It's hilariously frustrating to me how many
public Black scholars and intellectuals and professors of History, Sociology,
Literature, and the like, not all, but some, are intent on criticizing Quentin
Tarantino and even Jamie Foxx, for their creation/writing/imaginative
composition and participation in 'Django Unchained', yet most of the aforementioned
Black voices, who are from either America's Generation X or Baby Boomer
generations, laud other Black actors and actresses for their involvement and,
sometimes, creation of cinematic Black caricatures. (i.e. Alex Haley and Ron O’Neil
via 'Superfly'). In my opinion, Tarantino
was and is not trying to rewrite Black American History by no means; the man is
a writer and director of cinema that attempted, successfully I might add, to tell
a love story via the lens of integrating the Hollywood genres of the spaghetti
Western and Blaxploitation films.
As a matter of fact, Tarantino is not
only telling a love story, but he is also telling a story of vengeance and
proper reparations that posits the Black male as a non-subordinate figure who
is a prototypical hero of American cinema—Django is a John Wayne in a sense
because he plays by his own rules and is the antithesis of the subservient
Negro or subordinate slave of the times in which the movie takes place (1858),
described as being “a rambunctious sort” by Leonardo DiCaprio’s character
Monsieur Calvin Candy, the slave planter/owner of the Candyland Plantation
which, through dialogue, constructs and brings to the forefront the notion that
the Black male wasn’t as docile, timid, and fearful of the white patriarchal
system. One could even argue that this piece of dialogue even deconstructs the
notion of the Antebellum South’s totality of control of the Black male psyche
and physical body. Django does what most
slave films do not—show the white slave master and all of the whites that exist
in the vacuum of dehumanization getting what they deserve—death, and a violent
one at that.
But
Tarantino has done something in American cinema that we haven’t seen in cinematic
abundance since the 1970s—he has positioned the Black man as an American
Cinematic Hero to audiences of all hues. What is profoundly important is that
Tarantino’s Django exists in an era of American History, a troublesome era at
that, rather than in an apocalyptic or futuristic era that deems alien beings
as the other and objects of xenophobia or in a world where base survival is the
most important nuance of life and one’s race is all but obsolete (e.g. the Black heroes in alien takeover films or
the post-apocalypse ‘Book of Eli’). In a
nutshell, ‘Django Unchained’ reintroduces the Black, cinematic hero to
audiences that were not privy to the Black Exploitation heroes like Superfly,
Shaft, Goldie, or Slaughter. And because
of Tarantino’s bankability, the creation of a Django may very well be the
impetus for the reconfiguration of Hollywood’s casting of the Black male.
Unlike the ‘Blaxploitation’
or ‘Black Exploitation’ films of the 70s, which were mainly viewed by and
profited from majority Black audiences, ‘Django Unchained’ is being viewed,
celebrated, and financially compensated via the pockets, wallets, and
coin-purses of not only Black, but white audiences as well. Quentin’s Hollywood bankability, directorial
respectability, reputation, be it good or bad, and fame affords this film the
opportunity to be distributed, accepted, and lauded by audiences and critics of
all socioeconomic and ethnic residences.
You could say, ‘Django Unchained’ is the Hollywood’s ‘Roots’, a
television network’s production, as it pertains to accessibility and
availability of consumption.
By no means am I writing as some sort of
white apologist for the exploitation of Black American life or the Black
American experience, but I am writing in defense and support of a film that
redirects how Black and non-Black audiences view of a leading Black man or hero. Django is neither subservient nor in need of Dr.
King Schultz’ (Christopher Waltz), the white bounty hunter with whom he works,
aid and assistance in saving him from a violent predicament or unwanted
quandary (e.g. the Rush Hour franchise).
And he doesn’t die! Django is all
man: dirty, rugged, tough, physically
savvy and skilled, if not supernaturally accurate, in the art of handling a
firearm. Everything the American viewing
audience has been conditioned to believe, endorse, and promote from the
prototypical white American gun-slinging hero.
And as far as the argument that is
circulating on blogs and the web concerning the politics of gender constructs, can
we not posit the dystaxy or "cinematic flashbacks" to Broomhilda
(Kerri Washington) and Django's love for her as the "main character"?
For example, the entire premise of the movie is one man's longing for the
"present" not absent love of his wife. Sure, the male protagonist is
the hero, yet the hero is fueled both emotionally and physically by the memory
and the longing for his wife. I believe this revisionist cinematic piece of
History disseminated via a cinematic representation is just as profound and
potent and important as Tarantino’s ‘Inglorious Basterds’ which is ironic in
that I didn’t hear many Jews complaining about that film (please see
Dangerfield Newby or John Brown’s raid on Harper’s Ferry to see the
similarities between Django and Newby as a historical reference). If I had an extra arm and hand I’d give this
film three thumbs up. It’s worth the
time, money, and intellectual analyses.
-Gee Joyner
