Monday, February 25, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
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....
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....
Monday, February 11, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, February 4, 2008
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.
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.
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