Do The Right Thing will probably be the film Spike Lee will be remembered for—and he has done some great movies like Malcom X, 25th Hour, the documentaries 4 Little Girls about the Birmingham Church bombing in 1963 and When The Levees Broke about Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans, and this year's BlackkKlansman, gaining Spike his first Oscar nod as Best Director.
But Do The Right Thing, his third movie, put him on the national radar, as he jumped head and feet first into America's racial issues that caused more than a few to call him a racial rabble-rouser: from The Atlantic Magazine (read the whole article only if you don't mind HUGE spoilers): After the film premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, Lee recalls,
"there was this thought that when this film comes out in the summer of
1989, black people are gonna run amuck." In understanding the impact of
those original reviews, it's important to remember that this was 1989: a
pre-Internet, pre-Ain't It Cool News, pre-Twitter age wherein the
initial reports and editorials set the tone and defined the conversation
(perhaps disproportionately) that would surround the film throughout
those summer months. And that's why it was so provocative for Newsweek's
Jack Kroll to ask "in this long hot summer, how will young urban
audiences—black and white—react to the film's climactic explosion of
interracial violence? ... People are going to argue about this film for a
long time. That's fine, as long as things stay on the arguing level.
But this movie is dynamite under every seat." David Denby, currently of The New Yorker, then writing for New York, also predicted a dire outcome. "Do the Right Thing is going to create an uproar," Denby wrote,
"in part because [Lee]'s so thoroughly mixed up about what he's
saying." He accused Lee of creating "the dramatic structure that primes
black people to cheer the explosion as an act of revenge," and
concluded, "If an artist has made his choices and settled on a coherent
point of view, he shouldn't be held responsible, I believe, if parts of
his audience misunderstand him. He should be free to be 'dangerous.' But
Lee hasn't worked coherently. The end of this movie a shambles, and if
some audiences go wild, he's partly responsible."
We're beginning this semester with this film because it is, one, a truly great movie, and two, because it's a good place to begin our conversation about race and how it has been dealt with in film and literature that we will consider for the next several weeks as we read To Kill a Mockingbird and A Lesson Before Dying and watch Fruitvale Station and, of course, To Kill a Mockingbird.
Spike Lee on location in Brooklyn NY filming Do The Right Thing
So:
1. What has jumped out at you so far? What scene, image, or character has stayed with you—and why?
2. Look at this scene between Sal and Buggin' Out: it's really the set up for the tragedy of the film. So what's your reaction to this scene? Do you side with and/or agree with Sal, or do you side with and/ or agree with Buggin' Out? Or maybe with neither of them? Explain your response.
3. Do you like Sal? Why or why not?
That's it. Welcome back to the 48 day semester. Whenever I watch this movie, I want to eat pizza. I got a craving right now even. Extra cheese and pepperoni. Mmmm....
Beyond this, though, we're not shown anything by way of a backstory. Our view of events is limited to just a few days, and when Wendy visits the local pound in search of Lucy, a steady tracking shot of all the other lost dogs remind is of the millions more Wendys in small towns across America. Indeed, though it doesn't lean on a particular ideology, this is a fiercely political film in which the stakes of politics are the everyday lived experience: dollar bills exchanged between hands, a blank form waiting to be filled, or the aisle of a supermarket where shoppers do metal arithmetic to figure out what they can go without this week.
Wendy and Lucy lays bare the reality that poverty is a condition of circumstance rather than character, and that empathy, backed by a degree of outrage, is the only appropriate response. —Joe Blackledge (read the entire essay here)
Disapproving of Wendy's choices is one route to caring about her, which in turn leads to some difficult, uncomfortable questions. What would any of us do in her situation? What would we do if we met someone like her? How can we be sure we haven't? What will happen to her? The strength of this short, simple, perfect story of a young woman and her dog is that this does not seem, by the end, to be an idle or trivial question. What happens to Wendy—and to Lucy—matters a lot, which is to say that "Wendy and Lucy," for all its modesty, matters a lot too. —A.O. Scott (read the review here) Williams’s reading of the Wendy character, together with Reichardt’s
appropriation of the muted tropes of melodramatic film discourse,
combine to produce a rather unique sensation while watching Wendy and Lucy.
I would wager that most viewers not only identify with Wendy but also
feel unusually susceptible to registering her own vulnerabilities on our
own spectatorial psyches, even down to our bodies. From the scene in
the supermarket manager’s office, where we fidget along with Wendy, to
the highly theatrical night sequence in the woods with the unnamed
homeless man (Larry Fessenden), Wendy and Lucy activates
Wendy’s body as one under threat, and whose threat we in turn feel by
proxy. However, unlike many other sites of spectatorial identification,
such as horror cinema or pornography, Reichardt’s film articulates these
moments within a realist/materialist melodrama whose leftist aims are
explicit. Every inch of the way, Wendy and Lucy displays how a
chain of events leads Wendy to what is eventually, in her eyes, the best
choice out of not very many: to leave Lucy behind in Oregon with the
foster family that took her in. This moment, a classic tearjerker that
has been compared, for good and ill, to everything from Umberto D. (1952) to Old Yeller (1957),
seals the deal, in a sense, for Reichardt’s affective politics. Wendy, a
young drifter with limited options, hit the skids one day and lost her
dog. As we cry, Wendy and Lucy implicitly asks us to consider the unseen toll of poverty in America. —Michael Sicinski (read the review here)
Kelly Reichardt making Wendy and Lucy:
I’m interested in making personal films and to me
every film is political. There’s political in the personal. A lot of it
has to do with Jon Raymond, my writing partner. I got turned on to him
through Todd Haynes, who has produced these films. I read his novel and
he has this way of writing where you’re reading about friendship and
then it only occurs to you afterward that this is about everything. It’s
about right now, this period of time, this moment. It has this ripple
effect and it has a lot of room for you, as you’re reading, to bring
your own life experience, your own point of view to it. So with Wendy and Lucy
we start out with this idea that the film’s going to be about
economics, about this time in America, but then that has to hopefully go
away and it becomes about this girl Wendy, about these characters, and
we never really focus on it again. I focus on it when I’m picking a
place to shoot. Those decisions add texture to the themes, but certainly
Michelle and I never had a conversation about the politics of whatever.
It was all about Wendy and what would Wendy do, and hopefully all of
that stuff gets pushed away. It either transcends or it doesn’t. —Kelly Reichardt The trailer for Wendy and Lucy:
"You can't get a job without a job." —The Security Guard
The reaction by 5th period to Wendy and Lucy was pretty muted. As Zoya asked: "So...why?" And Isaac saw the realism—hyper realism really—as preventing him from relating to the film and Wendy. Everybody loved Lucy. Just admit it.
As I said in class, it was lauded highly—read the reviews above—and panned. I never demand you like a movie we watch. In fact, I think it's important that you not like everything we watch—and be able to explain why beyond "I don't usually watch this kind of movie" or "the costumes bored me." To think of what you like or dislike based upon what we see in the film itself, no matter what genre or whether it's foreign or domestic or black and white or color or recent or old. Wendy and Lucy, I think, is a deliberately difficult movie—because art does not have to be easy. Or should not always be easy. Carlin talked about how disconcerting Wendy's whistling was at the beginning of the film, and I have to agree; it may have been Carlin—or Lila or someone else—said it made the film seem like a horror film. And Kiran said from the floor, "It is." I think it's a beautiful movie; I know my mind drifts when I watch it. I wouldn't be surprised if Reichardt wanted that to happen.
1. What moment, scene, or image has stayed with you between seeing the film and writing this? And why is that?
2. I've been thinking about what Isaac said in 5th period block today—and talking later with Kiran about the movie got me thinking even more about what Isaac said in class. Isaac disagrees with Sicinski above, and many of you do too: you didn't relate to Wendy. If you don't "relate" to Wendy, why is that? If you do "relate" to Wendy, why is that?
Wendy presents us a character, as I said to Kiran, not all that different than Maggie in Million Dollar Baby—working class, not educated as much as certainly all of us in this class, not terribly sophisticated. But in the guise of Wendy, we realize how much Clint Eastwood smoothed the edges of his working class—or maybe really underclass—woman. Reichardt does not smooth the edges in that way: Wendy is not proud like Maggie, not spunky like Wadjda, not self-reflective nor artistic like Alike. She's a mystery. She's a little strange. That said, if you do not relate to Wendy, is that more about you than it is about the character of Wendy, or is that Wendy just is too...something different for you to make a connection with?
3. Reichardt and Jon Raymond worked closely together on the film: more so than Million Dollar Baby, Wendy and Lucy follows its source story almost verbatim. Pick a moment in the story that you felt the film presented well. Quote from the story and write about how the film captures it well. Everyone has to do a different moment: no repeating!
That's enough for this post. 250-300 words.
Finally: Wendy and the older Security Guard (Walter Dalton). They manage to create a relationship; and keeping with the film, what seems to start as a classic adversarial situation becomes something else. There is no bad guy in the film. Creepy and scary, yes, but not bad. Who or what the antagonist is we'll discuss.
WADJA. You don't ride a bicycle and you can't have children. MOTHER. How could you say that? I almost died having you! Wash for prayer! FATHER. Do you think I want to support two families! I'm the joke of the town. Are you going to give me a son? We both know that is not going to happen. Forget it, and don't count on me coming next week at all! MOTHER. I don't care! Go to your mother's house to discuss potential brides all night! Abdullah directs [Wadjda's] attention to a house busy with MEN coming in and out. He directs her away from the scene. ABDULLAH. Their son put stuff around his waist that blows up and died. Boom! He acts out pulling a cord and makes an explosive noise. WADJDA. He's crazy! That must have hurt. ABDULLAH. No, if you die for God, it's like a prick of a needle, and then you fly up and you have seventy women! WADJDA. Really? She acts out a big explosion. WADJDA. Boom! Seventy bicycles! ABDULLAH. It doesn't work that way. MS. HUSSA. So you still insist that you weren't doing anything there behind the school? FATIMA. We were reading magazines and that's all, nothing like what you mentioned. (to Wadjda) Ask her! Ms. Hussa taps her fingers on the folder on her desk, looking at Wadjda. Wadjda looks at the girls, who look confidently, sure she will back them up. Wadjda looks at Ms. Hussa, then looks down uncomfortably. WADJA. I'm not sure. I was standing far away. The girls gawk at her in disbelief. Wadjda avoids their gaze.
Haifaa al-Mansour on Wadjda (read the entire article): I try to be respectful. I want people in Saudi to accept the film. I don't want to clash with the culture, or make people angry. I want to be part of the journey taking part in the Kingdom at the moment, opening it up, and that us exciting to me.
al-Mansour from the film's website: I come from a small town in Saudi Arabia where there are many girls like Wadjda who have big dreams, strong characters and so much potential. These girls can, and will, reshape and redefine our nation...I hope the film offers a unique insight into my own country and speaks of universal themes of hope and perseverance that people of all cultures can relate to.
And finally, al-Mansour after her 2005 documentaryWomen Without Shadows: "I get hate mail," says Mansour. "People say I am not religious. That I don't respect my own culture. It's not true. I don't want to corrupt my viewers, but there are certain situations in Saudi Arabia that merit people talking about them."
Waad Mohammed, Abdullrahan Al Gohani, and Haifaa al-Mansour at the Venice Film Festival where Wadjda premiered.
Today's viewing got serious in ways that the first 50 minutes only hinted at. Suicide bombing is briefly mentioned, something that young Wadjda has clearly not thought about—and why should she have? Mother is rightfully concerned that her husband is about to take another wife because she cannot have children anymore. A better job awaits her at the hospital where her best friend works, but the openness between the women and men there makes her terribly uncomfortable. Fatin and Fatima are expelled from the school for "touching each other" and not signing a document given to them by Ms. Hussa. Salma, who cannot be much older than Wadjda, has married. And Wadjda betrays the two girls. As al-Mansour said in 2005: "There are certain situations in Saudi Arabia that merit people talking about them." Like Pariah, this film transcends its coming-of-age roots into becoming, in subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle ways, a political film. As Pariah is too.
After class Zoya and I talked about the issue, maybe even problem, of our watching a film about a culture as different from ours as Wadjda is. Indeed, it does speak "of universal themes of hope and perseverance that people of all cultures can relate to." And it is set in a Muslim country—a very conservative country—that as Americans we have little knowledge and awareness about. It's in the news now, but in ways that seem so unrelated to what we're watching. Some of you have talked about how surprised you were by the culture depicted in the film: it wasn't what you expected. All that said...
1. What do you think about Wadjda's betrayal of Fatin and Fatima? If you don't see it as a betrayal, please say so. Nonetheless, she could have helped save them. Why do you think she did what she did? Would you have done differently? And how did this moment make you feel about our plucky hero?
2. Other than the moment above, what moment or scene stuck with you from today's viewing?
3. al-Mansour says above that she "didn't want to clash with [her] culture or make people angry." Well, at least one person is angry about it in the class—and that's fine. A risky question: a.) do you feel the film is anti-Muslim? If so, how? If not, why not? b.) And what do you think of her obvious questions about Saudi culture? What are those questions? Does al-Mansour's questions—criticisms—strike you as unfair, or heavy-handed, or one-sided? c.) Do they at all remind you of Dee Rees's criticisms and questions about American culture—does her approach seem similar to the ways Rees questioned America? If so, how? If not, how not?
That's a lot of questions, I realize. To make it easy, pick one of them to discuss—or more if you want. Take some space and time to answer this. Three sentences is unacceptable.
300 words in all.
Finally: a moment from the part of the film we have yet to see. We'll finish the film on Monday.
ABDULLAH. Did you really think you could catch me? WAJDA. (confused) I did catch you! You and your stupid bicycle. ABDULLAH. Yeah right. Now you're late and covered in mud. If you had a "stupid" bicycle you could go home and change. But you don't, so you can't. Wajda, hurt, looks up as he slowly pedals away with the other boys, all on bikes as well, talking and laughing. They ride in circles, challenging each other, and showing off. Wajda clutches her soaking veil, watching them all ride away together, happy and free. WAJDA. (to herself) I'll get one and show you.
The German DVD cover of Wadjda.
Waad Mohammed as Wadjda.
Reem Abdullah as Mother.
Writer-Director Haifaa al-Mansour.
According to the oracle—Wikipedia—Wadjda was the first feature to be shot entirely in Saudi Arabia and the first full-length film made in The Kingdome by a female director. It took al-Mansour five years to make the film, mostly in trying to find financial backing and in getting permission to film in Saudi Arabia. The movie was filmed in Riyadh, "which often made it necessary for [al-Mansour] to work from the back of a van. as she could not publicly mix with the men in the crew." The film was a financial and critical success. A.O. Scott wrote of it in The New York Times: "With impressive agility, 'Wadjda' finds room to maneuver between harsh realism and a more hopeful kind of storytelling. There is warmth as well as austerity in Wadjda's world, kindness as well as cruelty, and the possibility, modestly sketched and ardently desired, of change." The British newspaper The Guardian named it one of the 10 best films of 2013 (read the review). The Jerusalem Post's Hannah Brown wrote glowingly of the actors: "Waad Mohammed, an incredibly gifted non-professional, leads this wonderful cast. Her heroine is so naturally, equally idiosyncratic and charismatic, that she makes you care about her from the moment she steps on the screen. Reem Abdullah gives a wonderful performance as a strong woman who is nevertheless vulnerable. Abdullah clearly has acting experience and has had a career on Saudi television. Ahd [Kamel] also has previous acting experience, as well as a career as a director and writer of short films."
Here is the trailer for the film.
1. Your reaction to the film so far? And what scene or moment from it has stayed with you—and why?
2. Your impression of Wadjda? What word or phrase best characterizes her for you? Why? Try not to repeat each other here—at the very least refer to different moments in the movie to support your characterization.
3. This, like Pariah, is the coming-of-age of a young
woman—or in this case, a young girl. What's something that Wadjda and
Alike share in their journey to a more mature awareness of the world and
their place in it? Use specifics here—moments or longer scenes that
tie these two strong girls together.
300 words.
A little preview of what's to come. Wadjda is one hell of a businesswoman.
Heartbreak opens onto the sunrise
For even breaking is opening
And I am broken
I am open
Broken to the new light without
pushing in
Open to the possibilities within
pushing out
See the love shine in through my
cracks
See the light shine out through me?
I am broken
I am open
I am Broken Open
See the love-light shining through
me
Shining through my cracks
Through the gaps
My Spirit takes journey
My Spirit takes flight
Could not have risen otherwise
And I am not Running
I am Choosing
Running is not a Choice
From the Breaking
Breaking is freeing
Broken is freedom
I am not broken
I am free.
ARTHUR. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I let her hurt you— ALIKE. I need to know if you'll sign the papers. Yes or no? ARTHUR. Can you forgive me? ALIKE. Yes or no? ALIKE. You can always come back home. Things are gonna be different, I promise you— Alike holds Arthur's hand, stopping him. ALIKE. Dad, I'm not running. I'm choosing. Arthur's heart breaks, he gasps back a sob. ALIKE. I'm not going back home. ARTHUR. I know...Okay. AUDREY. Tell him! Arthur's expression cracks and he tears his focus from Audrey to Alike. ARTHUR. Tell me what?! ALIKE. I'm not tellin' you nothin'. AUDREY. Tell him you're a dyke! You tell him you're a nasty ass dyke! ARTHUR. No she's not gay. Alike we didn't raise you that way, baby. Eyes still downcast, Alike just shakes her head and backs away. AUDREY. There!! You see!! ARTHUR. You shut the hell up Audrey!! Arthur extends his arms toward Alike, his voice trembling. ARTHUR. I know it's not true. You tell your mother right now, Alike. You tell her it isn't true!! Alike meets her father's eyes. ALIKE. Dad— ARTHUR. Don't you lie now, you tell the truth!! ALIKE. You already know. ARTHUR. No, I don't know. You just tell your mother it's just a phase. ALIKE. It's not a phase! LAURA. What I'm saying is, I probably overreacted. And then...I don't know. Seeing you two together or whatever. I'm glad to see you're finally happy. ALIKE. C'mon man, you know you're my best friend. Nobody's gonna— LAURA. You don't need to say anything. I just wanted to get it off my chest. I'm happy for you, that's all. Because I love you, alright? And I'm sayin'...I'm right here. Alike is stopped cold, as the light bulb finally goes off.
1. Your reaction to the film now that you've seen the whole thing? What scene or moment stayed with you from today's viewing—and why?
2. Today in 5th period, Jordan said—and I'm badly paraphrasing—that this isn't a lesbian film or a black film but a coming-of-age film. Do you agree or disagree—or wish to revise what Jordan said? Explain your answer.
3.For 5th period to answer. Several of you—and some in 5th period—said that this was the first independent film you had ever seen. Read this definition of independent film. Stating that everything we've seen up to now are not independent films, what makes Pariah different from them—and thus an independent film? Use a detail from two of the films we've watched in your answer. Do not simply repeat what someone before you has said.
3. For 6th period to answer. We've mentioned the way Dee Rees uses the camera in Pariah. And we can assume that her choices were not completely dictated by the money she had to spend. So how does the way Rees use her camera support the theme(s) and/or message and/or intent of Pariah? Use a specific example from the movie in your answer. Please: do not simply repeat what others have said. Add to what they said; say something different.
4. Aaren wrote yesterday that "when the movie started, I was really shocked because I could not fathom that a teacher would show a movie this raunchy. The first couple minutes were literally in a strip club so the viewer knew that the tone of the film was pretty unorthodox for a high school." I had my worries about showing this for the very reasons Aaren brought up. Do you think this film is appropriate for school? Write 3-4 sentences please. You can, of course, write more.
5. What's one thing you would want to talk about concerning this movie?
PARIAH. (2) One that is despised or rejected: OUTCAST.
Here is the trailer for the film.
SHARONDA. Where you been this late? ALIKE. (whispering) Movies. SHARONDA. Movie ended at midnight. ALIKE. (whispering) Shhh. Shut up. SHARONDA. (whispering) Don't push me. ALIKE. Go to bed. SHARONDA. I know what stays open past midnight. Sharonda puts a hand to her head and does a little dance. ALIKE. Shut up! AUDREY. I know God doesn't make mistakes.
READ THE FOLLOWING:
From a review of the film by Rob Thomas on Madison.com: In another movie, Alike's lesbian experiences would be a broad counterpoint to all this repression and secrecy, a place where she would be accepted an fulfilled. But when she goes out to gay clubs, her lesbian friend, Laura (Pernell Walker), seems to see her mostly as a sexual object, and is as clueless to Alike's real feelings as her family is. That's what I loved about "Pariah," that it sets up a very familar narrative and then makes it painfully real and surprising. The people you think are bad influences in Alike's life may still have something to offer her, and the ones you think might be positive influences can still let her down.
From a review by Wesley Morris on Boston.com: "Pariah" is not a work of thunder. It's a more contemplative film that wants to argue for something that feels revelatory at the movies. This isn't just a coming-out film. It's a racial and sexual coming-of-age. Alike dresses like an AG lesbian—that's "aggressive"—but what if that's not who she is? She discovers that she doesn't just like bohemian hip-hop; she likes hard black rock too. Here we have a movie about the grunt work of identity politics and, at the movies, it's new. This is a 17-year-old girl trying to figure out kind of black woman and lesbian to be.
From Amy Biancolli at SFGate: Alike's story is a painful one—in all the usual ways, expressing all the usual agonies surrounding love and teenagers. The potential for melodramatic overstatement is huge. But except for one or two scenes of ritualized family quarreling, which follow a dog-eared script, Rees avoid the pitfalls of soapy domestic confrontation and instead hones in on Alike's quiet strength. There we find, in Oduye's composed performance, a splash pf determination and humor alongside the inevitable swell of yearning. In one memorably funny (and unexpectedly touching) sequence, she straps on a rubber phallus for a night at the club. But it pinches, it feels awkward, and as she removes it later on, it's obvious that she's shedding something else, too, something more burdensome and useless: falsehood. Coming out as a lesbian is not the same as coming out as a man. It's a process of reduction and revelation, not contrivance and disguise.
From Adam Serwer in Mother Jones: It's hard to remember the last good black coming-of-age film that was not a mere exploration of human misery. Pariah has almost nothing in common with the mainstream black films of the past two decades, most of which consist of romantic and ensemble comedies with bloated casts containing as many random celebrities as actors. It doesn't quite fit with prior critically acclaimed bildungsromans made by African-American directors, most of which have focused on the bleakness of ghetto life and the bloody yield of the illicit drug trade. Have any film characters suffered more than the black children of American cinema? When not being shot to pieces by gangbangers (Boyz in the Hood) or raped by their HIV-positive parents (Precious), they're being given away to live with white families, which is apparently the only place they can find happiness (The Blind Side). It's not that these sorts of films never ring true—it just seems they're the only kind being made.
From Nelson George in The New York Times (watch this!): This is the age of fragmentation, of breaking down of absolutes. These films in their own ways are dealing with identity, with black identity in ways that reflect now and a new generation which is not so racially absolute. "Pariah" looks at terrain that feels like we've seen before and takes us completely to a world we've never seen before.
Dee Rees at work on Pariah:
Dee Rees and producer Spike Lee at the Sundance premiere of Pariah:
OK. Now that you've read and watched, it's time to write.
1. As always: reaction to the film? What did you think—and why? Also: what scene or moment stayed with you? And why?
2. Alike: your reaction to her? What word or phrase best describes her in your mind—and why? Plus: what other character in the movie interested you—and why?
3. Respond to one of the quotes above, beginning with Rob Thomas and through Nelson George. Is there something one of them said that you found yourself really agreeing with really disagreeing with? Or something that you would like to add to? Quote from whatever essay you're addressing.
4. Finally: go to Nelson George's essay and look at the clip at the beginning of it. What strikes you about the films that preceded Pariah and the other recent films George highlights? Maybe you've seen some of them, maybe you haven't. But would you, based on these little snippets, want to investigate them, watch them? And why?
It's taken me several hours to write this post (it is now 6:30). So go ahead and spend extra time on the questions: 400 words in all to respond. See you all on Monday!
