RED TAILS and the Diaspora of Black Cinema

In the new popcorn flyboy flick Red Tails, Colonel A.J. Bullard (Terence Howard) lobbies the Pentagon for more meaningful work for his platoon of World War II fighter pilots. At present, they have been regulated (segregated) to patrolling unused airspace above Italy, the US Army Air Corps equivalent of cleaning the slop buckets in the mess house. "Give us this mission," Bullard pleads, "and we'll light up the board." In many ways, the Tuskegee Airmen Project and Anthony Hemmingway, John Ridley and Aaron McGrudder's Red Tails share an inter-lapping storyline:

The mission was green-lit.

Battling power structures for opportunity, for dignity, for the chance to carry the cause of many upon the shoulders of few, is natural fodder for dramatic narrative. The triumph of the underdog has always been a popular cinematic genre, and yet we sometimes fail to connect how and why "underdogs" are systematically subjugated by the very establishment we root against. In most of these stories, someone from inside the power structure must "stick his neck out" (to borrow a line from the film) on behalf of the faction that has not gotten its proper due. In the case of Red Tails, this person is executive producer George Lucas.

Never before has Hollywood opened its checkbook to finance and promote a film that could be classified as -- for lack of a better term-- Black Cinema. (Crudely defined, "Black Cinema" is a film production that features a black writer OR director AND a modestly diverse cast.) With a production budget of $58 million, well above the median for any film that isn't a sequel or prequel or based off a comic book, or best selling novel, or 80s TV show, or Greek myth; Red Tails may be the litmus test for the next wave of black American filmmaking. It is also important to note that this movie does not feature anyone, on either side of the camera, with an established pedigree in studio tentpoles. Just Lucas, who is one of the few names in Tinseltown with enough box office clout to push this "experiment" through. And even though he financed it himself, it still took him nearly two decades. This got me thinking: If George Lucas started developing Red Tails around 1993 and it didn't hit theaters until 2012, how many fantastic projects are littered throughout this city, sitting on a dusty shelf at a studio lot? Or worse, the dusty shelf in the former office of an aspiring agent.

If the 1990s were the Golden Age of hip-hop, we witnessed a direct correlation between the quality and diversity of "black films" of the same era. It was as if the zany empowerment of Blacksploitation evolved and matured, blazing pathways for sub-genres like "hood films," "black biopics" and "urban satires." Brilliant young auteurs like John Singleton, Spike Lee, Reginald Hudlin, Ernest Dickerson and the Hughes brothers changed the landscape of Hollywood with astonishing directorial debuts. Not only were their films critically lauded, they were extremely profitable, which kept the pipeline full of content. From Do The Right Thing (1989) and House Party (1990) to Boyz in the Hood (1991), NewJack City (1991) and Juice (1992) to Malcolm X (1992), MenaceII Society (1993) and Poetic Justice (1993); stories about the black American experience were being told by black Americans and, for the first time, seen by broader audience.

This had a rippling effect. Suddenly, voices from deep within the margins were given a small spotlight and a faint megaphone. Renegade filmmakers like Matty Rich, who wrote the screenplay for Straight Out of Brooklyn (1991) when he was 17 years old, directed the film at 19 on a budget of $450,000; and it found a distributor. 'Brooklyn's overall gross quadrupled its cost.

F. Gary Gray was barely old enough to drink when he started directing music videos like Ice Cube's "It Was A Good Day." At 24, he helmed Friday (1995) on a budget of $3.5 million. Friday raked in $28 million at the box office, plus endless streams of ancillary revenue as a DVD cult classic. Reginald Hudlin wrote and directed a short film called "House Party" as his thesis project at Harvard and later remade it as a feature starring rap duo Kid 'n' Play. The movie earned ten times its budget, spawned two sequels and first paired Martin Lawrence and Tisha Campbell, who parlayed their on screen chemistry into the Fox sitcom Martin, which ran from 1992-1997. Relative to the historical precedent, opportunity abounded. It was a mini-renaissance.

Black Cinema of the 1990s helped launch the careers of countless actors, comedians, writers, directors, producers, cinematographers, production coordinators, PA's, gaffers, and music supervisors. But, by the end of the decade, tastes had changed, the culture changed, priorities shifted and the pipeline of content (and opportunity) dried up. The parallels in rap music are not insignificant. When "the industry" (a predominately hegemonic power structure controlled from the top down) took over who-what-how black entertainment was disseminated, it created an enormous void in the market. Following the formula of the urban music business, Hollywood kept pandering to that same demographic that bought up 2000-era rap CDs; but movies could not find a similar niche... until Tyler Perry finally broke through with his unique brand faith-oriented, family-friendly fare. Hollywood execs were stunned. A renegade filmmaker in his own right, Perry not only made it rain, but led the industry to the water and forced it to drink from his well. This was ultimately not such a good thing.

I have never been one to vilify Tyler Perry. I admire his passion and persistence and I have enormous respect for his ability to toe the line between mogul and artist. I enjoy his movies for what they are and they certainly have place in our culture. What I dislike about Perry has more to do with the industry itself, in that his one-note portrayals of the "black experience" have come to define Black Cinema as we now know it. Aside from cross-dressing grandmas, "dance movies" like Step It Up (2004), You Got Served (2006) and Stomp the Yard (2007) have been the only consistently identifiable sub-genre. Whimsical "party flicks" were replaced by intelligent romance comedies like The Wood (1999), The Best Man (1999) and Brown Sugar (2002) but have since faded. "Hood films" have turned into B-movies starring C-list rappers that go straight to DVD. This leaves "Tyler Perry Presents..." as one monolithic brand; and since Hollywood generally lingers a few long paces behind the curve of creativity --replicating and re-replicating box office "hits"-- we get a constant drip of mindless, soul-less schlock. (Imagine if Hollywood only allowed white people to make movies about vampires, car chases and corporate crooks.)

Interestingly, as Black Cinema faded, we've seen a juxtaposition in storytelling. Hustle & Flow (2005) for instance, was an extraordinary, 90s-style "hood film" written and directed by Craig Brewer (produced by John Singleton.) Prominent "black biopics" like Ray (2004), Get Rich or Die Tryin' (2005) and American Gangster (2007) and even Oscar fodder with black ensemble casts like Dreamgirls (2006) and The Help (2011), have been made by white filmmakers. Conversely, black auteurs from yesteryear have successfully "crossed-over" (to borrow a phrase from EPMD) and now routinely churn out four-quadrant blockbusters. Babershop's Tim Story went on to helm the Fantastic Four franchise. Inside Man (2006) is Spike Lee's most successful film. John Singleton's last three movies have been 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003), Four Brothers (2004) and Abduction (2011). F. Gary Gray's reel includes The Italian Job (2003), Be Cool (2005) and Law Abiding Citizen (2009). I do not mean to present this as something that is so (hiccup) black or white. All of the aforementioned titles are American films made by Americans filmmakers. Nothing is inherently wrong with white directors telling stories about black people (for Godsake, David Simon created The Wire) or black directors helming bigger-budget action flicks. The problem is still the void in the market. Other than Tyler Perry, dance movies and the occasional slapstick comedy about a wedding, a funeral or a family reunion, there is a gaping.........

I also have a healthy respect for Lee Daniels. Monster's Ball was an import film. I thought he was ambitious to take on "Push." I applaud Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry for getting this movie made. But let's be honest, Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' by Saffire (2010), was an overwrought melodrama. There, I said it. And while Mo'nique's performance was superb (she won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress), her portrayal of Mary could certainly be characterized as inflammatory imagery in a world with Fox News. Yet Precious has been the recent standard bearer for Black Cinema.
   
It is easier today to be a "renegade filmmaker" than at any other point in history. Technology is  accessible and relatively inexpensive, with plenty of platforms to bring original content to an audience. For years I've been asking my liberal friends about inequalities in Hollywood. I pose the same questions to panelists at industry workshops. And it's as if the "lack of opportunity" default reflex kicks in for everyone. It seems to be the only answer. But that is too simplistic. Sure, Hollywood is generally disinterested in almost ALL original content, particularly when it comes from under-represented minorities; but, as previously discussed, this does not mean stories about black people go entirely untold.

Which brings me to some questions:

Why did the quality and diversity of Black Cinema of the 90s deteriorate? How have the successful filmmakers of the 90s parlayed their limited clout into developing projects for this decade that will help advance the next? If a torch exists, who will be the one to carry it? Does that modicum of opportunity that existed for 17 year-old Matty Rich in 1989, still exist? I would argue emphatically yes. Yet the pipeline has been dry for far too long. Why?

In 2011, it started trickling. Admittedly, Precious' box office receipts were the catalyst. 

Rashaad Ernesto Green made an impressive directorial debut with Gun Hill Road, a poignant and meticulously crafted story about family and sexuality in the South Bronx, circa now.

Pariah was Dee Dee Rees' astonishing first film. Dee Dee and Rashaad were classmates at NYU-Tisch. They were mentored by Professor Spike Lee. Pariah is raw... and equally relevant and takes place in contemporary Brooklyn. (And the cast does not feature anyone with a music career to fall back on!)

British visual artist turned filmmaker Steve McQueen has now made two powerful films, Hunger and Shame. On his next project he teams up with John Ridley on Twelve Years a Slave, starring Michael Fassbender, Brad Pitt and Chiwetel Ejiofor.

This brings me back to a great story about a family reunion. It takes place on a film set in the Czech Republic. A few of our favorite relatives made the trip. Michael was there, Bubbles, Wallace, Bird... even Cheese showed up late.  Anthony Hemmingway was filming his first feature, Red Tails.

Hemmingway originally cut his teeth working as a First Assistant Director for David Simon on The Corner (2000.) He directed episodes of The Wire and Treme amongst a potpourri of American television. On Red Tails, he reunited many of the actors he worked with previously. 

John Ridley, who got his start as a staff writer for Martin in 1993, wrote the script. His versatility stands out amongst all current American writers. He has also blessed us with insightful commentary on NPR for years. After Twelve Years a Slave, he's collaborating with Spike Lee on HBO's Brick City as well as a movie about the L.A. Riots.

Aaron McGruder helped polish the script. He's perhaps most known for his criticism of hyper-commodified black culture. A Ralph Nadar supporter in 2000, he often gets South Park on people or organizations he deems regressive. On The Boondocks, for example, he's dedicated entire episodes to lampooning  Tyler Perry and Black Entertainment Television. I cannot wait for McGruder to pen the next great "urban satire" or "hood film."

We should give credit to George Lucas for ultimately getting this thing done, but Red Tails is a chiefly a collaboration of Hemmingway, Ridley and McGrudder.

"Give us this mission, and we'll light up the board."  

It is crucial we support Red Tails -- at the box office-- with our hard-earned dollars. I saw it twice. (Yes, I paid both times. No, it was not a great movie.) I’ll conclude with a Public Service Announcement:

Please make a point of supporting ALL original work. If something you want to see is not available locally, the least you can do is ask the dude popping your corn if his theater might get it. This is how we, the consumers, wield control in a market-based democracy. It would be nice to start occupying movie theaters with more fresh content, which just might spark another Golden Age of Black Cinema.

@HebrewRational