Kansas City

This film appears to pay tribute to jazz legends of the 1930s (and 1990s since 90s jazz artists play the parts of the 30s ones) as well as to offer a period-specific plot. I was surprised and pleased by the interesting twists of the plot offered in conjunction with extensive jazz numbers. The set up of this film, however, seems to equate jazz with the troubled underworld experience. Although the most negative characters are white in these films, the jazz almost seems to provide a backdrop for such occurrences. The music seems to not only be a topic within the film but also to move the film along in certain places. More later....

Mo Better Blues

In Mo’ Better Blues, I thought the name ‘Bleek’ was really telling of the hope--or lack thereof--present within the jazz artist’s life; it was pretty bleak. This character appeared to have great difficulty balancing the pressures of career, time, relationship, and art, revealing the very human side of jazz. There is also a critical difference between him and other characters we’ve seen in that the trumpet is not something he himself was obsessed with; from the first scene, it is apparent that the skill was forced on him by his mother, which emasculates his talent throughout the picture, despite his sexual interactions. Not only is the sexual nature of the jazz artist called into question but the cyclical style of the jazz world is highlighted as Bleek attempts to end its hold on his and his family’s life.

Finding himself in a profession in which a man is expected to have sexual mastery, this character is full of contradictions that he himself cannot keep up with. Because he is unable to keep the two women with whom he is engaged satisfied or even separated, he seems to be played himself. He’s definitely not ‘on top’ of things! Unlike the promiscuous mastery of “Bird,” this character is unable to play the game, even saying the wrong name during sexual intercourse with both women! He appears to even be played by Clarke in several scenes. For instance, in one scene she opens her robe to his trumpet. Although the trumpet may be a phallic symbol, her action is more an invitation to jazz and its sensuality than to Bleek himself, for this woman later bites him on the lip, making him angry. Biting him on the lip may likely be representative of when a person bites a coin, placing a notch on it to mark the fact that he/she has ‘had’ it. By biting him, Clarke makes Bleek one of the many she has ‘had’ and owns him rather than being mastered herself by his masculine sexuality. She is also inviting jazz by her desire to sing with the band. In the end, unable to sustain the jazz life--which I don’t think Bleek could have done even if his lip hadn’t been injured--he winds up married and monogamous. I believe it is significant that his lip is the deciding injury from his brawl outside the club; this is the same place he was bitten by Clarke, almost like she marked his failure from the beginning.


Bleek’s marriage appears to be almost an anti-climax and is very unlike other film endings we’ve seen so far. It enables the repetition of the first scene of the movie, revealing the cyclical nature of the jazz life. The varying results of Bleek’s and his child’s practices, however--with Bleek forced to practice rather than play by his mom but Bleek being a man and overruling his wife when his child wants to play--challenges the cycle. This appears significant since the entire film seems to juxtapose the views of the insiders to jazz (Bleek, Shadow, Clarke) and the outsiders (Giant, Indigo, Bleek’s parents, Loan Sharks). In this final scene, Bleek seems to advocate outsider status for his son.

I’ve not had a chance to read our articles yet but am looking forward to finding what others have said regarding these issues as I read today.

Round Midnight

As stated in a Chicago Reader review, this film is yet another portrayal of an “emotionally disarrayed and psychologically disintegrating jazz” musician. Bankrupt and battling addiction, as usual, Dale is a fictional character cast to represent jazz musicians who received a following in Paris in the 1950’s. Despite the drug-free life of Dizzy Gillespie and others like him, it astounds me that the jazz life in this film is once again equated with drugs, addiction, and depression. Not only does the film mirror “Bird” in its style and tone, but it also reveals a paradox within jazz legends themselves.

Like Bird, this film features a non-traditional narrative style in which the facts are relayed through a series of flashbacks and flash forwards, creating a dreamy reverie. Mixed in are black and white home videos that remind the viewer that this is a memorial rather than active narrative. The surrealism of this film is really obvious as it shows several pans of the atmosphere and setting in conjunction with background music (jazz) and voice-overs by the star. These scenes contain, supposedly, the philosophies of the jazz artist that he himself may or may not understand at that point in the narrative. The music in the film is both diegetic and non-diegetic. There are numerous scenes of Dale playing jazz music (diegetic) that reveal the life and art of the jazz musician; it is interesting how the jazz music also acts as background (non-diegetic) for the expression of his thoughts.

Although a good film, Round Midnight is full of paradox--intentional paradox. Unlike the biographical films of Bird, Lady Sings the Blues, and Sweet Love Bitter, this film is the biography of a fictional jazz musician, making the choice to show drug addiction and illness as an integral part of the musician’s life the decision of the director and writers. These are not gathered from a real person’s life. I find this film interesting as a portrait of popular opinion of the jazz artist’s life. The film seems to juxtapose the masculine sexuality inherent in jazz and blackness with the helplessness of an addict who can no longer care for himself. Was this a way of subjugating the art of jazz or the blacks who played it? It certainly calls into question the ‘genius’ of the artist since he appears to lack basic life skills. I’m not advocating that jazz artists are not geniuses in their own right; I am saying that this film only lends credence to an understanding of jazz as a druggy’s venue. While drugs, addiction, and illness were indeed elements within Billie Holiday’s and Charlie Parker’s lives, why must this film of a fictional jazz musician be so morose?

The Book of Urantia - Space is the Place

Wow, um, where to begin? This film tries to bring together Egyptian mythology, a seedy nightclub, and a futuristic cosmic colony of black people all while hinting at the injustices of whites. It’s very surreal and I can’t say that I like his style of music. It’s full of discord, perhaps a statement about earth itself.

Here are several key points I noticed although I do not know what to make of this film altogether. Although whites are clearly the enemy as Sun Ra mentions in the first shots of the film as he surveys another planet for blacks, (He states that he wants to “see what they [blacks] could do with a planet all they’re own with no white people there.”), the film chooses another black man to play The Overseer, the villain of the picture. It seemed from the reactions of the black people that Sun Ra tries to save and take to his planet that the film proposes that oppression can sometimes come from within the victims themselves. In a way, I thought Sun Ra was presenting himself as Messiah, saving his people from a world that is self-destructing; however, not all blacks want to be saved. He proclaims himself to be from outer-space, a theory he upheld in real life by stating that he had been on the planet Saturn. I read several articles on Sun Ra and found that he had studied the Book of Urantia before filming this. This book is based loosely on evolution, science fiction, and the doctrine of the trinity. In it, the each member of the trinity controls certain areas of space and the galaxies within those areas. In this book, the universal father and eternal son, as two of the trinity are called, combine every now and then to form a creator son who is sent to earth as an embodiment of the god’s will. In the Book of Urantia, Jesus is named as only one of these creator sons with more to follow. I really think that Sun Ra is setting himself up as another creator son, equal with Christ; hence, he becomes the savior of the black world.

This idea pervades the entirety of the narrative although Sun Ra finds more identity in Egyptology than Christianity. The narrative begins with him on the outer planet proclaiming that it will be a place of peace for the black. Then, there is his earthly ‘ministry’ in which he defeats the Overseer (like Jesus on the cross) and saves those who are willing, including even a Hispanic woman. The ‘rapture’ of Sun Ra’s followers takes place not a moment too soon as the earth self-destructs (another Christian idea). Then, the narrative deals with alternate creation possibilities, proposing that a new planet can be started which will be inhabited by blacks only. In the Book of Urantia, there are supposedly thousands of inhabited planets, all fulfilling different variations of the religions seen on earth.

Interestingly enough, Sun Ra appears to have truly believed he had a link to Saturn (sometimes claiming he originated there and was unearthly while at other times claiming he was abducted by aliens who communicated with him). This film appears to be his ‘ministry’ to blacks, calling them out from vice toward drug-free, music-directed black power.

The problem, however, that I see with this film and its assertion of black power is its chaotic and surrealistic nature. Few would ever take this seriously and many, I’m certain, would use this film to once again see black advancement as buffoonery. From the quivering hat of Sun Ra in the first scene that he can’t quite seem to keep balanced to the very flat characterization of those in the nightclub, there just isn’t a lot of depth beyond the theoretical, even psychedelic elements common to a 70’s cult film.

Lady Sings the Blues

Wow, what can I say? Lady Sings the Blues is beautifully written but completely contrary to the biographical accounts I found online. Of course, I will have to look up more reputable sources concerning her biography and still need to finish some other reading assignments. I was amazed at the slant provided, showing Billie Holiday as the continual victim. In fact, her drug problem is even blamed on a white band member who is her pusher and the mafia enforcer, her third husband, is presented as a legitimate business man who discourages her drug use. There are so many reversals from the facts that this becomes more a political venue through which the media can stir people up. During the film, I caught myself tearing up despite the fact that I knew many of the scenes and facts were fabricated.

Considering the time this book was written and the film made, I believe this was more media propaganda that used Billie Holiday as a pawn in a bigger scheme to incite certain portions of the American society. Beautifully yet deceitfully done.

'Bird' (DOA, etc. is below this)

Well, I'm posting a little early for the March 24th posting. In light of that, I'm only commenting on 'Bird' so far and will add more later as I read the selected readings. Wow, what a film!

Structure as a Frame for the Biopic Narrative

I have to admit that the first time I watched ‘Bird’, I disliked the hodgepodge style of the flashbacks; however, toward the end of the film, it seemed that the flashbacks were symbolic of Parker’s life flashing before his eyes in his moment of death, a very effective technique. This technique was further simulated by the flashing images during his heart attack toward the close of the film. One interesting thing is that the images continue to flash even after his body has gone limp, signifying that his life was continuing through the memories his music had created. In this way, his legend extended beyond the duration of his physical body. Also intriguing is the image of the juggler on the screen who continues to garner laughs after Parker dies, revealing the temporality of spectacle itself. Although Parker’s daughter verifies in an interview I found that he was indeed laughing at a juggler when he died, this scene says so much. In a way, his life was a tragicomedy in which he was the spectacle, the juggler, who was destined to drop the ball; even in his death, however, he still never ceased to be heard.

Considering the style in which Parker’s life is related in this film, I think the director did a fine job bridging the gap between Parker’s reality and his listening audience, us. Not only do the flashbacks capture a man constantly re-evaluating his life but the ebb and flow of the narrative also promoted compassion for the man himself. The film reached a point several times that one thought Parker would die and the agony would stop; instead, the film would begin on another tangent and you would be caught up in his life again. One must wonder, did he feel the same way, wondering when the nightmare would finally end? Did he feel trapped in his own life? The endless cycle of addiction, incarceration within mental wards and hospitals, and the great number of relationships that went south must have seemed to spiral out of control for him at times. I think the film captured that trapped, spiral effect really well.

Aggrandizement of an Icon: Fact or Fiction?

I had a little trouble finding a film that we have covered already that is on the same plane with this one. So far, DOA, Cabin in the Sky, Check and Doublecheck, etc. have all been fictional narratives which do not seek to sum up a man’s life. To establish a comparison, I watched ‘Lady Sings the Blues’ again, a film that I found largely exaggerated the character of Billy Holiday, glorifying her life and hiding many of the negative things she did (or blaming them on others). Similar to ‘Lady Sings the Blues’, ‘Bird’ seems to glorify Charlie Parker in many areas. One key similarity is the fact that only the last spouse of the star is shown in the film and appears to be the only marriage partner although in reality, both Billy Holiday and Charlie Parker were married multiple times. Chan, in the film, references the many women who claim to be Mrs. Charlie Parker, but the jest is that they were one-night-stands or live-in girlfriends rather than legal unions. As I was so disappointed by ‘Lady Sings the Blues’, I started noting elements of the film that seemed to place Parker on a pedestal. I compared my list against an interview with Parker’s daughter at URL http://www.charlieparkerresidence.net/pages/kimparker_interview.html. Several items on my list included:
* Parker is shown as a fun-loving father to his children despite his drug problem and late-night occupation; I wasn’t sure that the two could co-exist. The film even makes reference to the idea that he wrote two songs for his two older children. Based on the interview with Kim Parker, Parker was indeed a fun father who tried to be there for his children. I could not find verification for the song-writing idea.
* Parker is portrayed as a patient though frustrated man who is the brunt of everyone’s negativity, especially whites. From the nurses in the hospital in the first few moments of the film to Chan and her mother, to the recording agents, to corrupt police who demand bribes, to Southern whites, to even Dizzy Gillespie who may represent in a mild form a black man turned over to white mentality, everyone appears to have nothing but negative feedback for Parker. Although there are points in the film where his playing is praised, the negativity on a personal level is overwhelming; this part of the film certainly bolstered sympathy from me. According to the interview I read, the children were distanced from any controversies --even those between Chan and Parker-- until after Pree died. I’m not sure whether everyone was really that negative toward him or if that was a technique used to garner compassion for his addiction though.
* Another way he was put on a pedestal was the way in which his character tries to ‘kick the habit’ for the sake of Red. I couldn’t find any verification of this except for the fact that Red is still living and could have helped with the filming of ‘Bird.’
* He’s betrayed by Chan in the beginning when she becomes pregnant by another man, but loves her still; however, his philandering--though present--is downplayed. Looking at biographical accounts of Parker, he was extremely promiscuous.

Overall, based on the film’s presentation of the good and bad in Parker’s life, I think that this film is much more realistic than ‘Lady Sings the Blues’. Parker’s addiction and even the tracer marks are shown along with the glorifying elements. Although he does appear as a victim of circumstance in the film, I really have to agree with that image of Charlie Parker, a man empowered through the escape of his music but who continually dealt with personal, relationship, and business failures that emasculated and threatened him. Although the heroic love he has for his wife Chan or his heroic attempt to show Red he doesn’t need drugs may have been part of his character--I couldn’t find proof of this--I think that the paradox of his life as empowered versus emasculated is the strongest link the film communicates about an addicted icon.

Interesting Elements of Jazz

Not only does the film, in my opinion, capture Charlie Parker in an effective, realistic, and moving way, but there are also interesting elements within the narrative that give insight into the world of jazz in its last days before Rock and Roll’s heyday. For instance, the play-off between Buster and Parker in Parker’s youth is a scene repeated throughout the film as one of the events that lead to Parker’s lack of confidence as a man. The play-off is truly competitive; I had never really seen one in action before.

Another element of jazz that I found was communicated well was the sensuality of the art. Parker’s eyes and body movements in relation to key women in his audience jumped off the screen as overtly sexual; the glances between patron and musician as presented by the camera angles really captured the unspoken sensuality of jazz night clubs. I thought that was exceedingly well-done in this film.

Finally, no jazz film would be complete without a reference to Jews. How interesting that Red is Jewish and opens the door for Parker to play for a Jewish wedding. I was unable to verify this so far today but I’m still looking and still reading our reading assignment.

Summation of a Masterpiece

Because I had been so misguided by ‘Lady Sings the Blues’, I had looked at biographical information on Charlie Parker prior to watching this film. I was surprised to see that this film was a much better representation of the real man -- or at least the real man as far as anyone could know him. I know that the film really opened my heart to this artist; having read that he was an addict, I had originally questioned his right to be an icon despite his talent. After seeing a human face on the story though and coming face-to-face with the treatment many deal toward addicts, I realized how much this personal failure shaped his life, his art, and how much the negativity around him likely perpetuated the addiction and health problems. In watching this film, I at once felt powerless to suggest an alternate course for him. Two scenes that haunt me--especially since I had judged him harshly based on cold, hard biographical data prior to viewing the film--are the last conversation he has with Dizzy and his conversation with Red in the bar. As Dizzy explains why it’s important to defy stereotype and not do drugs, Parker’s character replies “I can go to a doctor over here and pay $50 and feel no better. I can go to another doctor over there and pay $75 and feel no better. But I can go to a man on the corner and pay him $10 and suddenly my ulcers don’t hurt any more, my liver don’t hurt any more, and I’m at peace. That’s heaven to me.” I must admit that brought tears to my eyes. Was jazz itself an escape from pain too? In the scene with Red, Parker’s character asks Red if he expects to see 40. Red turns the question on Parker as he leaves the bar. Parker, with a ghost form of the doctor from his youth hanging over his shoulder, says “I’m different.” It is such a final statement. He has given up on himself.

Although spectacle is the glory of jazz, it almost seems in this film to point out the pain of spectacle. As Parker finds himself so ill he can’t hold a sax in this arms, he must submit himself to the crowds as a spectacle to make a living. There is no private recourse for his suffering; he is ever on-stage, a sideshow freak where his whole life is open to the dissection of the masses. I just had this eerie feeling of an animal in a cage at the zoo whose only salvation is to continue to be the savage sideshow.

DOA and The Sweet Smell of Success

‘DOA’ and ‘The ‘Sweet’ Smell of Success’ (‘Sweet’) both are excellent examples of the public’s perception of jazz in the 1940s-1950s. This was the period in which modern jazz, the ‘white’ upper-class derivative of the 1920s hot jazz of the night clubs, had taken hold of music halls. The music was not only the language of the night club but was being performed within more ‘respectable’ establishments as well. The interesting thing about these two films is the fact that they remind the viewer of the street-level beginnings of the genre. Despite the fact that jazz had become more acceptable for the viewing public, it was still associated with a particular class of people and the vices prevalent within that segment of society.

This is apparent in the films’ perception of whites and blacks in relation to jazz. Although DOA and ‘Sweet’ offer opposite views of whites in respect to the genre -- in DOA, the white protagonist, Frank Bigelow, is an outsider and spectator of the world of jazz and in ‘Sweet’, the white protagonist, Steve Dallas, is an insider and participant in that world -- the value statements are similar. Whites in both films appear to be tainted by their associations with jazz, which in turn seems to envelope them in its web of influence.

Bigelow, for example, is portrayed as a very out-of-place figure at the jazz bar. The sinister undertones and frenzy of the music during the scene give the impression that Bigelow is surrounded, caged by savagery and lewdness. It is during this scene that he receives the fatal drug that kills him. The association of the jazz scene with vice is overt as Bigelow arranges to meet an upper class woman, who behaves like a beatnik, later for non-committal entertainment. The people who have invited him to the bar are lewd, drunken, and out of control. Even the close-up shots of the musicians are presented at odd angles which exaggerate their features as they play, making the entire spectacle foreign and menacing. Even as he retreats from the suffocating environment, he is indelibly marked by that brush with jazz as the poison works through his body. Subsequent references to shady characters in the underworld of big crime seem to point back toward the jazz bar. Hence, the message is that whites are tainted by the jazz scene.

For Dallas in ‘Sweet’, there are similar connotations. As a guitar player, he is an active participant in a jazz band. Although playing itself does not result in danger, his association with the genre makes him unfit for marriage to JJ’s sister. Consider that JJ represents the white power within the country and popular opinion. The relationship between Dallas and Susan appears to suggest a type of miscegenation, intermarriage of the races which was frowned upon during this time period. Although Dallas is physically white, his occupation is reminiscent of African-Americans. He does not speak the vernacular but it is apparent that his individual decisions are limited due to his association with a jazz band, even to the point that he must secretly court Susan and kiss her behind the building in an alley. Could this film be propagating the idea that it is preferable to be a goon than be associated with a black-dominated field? In the end, of course, the girl chooses to stay with the jazz player but the ending also suggests a shaky existence for them. JJ doesn’t lose his power over the press or public opinion--only over the youth, hence the next generation. Whether JJ will continue harrassing the jazz player with allegations of drug abuse--which, as portrayed by the film’s law enforcement, seems a common malady of the genre--or whether he will continue to keep Dallas from acquiring a job is unseen. In a way, the film appears to validate the jazz player -- notice all jazz players are white though -- but it also reveals the shame still prevalent during the time period of being associated with a black profession.

Several key elements of the films include the positioning of powerful figures within the narratives. The powerful whites in both pictures are spectators of jazz: the man who poisons Bigelow and controls his every breath sits and listens at the bar and JJ is often at the club. His every command is obeyed even in the choice of musical numbers, revealing the limitations of the jazz musicians. Both films appear to juxtapose those controlled by jazz and those who control jazz. People who participate in jazz (Dallas) or fall under its spell (Bigelow) are forever entangled in its snare, resulting in heartache and vice. Those who are powerful enough to sit back and orchestrate the medium--JJ--remain untainted although they may have personal failings.

Another key to both films is the power of visual perception. In DOA, there are many instances where Bigelow appears to hallucinate. It is not framed by the fade in and fade out, but rather is suggested by the myriad of images. This is especially apparent in the bar scene where the frenzy of the music coincides with the rapidity with which the screen changes to different viewpoints. It reveals a dizzying spectacle, somewhat resembling a drug trip. In ‘Sweet’, the power of perception is used by Susan to manipulate the two most powerful and dangerous men in her life. What appears as a suicide scene to one man -- Sid Falco -- transforms into a rape scene in the eyes of JJ as he views Sid cradling the body of Susan after he ‘rescues’ her from jumping. The twisting of these perceptions by JJ in his dealings with Sid and Susan also merits attention. When reporting Sid, JJ appears convinced that it was an attempted rape, but he quickly refers to it as a suicide as he tries to keep Susan from leaving. The fallibility of perception and the numerous ways one instant can be interpreted appears to be important to the tone of the film since the jazz musician is, likewise, one person viewed through many different lenses. By the upper class whites, Dallas is viewed as a threat to Susan’s purity and place in society--a character whose involvement in drugs (although this is staged by Sid and JJ) is viewed as part of his profession. By Susan and the sentiments of the narrator/director who controls viewer perceptions, Dallas represents the small American man who attempts to stand up to big business and corrupt popular opinion. These nuances of perception are what make ‘Sweet’ a success as an indicator of the ever-shifting interpretations of blacks, jazz, and culture in the 1940s-1950s.

Cabin in the Sky

Paradox reigns supreme in ‘Cabin in the Sky.’ Whether it is between the devils and angels, God and Lucifer, men and women, religious and sinful, or the wealthy and the poor, the entire plot centers around opposites with which Joseph ‘Little Joe’ Jackson is faced. While the film attempts to present the ‘pleasures of sin for a season’ in contrast to the eternal reward of righteousness, the plot appears to be weakened by the countless flashbacks and the lack of consistency when Little Joe is welcomed onto the heavenly staircase with his wife despite his philandering. Furthermore, despite the fact that Little Joe is supposedly a round character who is supposed to be developing the plot, he appears no stronger at the resolution than he did in the beginning, suggesting a cyclic nature of man in which men cannot rise above temptation. God is viewed as a spineless pushover. Overall, I thought the plot wreaked of stereotypes and inconsistencies.

I did, however, find the juxtaposing of various female African-American stereotypes interesting. It was interesting how clear-cut the distinction was between the Mammy-figure of Petunia Jackson and the Vixen-figure of Georgia Brown. The mammy, as usual, created a home atmosphere, cooking fine food, attending the church, singing all day happily, and mothering her husband while the vixen--as usual--was self-centered, vain, and enjoyed tempting men for the fun of it. The film does not offer the viewer a vision of a larger black woman as a vixen or a thinner black woman as a mammy. It appears that the physical characteristics dictate the personality and character of the woman. I initially thought that Georgia Brown offered a deviation from this pattern with the conversion of Georgia Brown; however, this turned out to be a dream of Little Joe’s. The message behind the ‘revelation’ that this could only happen in a dream astonishes me. I wonder how much the black actors and actresses understood about the stereotypes they were portraying. Why would anyone seek to sustain such a one-sided view of themselves? Overall, this film presented much less depth of character than that presented in ‘Check & Doublecheck’ or ‘The Jazz Singer.’ It is a narrative filled with stock characters that are not very interesting except as evidence that Americans still held the mammy and vixen stereotypes as truth in 1943.

This says a lot about the American public, however, in that they appear to have believed that blacks could not be a threat to the rest of society. If these characters are so bound up with their own cares and temptations, they cannot be expected to ‘lift the race’ as we discussed last week with Dubois. The acceptance of Little Joe’s philandering and constant failures by God appears to denote that blacks cannot help but be mischievous tricksters and that even God doesn’t expect much better of the race, allowing them into heaven still. I don’t know quite what to think of this film, but I was not impressed. American film seemed to be in the stone age still in reference to its views of African Americans.

GBS and Amos & Andy

GBS and Amos & Andy

I must say that I find it intriguing that one of the most accomplished playwrights at the turn of the 20th century, George Bernard Shaw, would list the Amos and Andy show as one of the three things he would never forget about the United States. Considering the depth of character and extensive repertoire of historical narrative present within his works, I am astounded that he was so impressed by 15 minute sketches of blackface minstrelsy. It appears that he matched the series with everything that is American. It intrigues me because blackface comedy seems to contradict everything that Americans during the 1920s appeared to have promoted: individualism, freedom from the status quo, etc.

Today, of course, most Americans would not wish to be likened in any way to blackface minstrelsy so how could so many condone it in the 1920s and 30s? One reason, of course, is presented by Lott in the fact that Americans were seeking a uniquely American artform to call their own rather than the European knock-offs of the past two centuries. The idea of the United States being a melting pot, a concept that was alive and well in the Whiteman film in 1930, may be one reason that comedy rooted in blackface minstrelsy was acceptable to most Americans. As implied by Lott, blackface routines were often a conglomeration of African-American humor, White/Jewish wit, and staging. Also, the blackface sometimes did not even seek to denigrate African-Americans but rather functioned as an alternate self through which one might voice opinions or make judgments about the political climate. (Of course, I have to wonder why political or even social opinions would have to be masked during the 1920s era. It seems, through the changes in clothing styles and social mores we have viewed in shorts and films from the era, that the youth of the 1920s-30s sought to openly challenge the status quo.)

Another reason that blackface may have seemed less immoral during the time is the fact that Americans were submerged in a society with very definite stereotypes. During my reading for my research paper, I found a number of 1920s-30s publications that dealt with what was known as the 'negro problem.' The astonishing thing is that the tone of the authors was seldom emotionally-charged nor did the texts appear to purposely denigrate African-Americans. Throughout a number of articles and books which appear to render African-Americans as objects to be studied or as sub-humans to be managed, there is very little defensiveness in the diction and tone of the authors--a fact I found interesting, considering the fact that many of the statements were scandalous to me. The authors, however, appear to have been writing what they felt was the truth. Their reasoning and logic during the time period would have seemed sufficient; a number of the articles were even written by scholars in academia. Hence, the many Americans who supported minstrelsy--in particular, Amos and Andy--as a national artform likely did not intend to degrade and alienate an entire portion of American society. They merely lived in a society governed by stereotypes which paraded as truths; these stereotypes would simply take years to challenge and overcome.

I don't say this to pardon the injustices of a humor that added insult to injury (literally), but rather to promote an understanding of the fact that the 1920s-30s was a stage in the process of 'becoming.' The United States, which prior to 1965 operated on the basis that African-Americans and Whites were on opposite ends of the spectrum, has had to climb out of a depth of ignorance, bigotry, and stereotype. The time period of Amos and Andy was merely a step along the way. If anything, I think that the Amos and Andy show kept the race question in the public eye. Several of the articles I read advocated a complete separation of the races to the point that entire cities would be established to maintain distance between African-Americans and Whites. Such distance could not grow into a unified nation nor foster understanding between the two camps. Amos and Andy kept the dilemma of integration at the forefront of public policy by merely presenting non-heated, non-controversial (for the time period) comedic sketches with nice, neat little resolutions. Even though most sketches did not even involve whites, they reminded the nation of the difficulties in transition between one way of life and another.

Even though I shutter to think that comedies rooted in blackface minstrelsy might have been presented to the world as America's unique artform earlier in the 20th century, I respect the fact that it was a stage in the learning process.

I apologize if this post seems disjointed but I had written about a page and a half earlier when I decided to scroll up, highlight, and save my work. Scrolling up on blogger.com results in erasure, by the way! Very aggravating! Anyway, I may have missed some stuff here but just ask me Tuesday night. Grrrrr.

The King of Jazz is...a balding white guy?

Wow, interesting film. I was surprised at first by its lack of plot but I think this omission allowed me to view the film techniques more closely. Many of the techniques seem ahead of their time for a 1930 film. The illusory ghost figures in ‘My Bridal Veil’ as well as the way in which pictures fade into real characters in ‘It Happened in Monterey’ really interested me. I was unaware that they knew how to perform these types of visual effects at that early stage in film production. I’m certain that these effects were part of the film’s drawing power during the 1930’s.

Another wonderful part of the film was the collection of songs by Bing Crosby and the ‘Rhythm Boys’. I am a big fan of Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, etc. so I really enjoyed his first debut. The songs were often senseless, such as the song about bluebirds and blackbirds, but they had really catchy tunes. Very fun! I'm not quite sure I really could see their songs as jazz though. If they are to be considered jazz, I will need to rethink my research paper topic because jazz is much more diverse than I figured. Hmm...

HOWEVER: Although the effects are interesting and the ‘Rhythm Boys’ entertaining, I had trouble accepting Paul Whiteman as the supposed king of jazz. Jazz seems to carry with it a kind of sensual, sexy appeal that a round-faced white man with a tiny moustache just doesn’t have. He looked more like a character in the Laurel and Hardy sketches. I was further intrigued--and disappointed--by the absolute absence of musical numbers that reflected the roots of jazz. Jazz in this film seems a more upper class operatic production than the improvised, highly individualistic art it was. This is further reflected in Whiteman’s presentation of the band, which is contained within a box. Could this film be attempting to put jazz into a nifty, little, controllable box? While it is true that the film may reflect the flapper scene and the luxurious party-life of the 1920’s, it is out of touch with jazz roots. It reflects what jazz had become among the white elite, which is pretty one-sided.

One reason that the film might not have captured the sensuality of jazz may be the restrictions surfacing in the film industry at this time. In 1930, the Production Code was adopted which restricted film content. In fact, an article I found about “The King of Jazz” states that three sketches were cut from the original version because of the code. Here’s a link to the code: http://www.artsreformation.com/a001/hays-code.html. Amazing as it may seem, this code lasted until 1967! No wonder Westerns and thrillers were so clean! No wonder love scenes were created through the power of implication! No wonder the full nature of jazz was restricted! Hmmm....
More later....

Crowd Exposure of Carnival Vs. Solidarity of the Psyche?

I suppose I never really considered the idea of an artist’s performance as an element of cultural change or representation; it has always appeared to me to be highly individual: the singing style of Barbra Streisand, the worship leading of key singers such as Andre Crouch, the personality apparent in Bill Cosby’s comedy. According to ‘The Performance of Culture,’ jazz-related, theatrical, and cultural presentations are presented as another form of Carnival; the author appears to believe that many cultural practices -- weddings and concerts, for example -- are a display that can either reinforce cultural norms or subvert them. The key to the argument appears to be that these performances of group-induced. Although the arguments in the articles we read appear to make sense, I have to question whether jazz artists themselves would put this much thought into their performances. For me, the image of Carnival conjures images of the brightly colored masks, the society-defying behaviors of the participants, and the frenzy of the crowd, which make any carnival celebration a production of the masses. Contrast this with the following article on “Performance in society” in which the author brings about the psychoanalytical element of performance and you have quite a quandary. The fact that performance is both an act of group demonstration and a selected ‘self’ which may or may not differ from the actual self is interesting. One must wonder whether the short films this weekend reflect a mass movement of a culture away from the status quo or if it is truly an outcry of the individual within.

The original premise of several of the articles appears to be that performance “can work within a society precisely to undermine tradition, to provide a site for the exploration of fresh and alternative structures and patterns of behavior” (“The Performance of Culture” 13). My question is, at what point is performance an outcropping of the psyche? How can we discern whether an artist’s performance is him/her being himself/herself or him/her presenting a projected self? To what extent is the performance a self-created persona in relation to one’s true identity (take, for example, Miles Davis’s habit of playing with his back to the audience)? Furthermore, is that projected self a conscious decision to join a mass movement to defy society’s idea of normalcy -- similar to the Carnival analogy -- or is it a self-aggrandizing mechanism? a coping mechanism? a deeply-rooted personality flaw? One tenet of jazz is the individuality of improvisation as apparent in the works of Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis. Were their improvisations the result of a cultural push for equality and justification or were they individually seeking to find themselves? Hmm, questions...

I haven’t quite finished all the articles yet but these are some of the questions I’m finding floating around in this head of mine so....what’s your take on it? Maybe the mention of such conflicting phenomena (Freud, Carnival, etc.) has me thinking. Anybody else have these mental conflicts?

Blackface, White Noise - Literary Noise?

My strongest reaction to the reading this weekend was to the Blackface, White Noise article. Having already viewed the movie and made a number of inquiries of my own, I found that my views and those of this author completely differed. For instance, he states that “the jazz singer escapes his Old World identity through blackface.” Although I agree on the surface, I believe there is so much more than escapism being shown in the film. There is a values statement against the old world. The tenor of the music and the close-ups of Jackie’s father in his rage appear to promote the idea that the old world is not only out-of-touch but is fanatical, establishing--via paradox--jazz as the new norm at a time when it may not have been.

I also find it interesting that this article is so one-sided in its treatment of racial spectacle in ‘The Jazz Singer’. While the article openly disparages the treatment of blacks via blackface in the film, it just about completely ignores the Jewish spectacle: the frantic, emotional responses of the mother and the out-of-control rages of the father. Furthermore, there aren’t any blacks at all in the film to even have a reaction against. Rogin states that “Jack is the ‘master minstrel” and that “his blackface double is his slave.” This would seem in alignment with Moisha Yudelson’s comment that Jackie looks like his own shadow; however, Jackie’s stardom does not appear to be linked strictly to the blackface mask in the film although it may have been in real life. I agree that Jackie uses blackface to assist him in showbiz but only one song is sung in blackface; the rest is without the mask. Furthermore, according to Jeffrey Melnick’s book, A Right to Sing the Blues, many Jews felt similar discrimination as Blacks and, therefore, felt they were not prejudiced when donning the blackface mask. They felt it was part of their identity and used it to subvert the upper classes as well. To read this article, you would think the Jewish Americans were sneaky, wicked little men stepping on Blacks to climb a ladder. I cannot completely believe such a story, considering the time period in which jazz had a foothold. Prejudice appears to have run rampant against those who were not the white elite. It is unfair as well as blind to only consider the prejudices against Blacks in ‘The Jazz Singer’ when there is so much more going on in the movie and the period.

Critical Eye

Well, I haven't posted much on this book because I read it before class began so I had to skim my notes on it today. I think the book was incredibly interesting! I have written and directed dramas for community and religious organizations since I was 17 and still had no idea what all went into the making of a film. Wow! Anyway, I now have 3 sets of notes on this book: things I could use in drama to enhance the message and presentation, things I think will be important in studying jazz in film, and movies I want to watch again. For instance, I had no idea that Alfred Hitchcock used the same shot 3-4 times in 'Rear Window' and that we automatically attribute the 'appropriate' emotions to the character being shown based on the content he appears to be viewing (Jimmy Stewart). I had to rewatch that movie just because of this book! I had never caught that before!

The fact that film directors have even used a wheelchair to move a camera through doorways seems so funny to me. I guess my one comment on film-making is that I feel film companies do not have to be as creative nowadays as they used to be. Thanks to computer graphics, one can achieve astonishing special effects without really going out on the limb. I guess that's why I value older films much, much more; the crews had to have ingenuity to create the effects. Sometimes their attempts worked really well and other times, they are noticeably staged. The interesting part to me is trying to figure out what they did to create the image. This book really gave me a lot of insight! I loved it! (Of course, I'm a movie buff for these older films, mentioned within the book.)

Black Like You

Well, I've just finished the first chapter. I've googled a number of artists, comedians, and movies mentioned so far. This is quite an eye-opening text so far. I have to agree with the author that there appears to be a double-standard in what is considered politically appropriate. Why are the comedic routines of Shirley Q. Liquor any more offensive than "White Chicks"? I'm also aware that most academic institutions base their admissions practices on a point system in which African Americans and other minorities receive 'points' toward admission that whites do not receive; this appears to favor one side unequally and pulls the race card to the forefront again. This may well be one factor that has promoted the re-emergence of blackface on college campuses (although it does not justify it).

Another aspect which captured my interest was the author's take on the representations of history in recent years. He states that "history is not only rigidly interpreted, [but is] in fact rewritten or edited to fit the new paradigm" (30). Having collected older films, radio shows, and books as I have, I had already noticed the striking difference in the voice of authors/directors/writers over the years. In my opinion, in an effort to pacify activist groups, we have begun to vilify America itself. Yes, we may have made mistakes in the past, but few are looking deeply into the impetus that created opportunity for these mistakes. Postmodern writing, in its supposed effort to understand truth, has grayed the lines of race, gender, and sexuality in such a way that our younger generations are growing up confused. At the same time, many activists push for identity-respect based on these very characteristics they have attempted to destroy. These are strange times.

Perhaps minstrelsy is one of the elements of popular culture that brought the discourse of race into play, enabling such experimentation today. Could it perhaps promote understanding of our uniqueness as individuals through satire of commonly-held stereotypes?

Moll Anderson wisdom

It's never too late to be what you might have been!

Philosophy by Moll Anderson

Let go of the belief that the past could have been any different.

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