I get my hair cut every week for reasons attributed to vanity, insecurity, and habit, among others. Last week, I went to get my haircut and American Gangster was playing on the television. But the movie didn't come out in the movie theaters until yesterday. The picture was clear, the sound was exact, and there were no people eating popcorn in the microphone or people walking in front of the screen to go to the bathroom or get Twizzlers or whatever. It was like I was eight months in the future and watching the DVD.
My initial reaction was, "This is bad." Not the movie. The fact that I was watching the movie a week before its release date in theaters. In a barbershop. Clearly. I thought that was bad. But now I'm not so sure.
As a proponent of black people supporting black businesses, my initial reaction focused on the damage the bootleg copy could do to Denzel Washington. He is an accomplished, well-paid, much-sought-after actor. But he is also black. There are those in the black (and white) community who think it unquestionable that Washington is the best actor making movies today, and think that he is still somehow underappreciated. It is important, therefore, in the eyes of these people that movies that Washington makes are well attended, particularly by blacks, when they are released. Especially on opening night when a movie's success or failure is often cemented. If Washington attracts huge numbers on opening night, the argument goes, his clout, prestige, marketability, cache, etc. become increasingly more undeniable or subject to devaluation. There is a subtle, if not unspoken, energy among blacks when a "black" movie or a movie starring one of our cinematic heroes opens that urges us to represent in the theaters in support of the movie or its star.
But if the movie is playing and being sold in black barbershops one week before the movie opens, then chances are that energy urging us to go out and support the black film or the black star is undercut by the ability to cop the movie for 5 bucks around the way. The interplay between the notion that blacks should support other blacks in the public eye and the notion that a person (black, white, or other) would be silly to pay top dollar to go to the theater to see a movie that you can buy for 1/3 the cost and watch in your house got me thinking.
What motivates blacks to go see "black" movies? I heard on the Steve Harvey Morning Show the admonition when "Why Did I Get Married" came out a few weeks ago that blacks should go support the movie, especially on the first weekend when the numbers were all important. At one level, blacks going to see black movies is a form of supporting black business. But the cat selling "American Gangster" in the shop was black too. As between supporting black business, must we not adhere to practical consumerism and take advantage of the best value? Additionally, it is an open question how much of the money blacks spend at the movies actually goes into the pockets of the stars or movie makers we go out to support. If American Gangster makes $46.3 million this weekend, how much of that will represent Denzel's share? Conversely, when a patron cops the bootleg for $5 the money goes directly in the pocket of the black dude selling the copies. No, really; I saw him put the money in his pocket.
It occurred to me therefore that there is more going on than just supporting black business when blacks urge others, as Harvey did, to go to the movies. I think that there is a notion at play that we want to look supportive (if not unified) of one another in the public eye. It is a communication to the majority culture that our movies and our actors are just as good as yours. See, we paid our good money to go see them. This notion empowers the Tyler Perrys and Denzel Washingtons of the world to point to their black supporters and leverage that support into advantages on their end.
But when will blacks stop putting on our best face to look good for others? When will we "progess" into a fully functional, self-interested group of consumers like others in American society? I mean, I heard people in the barbershop saying that they were not going to buy the bootleg copy because they WANTED to support Denzel and go see it in the theater (and expressly not due to the illegality of buying bootleg movies)! Are we playing a different game, or just by different rules?
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Voter maternalism/paternalism
Today is the primary for the mayoral race in Philadelphia, which I do not vote in since I do not live in Philadelphia. However, I have been following the race closely for several reasons; not the least of which is the fact that Philadelphia politics is the ultimate reality show. I am intrigued by numerous comments that I have heard made by voters explaining why they plan to vote for who they plan to vote for, because the comments seem quite maternalistic/paternalistic. The comments go like this: "I'm not voting for Evans because he'll do more good in the State House." Or "I'm not voting for Fattah because he'll do more good in Congress." Other commenters---black commenters mind you---say they'll vote for Brady of Knox because they are white and will bring the cache of whiteness to Philadelphia.
All of these comments seem weird to me because they are endorsements in the negative. That is, they are decisions about who to vote for that have nothing at all to do with how well the candidate will do in the job of mayor. Additionally, they seem resoundingly judgmental. Is this informed voting? Is it a good idea for voters to base their decision on factors that run counter to the candidates own choice to run? Should we vote based on issues pertinent to the job at hand, or should other factors enter our voting decision?
All of these comments seem weird to me because they are endorsements in the negative. That is, they are decisions about who to vote for that have nothing at all to do with how well the candidate will do in the job of mayor. Additionally, they seem resoundingly judgmental. Is this informed voting? Is it a good idea for voters to base their decision on factors that run counter to the candidates own choice to run? Should we vote based on issues pertinent to the job at hand, or should other factors enter our voting decision?
Monday, December 18, 2006
The Obituary of B
You could almost forget by looking at him that he was smarter than you. Invariably his shoes were untied and his shirt was untucked. You could be fooled to think that he was harried because papers and folders and files would be peaking from his bag, he would misplace his keys, and he lost his his cell phone with astonishing regularity and creativity. But he wasn't harried, he was thinking about what was next. What was next was often figuring out how better to educate children, or how to get you money to pay your rent, or how to challenge and provide for his own family, or how to justify watching music videos at his age. OK, sometimes he was just harried.
When B laughed with you, he made you feel like you were funny---and that you should learn the Heimlich maneuver. His laugh was deep and real and would entice you to laugh with him, but sounded quite damaging to his chest cavity. No movie or episode of "The Wire" without his outlandish comments and insights were as good as those with them. I mean, Jeffrey Wright was on-screen in "Casino Royale" for all of nine minutes, but B must have talked about Bond's "cousin from Langley" for days. In fact, Wright was often the subject of B's bad impersonations: how many times did I hear "Tiger Wooooooooooooooos"? But that was the thing I loved most about B: he couldn't impersonate, but impersonated; he couldn't dance, but danced; he didn't rap, but rapped; and he couldn't sing, but Lord he sang. As far-reaching as B's impact on his community was, I can't stop focusing on the small facts about his life that impressed and inspired me. Like the facts that he carried a wallet in his bathrobe, he beat-boxed to his children, he dug a big-ass hole in his backyard in a t-shirt that would fit a second-grade girl for absolutely no reason, he constantly reminded you that he could knock-out any living person, he looked at you like you were less-than-a-man if you didn't have beer in your house, but the man never finished a whole beer in his life, and he only got off the phone when he was good and ready.
B was always my friend, but I didn't like him as much growing up as I did once we grew up. My father, being a life-long soldier, got up almost everyday of my adolescence to run/walk two or three miles. When he would come home to rouse me for school, my dad would always comment that he saw B out in the early-morning air delivering newspapers. Gumption, hustle, initiative, drive, focus, disipline were some of the words my father used to describe B, while trifling, lazy, and soft were his choice adjectives for me. When B scored well on the SAT, he came to my house to tell my dad what he got; it was about 900 points higher than what I got. (Whatzupwitdat?). I'm not sure how, but B's paper route became the reason for his high SAT score, his admittence at a good college, and certification of a wonderful life. My dad died a long time ago, and he died wishing I was a little more like B. More and more, as I settle into manhood I am embarrassed to learn how many things my dad was right about. And he was right about B: many of us would do well to be a little more like B.
When we were teenagers, I told B he should run for president. He laughed, but I was serious. I said this because B had a way with people. When you went somewhere with B he knew people, and people knew him. When you left a restaurant with B, you left knowing your server's name, the names of the people sitting next to you, and with two to three half-finished glasses of beer on your table. America probably isn't ready for a president who could recite whole Public Enemy songs, or would insist on driving his own car, or who would have his whole family, all his boys, and the pastor of his church up in Air Force One, but he would have gotten a lot of votes. People would have voted for B because he cared about other people more than he cared about himself, because he loved to see people happy, because he did what he said he was going to do--even if it was late, and because he knew how to listen without getting too preachy. Unless, of course, you needed him to preach, then you got a sermon.
It took me, literally, a lifetime to learn that my dad was right about B. Sometimes I chuckle to think about B out on that bike in the morning and my dad marching down the streets of our hometown with his stick and the two of them crossing paths. I see them nod in acknowledgment of each other and keep it moving---both have deadlines to meet. They shared innate qualities that I have tried over my life to cultivate. And, now, I know that my father's attempts to make me more like B (in fact, I had a paper route for an insanely inferior publication for about a week) were veiled attempts to make me more like him. It goes without saying that I have failed at both.
When B laughed with you, he made you feel like you were funny---and that you should learn the Heimlich maneuver. His laugh was deep and real and would entice you to laugh with him, but sounded quite damaging to his chest cavity. No movie or episode of "The Wire" without his outlandish comments and insights were as good as those with them. I mean, Jeffrey Wright was on-screen in "Casino Royale" for all of nine minutes, but B must have talked about Bond's "cousin from Langley" for days. In fact, Wright was often the subject of B's bad impersonations: how many times did I hear "Tiger Wooooooooooooooos"? But that was the thing I loved most about B: he couldn't impersonate, but impersonated; he couldn't dance, but danced; he didn't rap, but rapped; and he couldn't sing, but Lord he sang. As far-reaching as B's impact on his community was, I can't stop focusing on the small facts about his life that impressed and inspired me. Like the facts that he carried a wallet in his bathrobe, he beat-boxed to his children, he dug a big-ass hole in his backyard in a t-shirt that would fit a second-grade girl for absolutely no reason, he constantly reminded you that he could knock-out any living person, he looked at you like you were less-than-a-man if you didn't have beer in your house, but the man never finished a whole beer in his life, and he only got off the phone when he was good and ready.
B was always my friend, but I didn't like him as much growing up as I did once we grew up. My father, being a life-long soldier, got up almost everyday of my adolescence to run/walk two or three miles. When he would come home to rouse me for school, my dad would always comment that he saw B out in the early-morning air delivering newspapers. Gumption, hustle, initiative, drive, focus, disipline were some of the words my father used to describe B, while trifling, lazy, and soft were his choice adjectives for me. When B scored well on the SAT, he came to my house to tell my dad what he got; it was about 900 points higher than what I got. (Whatzupwitdat?). I'm not sure how, but B's paper route became the reason for his high SAT score, his admittence at a good college, and certification of a wonderful life. My dad died a long time ago, and he died wishing I was a little more like B. More and more, as I settle into manhood I am embarrassed to learn how many things my dad was right about. And he was right about B: many of us would do well to be a little more like B.
When we were teenagers, I told B he should run for president. He laughed, but I was serious. I said this because B had a way with people. When you went somewhere with B he knew people, and people knew him. When you left a restaurant with B, you left knowing your server's name, the names of the people sitting next to you, and with two to three half-finished glasses of beer on your table. America probably isn't ready for a president who could recite whole Public Enemy songs, or would insist on driving his own car, or who would have his whole family, all his boys, and the pastor of his church up in Air Force One, but he would have gotten a lot of votes. People would have voted for B because he cared about other people more than he cared about himself, because he loved to see people happy, because he did what he said he was going to do--even if it was late, and because he knew how to listen without getting too preachy. Unless, of course, you needed him to preach, then you got a sermon.
It took me, literally, a lifetime to learn that my dad was right about B. Sometimes I chuckle to think about B out on that bike in the morning and my dad marching down the streets of our hometown with his stick and the two of them crossing paths. I see them nod in acknowledgment of each other and keep it moving---both have deadlines to meet. They shared innate qualities that I have tried over my life to cultivate. And, now, I know that my father's attempts to make me more like B (in fact, I had a paper route for an insanely inferior publication for about a week) were veiled attempts to make me more like him. It goes without saying that I have failed at both.
The Obituary Project
A good friend, B, called me a while back to get some pertinent information to include in my eulogy. He said he had been working on it, and realized there were some gaps that needed to be filled in. I filled them in, but felt compelled to inform him that my death, so far as I know, is not imminent. Nonetheless, I do not doubt that B's eulogy---when the time comes to give it---will be great. He really likes me, and I like to think that I am sometimes as smart and funny and wise as he thinks I am. Of course, I am not, and he knows it, but our friendship has endured this indiscretion for more than twenty-five years.
But his call got me thinking about my friends and how we're getting older and how one of us will be the first to die. We've all been friends for a long time: one of us was the first to grow a high-top fade, one of us was the first to cut it off; one of us was the first to transition from tight jeans to baggy jeans, and someone else was the first to wear a suit to work; one was the first to graduate from college and someone else the first to get a graduate degree. Who got married first? Who has the oldest kid? Who will be the first to die? As with all other major events in the lives of my friends, I will share this with them too. Unless I beat them to it.
So, in the event that happens, I will eulogize my boys over the next several days in all honesty and in no particular order. However, I will not call to get details. That's creepy.
But his call got me thinking about my friends and how we're getting older and how one of us will be the first to die. We've all been friends for a long time: one of us was the first to grow a high-top fade, one of us was the first to cut it off; one of us was the first to transition from tight jeans to baggy jeans, and someone else was the first to wear a suit to work; one was the first to graduate from college and someone else the first to get a graduate degree. Who got married first? Who has the oldest kid? Who will be the first to die? As with all other major events in the lives of my friends, I will share this with them too. Unless I beat them to it.
So, in the event that happens, I will eulogize my boys over the next several days in all honesty and in no particular order. However, I will not call to get details. That's creepy.
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