Christmas Letter 2012

Christmas Blog 2012

As I write this, I'm sitting on a plane to Los Angeles for Christmas. It's my first Christmas away from Mississippi, away from the comfort of my traditions, the first time in over twenty years that I won't spend it with my husband who will be in MS taking care of Muffin, and the second without my mother whom I lost in January 2011. Last Christmas, I was desperate to have Christmas to make it appear that I was okay. I got the tree, did the shopping and wrapping, and kept my aunts happy as I could. As was custom... But things weren't completely customary. I never finished decorating the tree.

But this Christmas is a little different.  I couldn't quite get into the Sprit of shopping, wrapping, decorating.  My new Hallmark ornaments never made it out of the bag. There is no tree in my house.  On Sunday, my hands were itching. I assumed that I was having an allergic reaction to something in Walmart. We should all itch in Walmart. On Monday, faced with the knowledge that I would have to wait until Friday to really finish shopping, I started itching again and realized that I was breaking out in hives. Hives, an inherited gift from my father, alongside my brown eyes and woodchuck teeth (as my mama called them).  Red blotches decorated both legs, and my hands were on fire. The hives eased but kept coming back in spurts.  On Thursday, I learned that the gifts from my father wouldn't arrive. Hives.  Clearly, my body is telling my something is wrong with my life. Friday morning, sitting in a car with my friend, Crystal, trying to get my godson a pair of Jordans (yes, really) from 2:30 to 7:30 am, I  realized that I hadn't gotten him anything yet. He didn't get the Jordans. That was what he wanted, and I couldn't deliver. Hives. On Friday afternoon, unsuccessful in my gift quest,  I had a full-blown attack from my face to my back to my feet. I was in the Renaissance in Ridgeland, scratching like a Donald Goines's dopefiend. Not a good look.  I rushed home to down Benadryl like it was a Marker's Mark and coke, calmed down, and went out again. Found my three major gifts. On Saturday, I finished shopping, delivered a few gifts, received a few. No hives.

So, now, on Sunday, my 38th birthday, I'm sitting on a plane to L.A. reading a story about a man, a close-knit town, and a 217-year old tree.  The man, Frank Knight, had taken care of the trees in his town for over fifty years and one tree in particular, Herbie. Herbie had been profiled as one of the oldest, most beautiful trees in the country, and while he wasn't human, he allowed others to find and embrace their humanity in a time of inhumanity. I suppose this story was included because it speaks to the spirit of the holiday season.  People are a little nicer, we give to charities to help the less fortunate without realizing that we are the ones who are being saved, and come together as families to renew our commitments to each other. And yet, we can't seem to carry that humanity past the middle of January.

Interestingly enough, I have been thinking a great deal about the humanity of man, and this story reminded me of what I have always known but just couldn't quite capture because I was wallowing in my own pain. A few weeks ago, in conversation with a younger colleague who is routinely dismissive of others and everything, I said, "You must allow a person their dignity, their humanity, their traditions even in the midst of inevitable change."  In my new position, I am finding balance between my relatively kind nature (if I do say so myself) with the hard choices the position dictates.   People have said things to me like "Don't forget what it's like" or "Don't become one of them."  One even said that I liked people too much for the job. Well, perhaps. But I can't do my job without people, and what I know for sure is that in order for people to really work eight hours a day with you and for you, you must honor their humanity.  In honoring theirs, I am honoring my humanity, and I hope that when I have to make hard decisions, I can do it in a way that acknowledges both.

So, rather than give you a sappy list of the best Christmas films, or even give you a list of films that explore the humanity of man, I ask only that you seek humanity in the likeliest and unlikeliest of places, books, films, and most importantly, people.  

And just maybe, if we try hard enough, we can extend the goodwill of the season until at least June.

Well, maybe one Christmas film: Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas.

Merry Christmas! Happy Kwanza! Happy Hanukkah! Happy Holidays!

Let's go to the Movies

A few weeks ago, I was having a conversation with two of my students, Cindy Lyles and Danielle Hall, about film.  I explained that I learn something from every single film I've every seen--from big budget to independent.

Take Love Jones (1997) for example.  Our shared love of Larenz Tate (Darius) and Nia Long (Nina)'s love story had us quoting lines of poetry and dialogue, talking about love, fleshing out the details for the sequel (I will gladly share with studio execs for a small fee).

And while we swooned at Darius's final plea to Nina, which for those who don't remember, although how could you forget, is: This here, right now, at this very moment, is all that matters to me. I love you. That's urgent like a motherfucker." Damn. Larenz has been away too long...

But it's Isaiah Washington's Savon who has the most profound and life-altering line from the film:

"Falling in love ain't shit.  Somebody please tell me how to stay there."

The truth.  

What we love and continue to love about Love Jones is that its steamy sensuality, its banter, its highs and lows, and even Bill Bellamy's Hollywood (smile), seemed so real, so attainable, and very much like our everyday lives and friendships. Young professional black people falling in love. Negotiating. Navigating. Succeeding. Failing.  It's not a "masterpiece of minimalism" but a masterpiece of redemptions.

And who doesn't want to know that a man was running through the train station to find you, or welcome you home with open arms after you've left him, or court you with "In a Sentimental Mood" before he made love to you. Darius gave us hope.

Fast forward fifteen years. And yes, we're still waiting on a sequel to Love Jones and will wait until they give us one--a good one.  Until then, we have Steve Harvey's adaptation of his book Act Like a Lady...Think Like a Man.  The film, Think Like a Man, is a pretty decent date-night film.  While the writing sometimes leaves a little to be desired, the all-star cast makes up for it, especially a delicious cameo by Morris Chesnutt.  Meagan Good, Taraji P. Heanson, Regina Hall, and Gabrielle Union serve us well as women who are looking for the One and willing to put in the work to do so.  The media blitz was clear.  We had to see this film. Opening weekend.

Efforts paid off... A $33 million dollar weekend!  The first non-Tyler Perry predominately African American cast film to do so in recent years.  (Not Perry-bashing today, but it definitely demonstrates to Hollywood that black audiences, white audiences, audiences period, would show overwhelming support for other films.  

I'm not going to reveal details.  I don't want to spoil the ending, and I want to see it again with a more critical eye. But it's worth it. And even between Kevin Hart who was sometimes a little over the top and Michael Ealy's steamy, yet casual sexuality and gorgeous blue eyes, I still learned something new about who I was as a girlfriend and who am now as a partner, friend, and wife. But I'll keep those details to myself.

So... it's second weekend. This is not a "male-bashing chick flick." This is a film for adults of both sexes (and all races) looking to connect, to discuss, and to love--again, continuously, or for the first time.

The film needs to earn at least another $20 million--especially if we want to make the case for that Love Jones sequel!

(And I'll discuss the Sparkle trailer later...smh.)

Magnolias,
Candice Love Jackson

African Americans and the Academy Day 1

I know this a few days late.  Forgive me.

Turner Classic Movies's Now Playing for the month of February highlights Oscar winning films and performances.  So, I spent a good hour combing the schedule for people of color.  I finally found a group of them late in the month under the American South.  Of course.

So, Candice Love Jackson's tribute to the Oscars will give you a film a day that highlights a noteworthy performance or technical triumph.

We begin with, of course, one of the greatest cinematic achievements in film--Gone with the Wind.  Those who know me knew this was coming.  Hattie McDaniels's Oscar-winning performance as Mammy is, by far, the one of the most stellar in the film despite having very little screen time.  She elevates the role of the domestic by humanizing her in such as way that the audience had to see Mammy as real.  Hattie McDaniel's Mammy is not the silent, childlike character who moves through scenes as window dressing.  She commands attention in her scenes and holding court against her fellow actors, stealing many of the scenes with a look or grumble.

1. cajoling Scarlett into eating before the Wilkes BBQ/Party  or 

2. fussing about the confederates' "crawling clothes and dysentery"

Gone with the Wind is epic, and whatever your ideas are about its inherent glorification of the racist South, Hattie McDaniel, Butterfly McQueen, and Oscar Polk offer stellar performances that make tangible contributions to the success of the film.

Finally, I offer you a clip from Hattie McDaniel's Oscar speech.  If the Academy expected Mammy to attend the ceremony, they were sadly mistaken because Hattie McDaniel came instead.