Hollywood fantasy of the mass audience — the dream that movies are indeed for everyone — ignored and excluded a lot of people. And the struggle for a more inclusive, more representative approach has been going on for decades. The controversies you mention represent the latest iteration of that fight, and the films you name can be taken as a measure of progress. What I saw at the movies in 2016 was more than just superficial diversity, and a lot of what I saw went some ways toward restoring my faith in film as a democratic art, with equal emphasis on both words.But a lot of unexamined assumptions lurk within Warshow’s idea, in particular an unthinking universalism that supposes both the critic and the ticket-buyer to be male. The old Hollywood fantasy of the mass audience — the dream that movies are indeed for everyone — ignored and excluded a lot of people. And the struggle for a more inclusive, more representative approach has been going on for decades. The controversies you mention represent the latest iteration of that fight, and the films you name can be taken as a measure of progress. What I saw at the movies in 2016 was more than just superficial diversity, and a lot of what I saw went some ways toward restoring my faith in film as a democratic art, with equal emphasis on both words.
I found myself thinking about my own angle of vision, about the identities I bring to the screening with me and sometimes slough off in the darkness. Race isn’t the only one, but it has been an especially heavy and messy one this year. In politics, whiteness has reasserted itself with an insistence that has surprised many observers.I found myself thinking about my own angle of vision, about the identities I bring to the screening with me and sometimes slough off in the darkness. Race isn’t the only one, but it has been an especially heavy and messy one this year. In politics, whiteness has reasserted itself with an insistence that has surprised many observers.
In the movies, it’s always been there, of course, as a kind of default setting, a cloak of instant visibility. Even noticing the relative diversity of blockbuster casts (in the Marvel Universe movies, or the “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” franchises) means accepting the previous state of uniformity as the norm, the rule to which everything else is an exception. We aren’t used to thinking — or writing — about movies with white male protagonists (which is still most of them) in terms of gender or race.In the movies, it’s always been there, of course, as a kind of default setting, a cloak of instant visibility. Even noticing the relative diversity of blockbuster casts (in the Marvel Universe movies, or the “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” franchises) means accepting the previous state of uniformity as the norm, the rule to which everything else is an exception. We aren’t used to thinking — or writing — about movies with white male protagonists (which is still most of them) in terms of gender or race.
But what if we did? It’s easy enough to say that “Moonlight” and “The Birth of a Nation” and “Barbershop: The Next Cut” are movies about race. What would happen if we said the same about “Manchester by the Sea,” “La La Land” and “Sully”?But what if we did? It’s easy enough to say that “Moonlight” and “The Birth of a Nation” and “Barbershop: The Next Cut” are movies about race. What would happen if we said the same about “Manchester by the Sea,” “La La Land” and “Sully”?
DARGIS “Sully” is about professionalism and expertise, specifically those of a white hero, which is true of many Clint Eastwood movies and, for that matter, those of Howard Hawks. Kenneth Lonergan’s “Manchester by the Sea” is about a working-class white man’s tragedy, and his whiteness is as crucial to his identity as class. Damien Chazelle’s “La La Land” has several black characters, but it also, exasperatingly, positions a white pianist as the savior of jazz and a black musician as its corrupter. Whatever their genres and stories, these movies are all also about race, because race defines our world.DARGIS “Sully” is about professionalism and expertise, specifically those of a white hero, which is true of many Clint Eastwood movies and, for that matter, those of Howard Hawks. Kenneth Lonergan’s “Manchester by the Sea” is about a working-class white man’s tragedy, and his whiteness is as crucial to his identity as class. Damien Chazelle’s “La La Land” has several black characters, but it also, exasperatingly, positions a white pianist as the savior of jazz and a black musician as its corrupter. Whatever their genres and stories, these movies are all also about race, because race defines our world.
Movie critics, who are largely white and male (see the numbers!), seem stubbornly reluctant to engage with race, at least as it pertains to whiteness. We may take on racism — we think we know it when we see it — but race and racism aren’t the same thing. There are all sorts of barriers when it comes to discussing race, including institutional ones. The New York Times stylebook, for instance, states that “race should be cited only when it is pertinent and its pertinence is clear to the reader.” The idea is not to identify everyone by race; yet when is race not pertinent?Movie critics, who are largely white and male (see the numbers!), seem stubbornly reluctant to engage with race, at least as it pertains to whiteness. We may take on racism — we think we know it when we see it — but race and racism aren’t the same thing. There are all sorts of barriers when it comes to discussing race, including institutional ones. The New York Times stylebook, for instance, states that “race should be cited only when it is pertinent and its pertinence is clear to the reader.” The idea is not to identify everyone by race; yet when is race not pertinent?
At the same time, I have no interest in merely tabulating, say, Asian actors in a movie or noting again (and again) how many women don’t have speaking roles. I notice, but I don’t want to watch or write using a checklist. I bet you don’t want to, either.At the same time, I have no interest in merely tabulating, say, Asian actors in a movie or noting again (and again) how many women don’t have speaking roles. I notice, but I don’t want to watch or write using a checklist. I bet you don’t want to, either.
SCOTT Well, no. And I don’t want to see everything through the filter of my own assumptions. Nor, however, do I want to deny that the movies reflect — and are part of — social and political realities.SCOTT Well, no. And I don’t want to see everything through the filter of my own assumptions. Nor, however, do I want to deny that the movies reflect — and are part of — social and political realities.
A lot of postelection commentary has slipped into the bad habits of treating race and class as opposites and using “working class” as a synonym for “white.” The reality is much more complicated, as will be evident to anyone who has seen “Fences,” a movie about an African-American family that is also a working-class family. Denzel Washington’s Troy Maxson is a Pittsburgh sanitation worker who used to play baseball in the Negro Leagues. (The movie, based on August Wilson’s play, is set mostly in 1957, 10 years after Jackie Robinson broke the modern major league color line.) A subplot involves Troy’s fight against the practice of only hiring whites to drive garbage trucks, while blacks are restricted to the dirtier, more dangerous work of lifting the cans.A lot of postelection commentary has slipped into the bad habits of treating race and class as opposites and using “working class” as a synonym for “white.” The reality is much more complicated, as will be evident to anyone who has seen “Fences,” a movie about an African-American family that is also a working-class family. Denzel Washington’s Troy Maxson is a Pittsburgh sanitation worker who used to play baseball in the Negro Leagues. (The movie, based on August Wilson’s play, is set mostly in 1957, 10 years after Jackie Robinson broke the modern major league color line.) A subplot involves Troy’s fight against the practice of only hiring whites to drive garbage trucks, while blacks are restricted to the dirtier, more dangerous work of lifting the cans.
He wins that fight, just as the NASA employees in “Hidden Figures,” played by Octavia Spencer, Janelle Monáe and Taraji P. Henson, win their battle against race and gender discrimination in the early days of the space program. The conquest of space — John Glenn’s orbit; Neil Armstrong’s giant leap — lingers in the popular imagination as a pinnacle of can-do white-man achievement. “Hidden Figures” corrects the record in two ways: by showing how what we think of as acts of singular bravery were the result of collective labor and by emphasizing the contributions of people who weren’t white men.He wins that fight, just as the NASA employees in “Hidden Figures,” played by Octavia Spencer, Janelle Monáe and Taraji P. Henson, win their battle against race and gender discrimination in the early days of the space program. The conquest of space — John Glenn’s orbit; Neil Armstrong’s giant leap — lingers in the popular imagination as a pinnacle of can-do white-man achievement. “Hidden Figures” corrects the record in two ways: by showing how what we think of as acts of singular bravery were the result of collective labor and by emphasizing the contributions of people who weren’t white men.
More than that, the movie, without abandoning Hollywood feel-good conventions, makes clear that the denial of recognition and opportunity wasn’t just some kind of oversight, or the result of the actions of a few bigoted, meanspirited individuals. The system that denies access and opportunity to Katherine Johnson (Ms. Henson’s character) and her fellow “computers” is about the maintenance of whiteness as a zone of economic privilege and existential entitlement.More than that, the movie, without abandoning Hollywood feel-good conventions, makes clear that the denial of recognition and opportunity wasn’t just some kind of oversight, or the result of the actions of a few bigoted, meanspirited individuals. The system that denies access and opportunity to Katherine Johnson (Ms. Henson’s character) and her fellow “computers” is about the maintenance of whiteness as a zone of economic privilege and existential entitlement.
“Hidden Figures” traces the cracking of that system, as does “Loving,” which also takes place in Virginia. That movie, too, scrambles any facile race-versus-class dichotomy. Its male protagonist, after all, is a rural, working-class white man, a laborer named Richard Loving, whose marriage to his longtime sweetheart, Mildred Jeter, ultimately led to the striking down of anti-miscegenation laws.“Hidden Figures” traces the cracking of that system, as does “Loving,” which also takes place in Virginia. That movie, too, scrambles any facile race-versus-class dichotomy. Its male protagonist, after all, is a rural, working-class white man, a laborer named Richard Loving, whose marriage to his longtime sweetheart, Mildred Jeter, ultimately led to the striking down of anti-miscegenation laws.
It’s notable that “Fences,” “Hidden Figures” and “Loving” all look back at roughly the same era — the late ’50s and early to mid ’60s — and find, amid all the injustices and unresolved contradictions, civic progress, a sense of national purpose, and expansiveness. Their optimism seems especially poignant at this moment.It’s notable that “Fences,” “Hidden Figures” and “Loving” all look back at roughly the same era — the late ’50s and early to mid ’60s — and find, amid all the injustices and unresolved contradictions, civic progress, a sense of national purpose, and expansiveness. Their optimism seems especially poignant at this moment.
DARGIS It’s fascinating that these movies, all set at crucial moments in the civil rights era, were released in the last year of Barack Obama’s presidency. Each deals with the fight for equality, a battle that’s fought in the courtroom (“Loving”), the workplace (“Hidden Figures”) and even the home (“Fences”) — and is not anywhere near over. Meanwhile, “Free State of Jones,” which we both like, revisits the Civil War from the point of view of a poor white Southerner (Matthew McConaughey) who, after deserting the army, experiences a life-altering shift in consciousness and fights the Confederacy side by side with other poor whites, free blacks, men and women.DARGIS It’s fascinating that these movies, all set at crucial moments in the civil rights era, were released in the last year of Barack Obama’s presidency. Each deals with the fight for equality, a battle that’s fought in the courtroom (“Loving”), the workplace (“Hidden Figures”) and even the home (“Fences”) — and is not anywhere near over. Meanwhile, “Free State of Jones,” which we both like, revisits the Civil War from the point of view of a poor white Southerner (Matthew McConaughey) who, after deserting the army, experiences a life-altering shift in consciousness and fights the Confederacy side by side with other poor whites, free blacks, men and women.
Part of what makes “Free State of Jones” memorable is that it frames human rights in terms of race and class. “Fences” does, too. I’d seen a production of the play, but it wasn’t until I saw the movie — and Mr. Washington’s tragic American colossus pouring out his grief and rage — that I felt its force. It is Wilson’s insistence that race and class are inseparable that, I think, makes his play an instructive riposte to Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman,” to which “Fences” is often compared. From 1949, the first year “Salesman” was staged, Miller’s hero, Willy Loman, was anointed an American Everyman. “Fences,” at least in part, is Wilson’s brilliant response to that.Part of what makes “Free State of Jones” memorable is that it frames human rights in terms of race and class. “Fences” does, too. I’d seen a production of the play, but it wasn’t until I saw the movie — and Mr. Washington’s tragic American colossus pouring out his grief and rage — that I felt its force. It is Wilson’s insistence that race and class are inseparable that, I think, makes his play an instructive riposte to Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman,” to which “Fences” is often compared. From 1949, the first year “Salesman” was staged, Miller’s hero, Willy Loman, was anointed an American Everyman. “Fences,” at least in part, is Wilson’s brilliant response to that.
Troy Maxson embodies the truth that the universality of the art isn’t in its sameness but in its differences.Troy Maxson embodies the truth that the universality of the art isn’t in its sameness but in its differences.