22 posts tagged “black is beautiful”
Ah, the treats you can find in ex-rental bargain bins... for just two pounds each, I managed to score heavily stickered and scuffed copies of Comic Book Villains (terribly uneven and idiotic “comedy”... but Natasha Lyonne is gorgeous throughout), Jules et Jim (the François Truffaut classic) and Civil Brand, which The Onion AV Club’s Nathan Rabin describes as “an ambitious but misguided attempt to say something important about the prison-industrial complex in the vernacular of a sleazy chicks-behind-bars genre movie.” Fun! He goes on to suggest that: “With its grungy lighting, porn-quality production values (among the shabbiest to hit the big screen in years), unconvincing sets, and long static takes, Civil Brand's aesthetic is pure mid-'70s blaxploitation, and not in an ironic or reverent sense. Even the heavy-handed political rhetoric is in keeping with the neo-blaxploitation vibe, since even bad blaxploitation movies often had revolutionary undercurrents.”
Now, I have a fairly high tolerance for inept genre fiction, featuring heavy-handed political rhetoric, because that’s generally the sort of thing that flows out of my fingers when I’m sat at a keyboard... but even I’ll admit that this flick was pretty darn shoddy. Personally I don’t have an issue with the production values, but the writers definitely tried to cram in more melodramatic moments than the plot could successfully service, while still blindly firing off political broadsides. The review aggregate sites Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes awarded ratings of 29 and 11 per cent “good” respectively, which isn’t a great showing, all things considered. The initial concept, I think, is a strong one... comparing modern day prison workhouses to slave plantations... but that point is simply rammed into the viewer’s face, right from the get-go, with such on-the-nose dialogue, that it almost seems like they were trying to get it out of the way so they could have more screentime for the “chicks-behind-bars genre” tropes that we’ve seen so many times before. Well, which Pam Grier fans have seen many times before, anyway.
So why bother blogging about a flick that has already received such a critical kicking? Simply to praise the cast, who do a remarkably good job, considering the context in which they’re performing. Heck, even the “slashies” (rapper/actors) put in some decent turns, with Mos Def as a timid “nice guy” guard, and MC Lyte as his by-the-book colleague. Of particular note were N’Bushe Wright, as ‘Nikki’ the block’s resident badass, and her polar opposite ‘Lil Momma’, a super-cute Christian, played by Lark Voorhies. Apparently Wright was in the first Blade movie, which gives me another reason (as if I needed one) to go back and check it out... but there’s nothing much on Voorhies’ filmography that appeals... although, apparently, I once watched her work in Saved By The Bell. Ick.
As ever, there’s an inherent frustration that comes with this whole ‘Black is Beautiful’ thing, as far as raising one’s own consciousness of talented black women goes... you have to sit through such terrible dreck, just to watch them shine in their fifteen minutes of allotted screen time! I’m not in any position to change that, nor will I ever be... the best I could do is tailor my comic book scripts for such actresses... but I can’t even get them made into actual comics at this point, so I doubt they’ll ever be adapted into films! Sigh... so it goes...
One could probably argue about who the “best” Catwoman was from now until the Bat-cows come home... but for me, the cutest contender has to be Eartha Kitt. Despite her purr-nicious propensity for puns, she was still the most active and engaging interviewee on the DVD for the 2004 Catwoman movie... meaning I’d much rather watch the Extra Features again, than the film itself. With the childhood nickname of “Kitty”, and her way with a rolling “R”, you could almost say she was born to play the part! It might also be worth noting that, in stark contrast to the top-heavy version currently jiggling her way through the comic books, she had a much more suitable body-type as far as cat burglary goes. I know, I’m being a buzzkill, but that’s why I’m here. It’s Political Correctness gone mad!
What I didn’t realise until this morning, when I picked up a CD compilation at Woolworth's, is that Kitt is also an accomplished (and multi-lingual!) singer, with three Tony nominations and two Grammy nominations to her credit. Despite being known for jaunty tunes like ‘Santa Baby’, her own early childhood would provide ample fodder for a Blues career.... but, much like the writer of the liner notes for the album I bought, with its somewhat sketchy and rose-tinted biography, it is not my place to rake over all of that. No, that’s what Wikipedia is for! Speaking of which, let’s crib shamelessly from their article for some of Kitt’s career highlights...
“Kitt got her start as a member of the Katherine Dunham Company and made her film debut with them in Casbah (1948)... Kitt's unique style was enhanced as she became fluent in the French language during her years performing in Europe. She dabbled in other languages as well, which she demonstrates with finesse in many of the live recordings of her cabaret performances... In 1950, Orson Welles gave her her first starring role, as Helen of Troy in his staging of Dr. Faustus... A few years later, she was cast in the revue New Faces of 1952... In 1954, 20th Century-Fox filmed a version of the revue simply titled New Faces. In 1958, Kitt made her feature film debut opposite Sidney Poitier in The Mark of the Hawk. Throughout the rest of the 1950s and early 1960s, Kitt would work on and off in film, television and on nightclub stages. In the late 1960s television series Batman, she played Catwoman in succession to Julie Newmar.”
In 1968 her career hit a bit of a snag, however, when Kitt made anti-war statements during a White House luncheon. “It was reported that she made First Lady Lady Bird Johnson cry. The public reaction to Kitt’s statements was much more extreme, both for and against her statements.” According to her entry at IMDb, Kitt’s comment ran along the lines of, "I am a mother and I know the feeling of having a baby come out of my gut. I have a baby and then you send him off to war. No wonder the kids rebel and take pot." I can’t argue with that. A biographical essay hosted by the University of South Carolina website claims: “She was blackballed and was unable to find work in the U.S., with the exception of a few talk shows. Contracts were lost or cancelled. The CIA developed a file containing personal and professional information. Eartha moved to Europe, where she lived and worked for the next ten years, struggling financially and ignored by many friends. Kitt has said she would have spoken out even if she had known the consequences.” She was later welcomed back by President Jimmy Carter, and has been hard at work ever since, recently picking up an Emmy for her voice-over work on Disney’s cartoon series The Emperor's New School. In addition to her work as a performer, Kitt is also a successful author of three autobiographies, and has been a spokesperson on behalf of abused children for UNICEF.
Sadly, not the Williams sister I was rooting for though! From BBC News:
Venus Williams struggled to come to terms with her achievement after beating sister Serena in straight sets to win her fifth Wimbledon title. "It's monumental," she said. "I would have been more disappointed not making history than not winning the match, if that makes any sense... Winning this title puts you in the stratosphere, because of the prestige." Venus, 28, added it would be a "dream" to surpass Martina Navratilova's all-time record of nine titles. "That would be the ultimate," she said. "It is not easy - her career spanned three decades and I'm not sure if I have that much time. Tennis is so much different now."
Venus had lost both of the sisters' previous meetings in Wimbledon finals, in 2003 and 2003, but her greater composure at key points made the difference on Saturday. "I felt pretty relaxed out there. It was only when the match points came that I was a little tight," she said. "I was maybe a little bit more relaxed than her." The quality of the contest was all the more impressive given the blustery conditions on Centre Court. "It was windy and it kept blowing and swirling and changing direction. It was tough," said Venus. "The level of play was really high. A lot of times one was overpowering the other. We had some really competitive rallies, some intense points where it looked like one of us would win the point, then it swung the other way... We're both proud of what we showed out there."
For Serena, it was her first loss to Venus in a Grand Slam final since the 2001 US Open and she said losing to her sister was no consolation. "It's definitely not any easier. I look at her as another opponent at the end of the day," said the 26-year-old. Serena had a 4-2 lead in the first set before losing it 7-5, and also led by a break in the second before succumbing in one hour and 51 minutes. "I just lost rhythm at the end of the first set and made a lot of errors," explained Serena. "I didn't feel tight but I couldn't get the balls in and nothing I was doing seemed to work."
Then, just a few hours later, the sister were back on court to win the doubles trophy together! That has to take some of the edge off the loss for Serena, I would have thought... though, maybe size does matter where trophies are concerned?
Ack! I was happily watching a live Wimbledon match between Serena Williams and Amélie Mauresmo just now... they were a couple of serves into the second set, with Williams dominating... and the main programme presenter pipes up, claiming that things were "hotting up" with the "number one seed" on another court, so they were cutting away to that one instead! How rude. We were invited to watch the end of the match on BBC Interactive, by pressing the Red Button... but I don't have BBCi, which is (I believe) a digital channel, and I don't have any damn Red Button!!! Instead I’ve had to visit the official Wimbledon website to discover that... Williams won! Hurrah!! And only about ten minutes after the broadcast switched. Tch!
I’ve been de-cluttering my room, but hit something of a block when it came to my comic books. The problem is that the comics I love are fairly obscure, and unpopular, and they aren’t actually worth big bucks to collectors. They’re also very unlikely to ever be collected, or re-printed in the future. Charity shops, as I’ve learned from bitter experience, just throw them into the bins (even g-novels!), so that’s not an option either. Comics are, to be very prosaic about it, merely folded bundles of stapled paper... therefore, they could easily be recycled. But I can’t do it! I just can’t!! I’d feel like a philistine, condemning Art to the furnaces. Granted, it’s not fancy shmancy High Art, but it’s line-art that I love. More than anything else, it holds a ridiculously strong sentimental grip on my heart and soul. I grew up reading these things, when “normal” boys were out playing with knives, puking up cider and getting to “second base”, dammit! They shaped my view of the world, my own drawing “style”, and my “unique” sense of humour. Reason enough to consign them to the flames, some might say...
This was back in the days when you could still buy a subversive, punky magazine like Deadline (1988 - 1995) in every British high street, and thrill to the nonsensical adventures of Tank Girl and the Wired World girls. They were the women I fixated on, and may even have helped kick-start my interest in Feminism! I mean, these chicks were flying jets, driving tanks, and aiming their kneecaps squarely at The Man’s groin. They were fierce, and they were smart, and they were sexy... and sometimes they were vulnerable and human and sad. There’s nothing like Deadline any more, and I think the high street is a poorer place for it. We’re living in a post-Riot Grrrl world, that doesn’t seem to have taken on board anything that was revealed through that brief window into a better world. In my humble opinion.
To be honest, Philip Bond probably gave “Liz Wired” a proper surname, but I can’t find it at the moment, from skim reading the Wired World pages I still have. By and large the girls were referred to simply as Pippa (or "Pips") and Liz, and that’s good enough for me. Of course, she wasn’t the first major black female comic book character, but she was the first one to take a lead role in a British comic book... and, if you ask me, she’s way cuter than Storm of the X-Men. Back then, I wasn’t paying much attention to "positive discrimination", or any serious issues like that, so I never even blinked at her presence in the comic... but looking back it does seem rather ground-breaking. I don’t have a concrete sense of how “integrated” other media were at the time, but for a white boy from a small town in the Deep South of England, it was still unfamiliar territory... Liz and Pippa's friendship was a hint of the multi-cultural possibilities of Big City life, perhaps. Almost twenty years later, and you won’t find a young black Brit character (of any gender) having harmless comedy adventures any more, in any medium... except as an “assistant” to Doctor Who, perhaps. As far as representation goes, it’s mostly just grim inner-city fare, with guns and gangstas to the fore. Obviously that’s a reflection of a very tragic reality, but if no one is setting up positive role models, or sparking imaginations, then isn’t it something of a closed loop? Obviously comic books alone aren’t enough to bring an end to racial disharmony and inequality in this country... but I still can’t help feeling that we’ve taken a few too many steps backward... or sideways... as far as the collective pop-culture consciousness is concerned. And I can’t bring myself to destroy any reminders of a time when the world seemed so much more full of possibility and excitement. They ain’t heavy, they’re my comics!
[Image above very much the property of Philip Bond @ philipbond.net]
Once again, I was powerless to resist the siren call of the sales, and picked up a 2CD re-release of the middle two TLC albums (Crazysexycool and Fanmail), in a cheapo cardboard sleeve. To be honest, the only songs I remember from either album are ‘No Scrubs’, ‘Unpretty’ and ‘Waterfalls’... so just the big hit singles, then. Sadly, in the case of the latter song, I’m far more familiar with the Weird Al Yankovic version than I am with the original... a particular shame, since the track turns out to quite be a moving slice of social commentary. I’d always assumed it was just about straying from your girlfriend, but it’s actually quite a chilling street ballad. If it’s possible to compare music to peanut butter, then I generally find R&B a little too smooth for my tastes, preferring the chunky crunch of Rock, but there is still some texture to these albums, thanks to the rapping, the attitude, and the comedy “interludes”.
May 25th, just gone, marked the sixth anniversary of Left Eye’s death, in a fatal car accident. By all accounts, the woman had quite an eventful life, and not an especially happy one... but since I’ve only just picked up these recordings, there’s no point in me sitting here cannibalising the Wikipedia articles, as if I had followed her story from the get-go. All I know is that, even when I wasn’t taking the slightest interest in the group’s music, Lopes always caught my attention with those exquisite eyes of hers. Apparently her stage-name is a reference to a compliment she once received, that she had beautiful peepers, "particularly the left eye"! If that’s a true story, then I feel rather sorry for the right eye, which looks mighty fine to me! I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to suggest that she is still the prettiest “microphone fiend” there’s ever been.
Aside from her work with TLC, Lopes also cropped up on ‘Never Be The Same Again’, a Mel C song which I used to to have real issues with. I’m over it now, of course. But, just for the record, if you’re dogged by rumours regarding your sexuality, and you don’t want to encourage those rumours, then I would advise against recording a song (and video) with another woman, in which you sing the words: “I can't believe it took me so long to take the forbidden step... Things will never be the same again... It's not a secret anymore, now we've opened up the door... Now I know that we were close before, I'm glad I realised I need you so much more... I don't care what everyone will say, it's about you and me... And we'll never be the same again.” Just saying. The song went to number one in thirty-five countries... and, as noted in the Guardian newspaper’s obituary: “[The song] would have been just another innocuous ballad if [Lopes] had not been drafted in as guest rapper. Her slick rhyming saved the song from anonymity.”
While discussing a solo track she’d recorded, dedicated to her late father, Lopes apparently told MTV News: “That track is dedicated to all those that have loved ones that have passed away. It's saying that there is no such thing as death. We can call it transforming for a lack of better words, but as scientists would say, 'Every atom that was once a star is now in you.' It's in your body. So in the song I pretty much go along with that idea... I don't care what happens or what people think about death, it doesn't matter. We all share the same space." If that’s the case, then I hope she’s at peace... wherever she is...
That’s right... it’s that time of year again, here in the UK. All the good and funny programmes are swept under the carpet, to make way for the “Reality TV” behemoth that is Big Brother, Series NINE! Every year the ratings drop lower and lower, and the programme-makers seem unable, or unwilling, to accept that throwing louder and freakier fame-hungry wannabes at the screen is not the way to lure back the viewers. Of course, the usual snarky answer to avoiding this sort of nonsense is, “Well, don’t watch it then, if you find it so annoying!” This would be a fine solution, except that my Mum and my sister watch every one of these darn shows, and then try to talk to me about the contestants as if they were real people in our lives!
Ch4, in their wisdom, have also taken off my breakfast-time repeats of Just Shoot Me!, so that they can repeat the BB instalments I managed to avoid the previous evening. Meanies. The only, and I repeat ONLY, consolation is that their spin-off show Big Brother’s Little Brother has two new presenters this year, and one of them is Zezi Ifore, the chirpy young lady you see to the left of this rant. Ifore is cute and funny, and used to be a stylist, so she’s always got an interesting look going on. Previously, she presented a pop show called Freshly Squeezed which was buried even earlier in the morning schedules, so I’m glad she’s earned a promotion. She’s gone Primetime, bless her. No doubt, a few weeks in, I’ll start to get sucked into the whole thing myself... but for now, I remain a resolute rebel in my household...
In the name of research, I picked up a copy of The Arena (1973) yesterday... for those who aren’t familiar with this flick, let me quote from the back of the case: “Female gladiators fight to the death! Inspired by the story of Spartacus, follow the adventures of a bevy of slave girls who, upon finding themselves thrust into the gladiator ring, mount a vicious rebellion to fight their way to freedom.” The rebels are led by Pam Grier (playing Mamawi, a “Nubian” dancer) and Margaret Markov (playing Bodicia of “Britannia”, apparently), back together again to re-bottle the lightning they unleashed in Black Mama, White Mama! Never heard of it? Well then, this film probably isn’t for you. This is the sort of “B-Movie” exploitation fare that Tarantino grew up on, and frankly it’s pretty hard to sit through unless you have a predilection for cheesy dialogue and somewhat wooden acting. I’m not sure if that’s the cast’s fault, or if it’s just a side-effect of the restrictive resources... it must have taken a fair bit of cash and rehearsal time to stage the fight scenes, and since that (along with the comely cast) was what people would be paying to see, there wouldn’t have been much point worrying about nuance or depth of character. There are still a few pretty good jokes in there, among the awfully creaky ones, and a lot more going on plot-wise than you might expect... but it’s no Gladiator, obviously.
Grier, however, makes the whole ride a lot smoother, and it’s really no surprise that she has had such a long and largely successful career. To crib from Wikipedia: “Pamela Suzette Grier was working as a receptionist at the American International Pictures company, [before] she was discovered by director Roger Corman, who cast her in his women in prison film The Big Doll House (1971). She became a staple of early 1970s blaxploitation movies, playing big, bold, buxom roles, beginning with 1973's Coffy... and Grier was noted as the first African-American female to headline a film, as protagonists of previous blaxploitation films were all male. In his review of Coffy, film critic Roger Ebert noted that Pam Grier was an actress of "beautiful face and astonishing form" and that she possessed a kind of "physical life" missing from other actresses.” Damn straight! I’ve sat through a number of so-called “blaxploitation” flicks in the past (the covers refer to them as “Soul Cinema” classics), and it if it weren’t for the charm and vim of performers like Grier and Fred Williamson, then there wouldn’t be much there worth watching. This isn’t intended as a slight on those films, as such... I find a lot of the mainstream, even award-winning, cinema from that era un-watchable too. It may just be a generational thing?
The high-point of Grier’s career, arguably, was when QT gave her the title role in Jackie Brown (1997), earning her nominations for both a Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild award. Personally I didn’t enjoy the film much when I saw it at the cinema, and haven’t watched it again since... so now’s probably a good time to get reacquainted. I remember QT remarking that he must have skipped the part in the original novel where Jackie Brown was identified as a honky... but, as far as I recall, it was a fairly “colour-blind” role, so there’s no good reason to question his choice. I'm all for Affirmative Action, personally. Since then, she’s been picking up praise for her TV work, in The L Word and Law & Order, but as ever I don’t get the channels those shows are on over here, so can’t really comment. All I know is that she was one of the first, and certainly the sexiest, action heroines, and a true icon among brassy and sassy cinematic ball-busters... or, to quote one of her posters, “she’s brown sugar and spice, but if you don’t treat her nice... she’ll put you on ice!” Can you dig it?
Since I wasn’t familiar with her previous work in such popular TV shows as Joan of Arcadia and Veronica Mars, I was under the impression that the only famous Poitier was the one they call MISTER Tibbs. But no! Dude has a daughter, and she was featured in Death Proof as ‘Jungle Julia’, the billboard-hogging disc-jockey. Since most of her roles are apparently credited with her full handle, I would imagine that Tarantino was having a joke at the expense of ignorant types like myself, by missing out her middle name. Hilarious! Ah well, it’s hard to bear a grudge against the guy, now that he’s introduced international audiences to so many unfamiliar, and talented, new faces... not to mention their feet...
Meanwhile, I wish I could pronounce "Poitier" the way Isaac Hayes does in South Park... but I'm no Isaac Hayes!
And so, after an eight year absence, the TV show Gladiators has returned to our idiot boxes. Well, not mine, because I don’t get the satellite channels... but that hasn’t saved me from getting swept along by the hype... and by “hype”, I mean “photographs of athletic women in skimpy outfits”. Personally I stopped watching the show long before it was taken off terrestrial television, because it was so contrived and stupid. I love watching Athletics, but it has to be the real thing. I don’t need pumping theme music, unconvincing “character” interaction and whooping crowds with huge foam hands. I just need the genuine beauty of the human body in all its track-stomping, horse-vaulting, high-jumping, spear-hurling, mat-stomping glory. If they went for the same level of insane soap-opera as “professional wrestling”, then that would be a different matter... but Gladiators is far too generic and clean-cut for any of that. It’s unlikely, for instance, that necrophilia will ever be raised as an issue on the show.
As ever, being anal about things like this, the lack of thematic consistency with the Gladiators’ names bugs me, but I’ll try not to let it keep me awake at nights. A couple did make me chuckle though, and one in particular made me frown. First up is poor Shirley Webb, who gets saddled with the name “Battleaxe”. Now, I guess it depends which dictionary you look the word up in, because my computer claims the informal meaning is “a formidably aggressive older woman”, while Wiktionary adds “unattractive” to the mix. Either way, it’s hardly a compliment. If I was a “formidably aggressive” woman, I’d want a name that didn’t make people giggle every time it was announced. Another inspired move was giving Jemma Palmer, an improbably busty WWE Diva and “model”, the name “Inferno”... cuz, y’know, she’s hot. See what they did there?
Slightly more puzzling, or amusing, depending on how familiar you are with recent American history, is their naming a Black female Gladiator “Panther”. Hmmm... I can’t really put my finger on it, but something about that seems odd to me. I somehow doubt very much that it was intended as a tribute to Huey P. Newton and the cause of "black nationalism"... but perhaps this series is going to be edgier than its predecessors? If she comes on with a jaunty beret and an AK-47, you'll know what time it is! Meanwhile, how do I know the name wasn’t Kara Nwidobie’s own idea? Well, one website did little mini-interviews with the new Gladiators as part of the pre-launch publicity, and they actually asked Panther: “If you were an animal what would you be?” Her first answer was... “A horse or a tiger, something fast and strong.” Oops!