Django Unchained: A Review

Django Unchained: Reversing the Fairytale Paradigm and Magical Negroes

Those who know me well know that I have been following Quentin Tarantino's work for a long time, so I have anticipated the release of Django Unchained for quite a while. Its subject matter is classic Tarantino, and from his Nazi-era film, Inglorious Basterds, I knew that his slavery-era piece would be met with both excitement and trepidation. But my main concern has been whether Django Unchained would present such a fantastic representation of slavery that those unfamiliar with the history of transatlantic slavery would see the film and create alternate histories of slavery in America that would include the fictional Django in conversation with Cinque, or even Nat Turner. Django could and would eclipse Roots, Shaka Zulu, and Amistad unless real work was done to educate folks about the history of transatlantic slavery and its realities. Unfortunately, in this anti-intellectual society, Django could very well become the definitive slave movie. If so, we are doomed. Doomed, I tell you. Freaking doomed.

I find it interesting that B.E.T. decided to program Alex Haley marathons of Roots and its sequel, Roots: The Next Generations as well as Queen. After two (three?) decades of fluff and soft-porn videos, some honcho decided to be culturally conscious. I'm pleased but not impressed. Perhaps, if we had more year-round socially conscious programming, B.E.T. would have had to exhaust the week of Christmas trying to combat the perceived threat of Django Unchained. I stand firm on this soapbox because I have made a point throughout my career to show Roots in either part or its entirety to my students--black and white. The goal: to teach them to be racially conscious, not racist. So there.

By the way, has any "black" channel done anything to highlight the sesquicentennial of the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation?

But what also intrigues me in the days before the premiere were the comments from Spike Lee and Katt Williams. Spike says he won't see it. It's disrespectful, he says. Well, now, Spike. That's the same type of myopia with which folks regarded Bamboozled. And this was simply because of the marketing strategy. Newspapers wouldn't print the ads; theaters didn't want to carry the film; and folks wouldn't see it. And it was one of Spike's best films. If you think Tarantino is wrong, make your own film about slavery. I'd love to see it. Black filmmakers have to start telling the stories that need to be told before others tell them. (Where was this righteous indignation when George Lucas said that if Red Tails didn't make money, it was the end of black cinema? And did he call Spielberg to lament the absence of a significant African American presence during the ratification of the 13th amendment in Lincoln? Alas, that is another review.

Katt Williams, who really should be seeking a lawyer and treatment, has threatened bodily harm, because Tarantino's films use "nigger." Okay, Katt. Really? What bothers me about that argument is that perhaps you should object with a more contemporarily set film. But what WORD or variations do you think slaveowners were using during this period? This reminds me of one of my student's plays at SIUE. She's white, lesbian, and Jewish and has written a play set on a slave plantation in Tennessee during the 1800s. Her classmates were brutal, vilifying her for having a racist character say "nigra." As her black professor, she asked me what I thought. I said, "be true to the character and yourself." Plus, this is a damn good play. And don't get me wrong: the most gut-wrenching scene to hear in Pulp Fiction is the "dead nigger storage" scene, so I'm not an advocate of using the word all willy-nilly. Sometimes though...it's damned appropriate.

But if we can't begin to deal with the horrors of slavery and the African American experience in America, which includes language, then the oppressors have won. We gain absolutely nothing by pretending that racism and accoutrements don't exist.

Having said all of that, what do I think of Django Unchained? Slight spoiler alert (concepts but no major details!)

Tarantino's genius has always been rooted in his ability to shift paradigms within a contrivance that only Tarantino can design. This is a tale of a ex-slave-turned-bounty hunter teamed up with a German bounty hunter (Christopher Waltz's Dr. King Schultz) with anti-slavery sensibilities to rescue his wife, Broomhilda Von Shaft, who also speaks German. According to IMDB.com, Tarantino's love affair with the Black-oriented (Blaxploitation) film era, led to the Von Shaft surname and muses that one of Django and Broomhilda's descendants is none other than Gordon Parks's John Shaft. Okaaaay.

Having digested that, What Django does accomplish, in the vein of those black-oriented films of the 1970s, is to subvert the fairy-tale paradigm and thus becomes a separate fairy-tale. For once, the African American female character is the damsel, not a lady-in-waiting or God-forbid, Mammy. Kerry Washington's Broomhilda Von Shaft is a vision in yellow, a lodestone for Django, and the film's raison d'etre. The other female characters become merely white noise; we forget them easily and completely. She's clearly not Pam Grier's Foxy Brown, because she can't be. She must be despondent and fearful, the ultimate representation of the fairer and weaker sex. While most films would have the female character become a surprising heroine who can wield a gun and starts shooting alongside her man, Tarantino carries the fairytale to the end. She is to be rescued by her man. And what woman--black, white, or multi-colored, doesn't want to be rescued just once? Just once. Forgive me, Beverly Guy-Sheftall and Bettye Parker Smith. But note, I didn't say need.

Perhaps this can be an indictment on a community that has positioned African American women to become their own heroes, eschewing rescuing not because they don't want to be rescued but because they have been left in the towers of life too many times. Eventually, African American women had to find their own way to solid ground. So Broomhilda Von Shaft's rescue can be regarded as a refreshing return to the family dynamic that slavery systematically destroyed and whose consequence we are still feeling in the 21st century.

Indeed, the performances are exceptional. Tarantino's frenetic style pushes his actors to the limit, which comes across on screen. Foxx is exceptional, and (this is for the Black Studies crew at SIUE) that's his personal horse he's riding, so he was a natural for the role. Foxx becomes the ultimate hero, pro-actionary, not the reactionary, and there's the smoldering look than only Foxx can give. (Tarantino had asked Will Smith, but Smith has always been too afraid of losing his predominantly white base through a controversial role.) Foxx's comedic training serves him well in this film and complements the dramatic. He knows when to play it straight and understands most clearly that brevity is the soul of wit. Don't be surprised, though, if he doesn't receive the recognition he should.

And I realize that I'm revising the "magical Negro" paradigm, but Django becomes a character with a purpose that is greater than his mortality. Thus, I'm borrowing the phrase a bit. But this is also classic Tarantino, considering his previous magical characters of Bruce Willis's Butch the Boxer in Pulp Fiction and Uma Thurman's Bride in Kill Bill. This seems, though, to be a film of shifting paradigms.

Of course, Tarantino takes liberties. At the first slave plantation, Django walks by a slave child on a swing. Uh no. Smart talking slave women like Sheba, as in "Queen of..." and my personal favorite, Samuel L. Jackson's Stephen, who first appears writing checks for his owner, Calvin Candie, and then proceeds to chastise his master for allowing Django, a "nigger," to sleep in the Big House. Now, you have to understand that Samuel L. Jackson has been in every Tarantino film since 1995. While Jackson's Tarantino characters don't have super powers per se, he has become Tarantino's personal magical Negro. It's as if Tarantino cannot have a film without him, and if he ever does, the film will flop. I'm drinking the Kool-Aid on that one.

Jackson's Stephen, though, does have a superpower for 1858 Mississippi, he can read. But his kryptonite is his loyalty to the Candie family; he takes liberties due to his years of service and has written a narrative for himself that makes him a Candie--in his mind. Classic Tarantino. I suppose Jackson could take Tarantino's dependence on his as an actor as a compliment and appreciate that he has such a rapport with a director that he doesn't even audition. He is awarded and rewarded. Can you imagine what would have happened if Spike Lee had just hired Jackson rather than ask him to audition, ending a friendship that only the B.E.T. Awards could heal? Oh, the irony. [deadpan] Like Broomhilda's damsel-in-distress, Stephen, does not disappoint the audience in becoming "black." Had Tarantino decided to have Stephen assist Django and Broomhilda in any way would have insulted us as an audience and only been to assuage the hurt the character inflicts on and off the camera. Stephen is a Candie. He stood on it. He should die on it.

The additional performances are good as well. Christopher Waltz, who won a Best Supporting Oscar for his performance in Inglorious Basterds, may be in danger of typecasting if he plays yet another know-it-all German in another Tarantino film. Don't miss the irony, though, of an anti-slavery German. Leonardo DiCaprio is painfully skilled in his role as a young slave master who has inherited his plantation and his slaves but reigns with a spoiled child's volatility.

Final verdict: Django Unchained is film that should be seen but in concert with the knowledge of the history from which it springs. And if you don't take the time to know your history, then shame on you, Trigger, and the horse you rode in on.

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.

The Mountaintop

A few weeks ago, I blogged about the upcoming Broadway season.  Khirsten Echols, a forever student of mine, was in New York, and took in a show: The Mountaintop.  She is serving as a guest blogger for this entry.  Enjoy!

Run to the Mountaintop (Khisten Echols)

I’m new to the idea of Broadway but not to live theatre. I remember going to the Hatiloo, a small Black repertoire theatre in Memphis, to see For Colored Girls, A Streetcar Named Desire, and a host of others while growing up but I experienced Broadway for the first time during an Honors trip my freshman year of college. Since then, I have longed to go see more plays but I just couldn’t find the time or funds for such an excursion. Amidst my 16 hour course load and the seemingly never ending process of applying to graduate programs, I felt that a trip to Broadway was in order. I began to search and saw that The Mountaintop was opening the same weekend that I was presenting my most recent research project at a McNair Conference. I had to go see this production!! After making a sarcastic Facebook post on Dr. J’s wall, my wish was granted, in a matter of hours might I add. My fairy Godmother is clearly better than Cinderella’s! I was so grateful for this gift and I began to anticipate my upcoming trip.

So, the night of the play has arrived and I am rushing from Jersey trying to make it to the theatre. As I am walking, I walk right into the Occupy Wall Street protest in Times Square. Now I am hustling through a large chanting chorus of protestors thinking, “Wow! I am right here in the middle of the protest!” I check my watch; it is 7:30 and I think I will never make it through this crowd. Finally, I make it through the crowd and to the theatre with a few minutes to spare. After making my souvenir purchases, the usher showed me to my seat. As I made my way down the aisle, I took my seat on the second row, three seats down from Tina Knowles! I told ya’ll my fairy Godmother was the bomb! The house is filling up quickly. As I look at the stage, an image of the Lorraine Motel is projected. I begin to reflect back on the last time that I visited this historic site. It was in 8^th grade. I was doing research on my first research project titled, I AM A MAN: A Grassroots Encounter with Institutionalized Racism. I remember my interviews with the late Reverend Benjamin L. Hooks, viewing the photographs of Mr. Earnest Withers, and spending hours at the museum to gain inspiration for this project. At that moment, in Jacob’s Theatre, that project meant more to me than it ever had before. The play commenced, I was excited as I literally sat on the edge of my seat. (I am not going to reveal the plot of the play because you should go see it!!)

When Samuel L. Jackson and Angela Bassett take the stage, a presence like no other is presented. The dialectal matching throughout the play is superb as the two actors take you on a journey through reality and superstition. This dramatization of this pivotal event for Black history, American history, and the Civil Rights Movement was one that I will never forget. I left the theatre with so much excitement and couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to tell everyone I knew about my experience. The next morning I woke to watch the dedication of the King monument. This made the weekend complete and put the play’s Broadway opening into perspective for me. As the play opens, King enters room 306 at the Lorraine Motel during a thunderstorm and yells to his friend Ralph Abernathy to bring him some Pall Malls. I wasn’t shocked but the man in front of me seemed to be appalled at the thought of King wanting a pack of cigarettes.  I guess he forgot that King was 39 at the time, was away from his family, and leading a major movement for masses of African-Americans and Americans, I digress. 

King begins to describe his next speech that he will call, “America is Going to Hell” and he goes to use the bathroom mid thought. My mind instantly went to Pulp Fiction and I was so ready for something unexpected to happen. (If you didn’t catch that, go watch the movie!) Nothing amazing happened but the story continues and King continues to allude to his speech, orders coffee from room service, and makes a phone call to his wife and kids at home.  Shortly after getting no answer, room service has arrived and we are introduced to Camae. The two begin to flirt and we learn more about Camae and King’s character is brought to life. I’m sure the man in front of me was outdone when Camae slipped some liquor in King’s coffee. At this point Dr. King is a 39 year old cigarette smoking, Whiskey sipping, womanizer…sounds pretty normal to me. But then again, what is normal? He was just a man, a dynamic man but a man nevertheless. Ok, ok, back to the play.  So, the exchange goes on for a few beats and culminates when Camae gives her take on how King should deliver a speech for the people.  She argues that King must think “po’ folk can’t talk, you must think we dumb…you don’t have to talk for us.” She then delivers a power speech in vernacular and just as she references King as Micheal, the plot starts to shift. Because this was his birth name (ya’ll knew that, right?), he began to be paranoid and believes that Camae is an informant or someone sent to kill him.

….SPOILER ALERT….

 The man in front of me is really looking like what the heck is going on because now we learn that Camae is an angel and her first assignment from God, who is a Black woman, is Dr. King. By now I am on the corner of my seat, I’m glad I had an aisle seat. At this point, I have given up on figuring out what’s going to happen next. In the next 35 minutes or so the plot begins to wrap up. King pleads with Camae to call God on the hotel’s rotary telephone. God has a cell phone! Finally, she folds and King begs God to just give him more time because he had so much work to do. Of course God says no! Camae tries to reassure King telling him, “There will be another you, you’re a once in a lifetime affair.” Like many other times during the play, this moment is broken with comedy as King asks who is going to finish all that he has to do, Jessie Jackson?  Ok, that was really funny to me! Maybe this one is funnier, “when you get to heaven, you’ll see Malcolm X…he didn’t cheat on his wife, drink liquor, or smoke cigarettes!”

Now, my favorite part of the play comes! There are two powerful monologues delivered at the end of the play. (One of which I am determined to learn.)  They make references to great African-Americans, influential events, and they deliver the message that “the baton passes on!” Thusly charging the audience and the world to pick up the baton and make a change. The play closes as Dr. King and Camae kiss.

I definitely knew they were going to kiss! I had to say that, lol. Now, go see the play or at least be inspired by the thought that there were men and women just like you and I who did amazing things so that they could pass the baton on to others. So, pick up the baton and run to The Mountaintop.

Peace.

Short Version of 2011-2012 Black Broadway Season!

This year, Broadway boasts a great season. If you’re interested in seeing your favorite film stars live and in person, now is the time to visit New York.  Let me know if you’d like my travel guide!)

The Mountaintop (Samuel L. Jackson—debut, Angela Bassett)

Check out the website: www.themountaintopplay.com

Stick Fly (Dule Hill, Mekhi Phifer, Ruben Santiago-Hudson, and Condola Rashad (if her name sounds familiar, this is Phylicia and Ahmad Rashad’s daughter) Notable producer: Alicia Keys. www.StickFlyBroadway.com

Porgy and Bess (Audra McDonald, David Alan Grier) www.porgyandbessonbroadway.com

Clybourne Park (This plays imagines the aftermath of the Youngers’s move.)

Magic/Bird

A Streetcar Named Desire (Blair Underwood—debut, Nicole Ari Parker, Wood Harris,

The Best Man (James Earl Jones)

Also in the Works:

Unchain My Heart 

For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow in Enuf

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Check www.playbill.com for tickets and discounts.

Magnolias,

Candice Love Jackson

Being Black on the Great White Way!!

Being Black on the Great White Way

As much as I love great film and television (Husband and I watched Bette Davis in All About Eve last night), I love the theatre and live entertainment just as much.  Mama took my grandmother, Lillian C. Jones and me to see Leontyne Price in Thalia Mara Hall before it was Thalia Mara Hall and definitely before I knew how important the event was.  I saw Mama, I Want to Sing with the original touring cast that included Cheryl “Pepsi” Riley at the height of her career.  If there was a play or an event of any kind that provided me with a cultural experience, there was no question about whether we would attend.  My mother’s decision that she and my father would send me to New York to celebrate finishing my Ph.D. was an expected unexpected surprise.   So, in June 2004, I packed my bag and boarded flight to LaGuardia Airport with reservations to the Sheraton Hotel and its Sweet Sleeper Bed (best bed EVER!), tickets to see the revival of A Raisin in the Sun and Caroline, Or Change, and things haven’t been the same since for me or Broadway.  

Broadway was getting a lot of press late in the 2003-2004 season outside of the usual circle, because the revival of A Raisin in the Sun had one of the best ensemble casts assembled—Phylicia Rashad, Sanaa Lathan, Audra McDonald, and wait…Sean “P. Diddy”/Puffy Combs.  Yes, P. Diddy.  Hip hop on the Great White Way?  Really. But here Diddy was.  Phylicia Rashad won the Tony for Best Actress in a Play and was the first African American woman to do so.  Audra McDonald scored a Tony for Featured Role in a Play.  Sanaa was nominated. Puffy was not.  But Puffy’s impact on the theatre world was much more than a gilded statuette. His name alone brought black folk to Broadway even New Yorkers who had never been to a play.   A Raisin in the Sun made its initial production costs back in record time, and its success opened the door to more opportunities for black-oriented plays to premiere in traditional theatre houses. 

That same year, Tonya Pinkins starred in Caroline, Or Change, a musical about a black domestic in a Jewish household in Jim Crow America.  It wasn’t an easy musical to digest.  Musicals are to be uplifting, correct?  Well, Caroline, Or Change, is that but in a different way.  Anika Noni Rose received a Tony for Featured Role in a Musical. Unfortunately, when Caroline, Or Change lost to Avenue Q in the category of Best Musical, the show closed shortly after.   Earlier that year, a revival of Master Harold in the Boys starred Danny Glover, but Glover’s quest for a NY cab garnered more attention than the play.

Since that wonderful weekend in June, I have returned to New York at least two or three times a year for business and personal reasons, which always seems to coincide with a good Broadway play or two.  Since 2004 and I contend, since Puffy’s turn as a beleaguered Walter Lee Younger brought scores of folk to Broadway—black and white—that the barbarians at the gate of the Great White Way have found a way to lure prominent black actors and promote black plays and musicals like never before. 

See for yourself…  Items in boldface means I’ve see it!

2004-2005

Julius Caesar (Denzel Washington—Tony nom, Tamara Tunie, Eamon Walker)

On Golden Pond (James Earl Jones—Tony nom, Leslie Uggams)

2005-2006

Bridge and Tunnel Sarah Jones (one-woman play) (Special Tony Award, 2006)

Oprah Winfrey Presents…The Color Purple (Lachanze—Best Actress in Musical; was also nominated for Best Musical, Best Book of a Musical, Best Original Score, Best Featured Actor, Best Featured Actress (2), Best Choreography, Best Scenic Design, Best Costume Design, and Best Lighting) 

2006-2007

110 in the Shade (Audra McDonald has top billing but she’s the only African American in the cast.)

Radio Golf (Harry Lennix, Tonya Pinkins)

2007-2008

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (Terrance Howard, Anika Noni Rose, James Earl Jones, Phylia Rashad, Giancarlo Esposito, Lou Myers, and directed by Debbie Allen)

Come Back, Little Sheba (S. Epatha Merkenson)

The Country Girl (Morgan Freeman)

Passing Strange

Thurgood (Laurence Fishburne—one-man play; Tony nom.)

2008-2009           

Joe Turner’s Come and Gone

2009-2010

Fela! (Notable producers: Jay-Z, Will and Jada, Questlove) (Tonys for Best Choreography, Costume Design, Sound Design)

Fences (Denzel Washington and Viola Davis, both of whom won Tonys)

Memphis

Race (Kerry Washington, David Allan Grier—Tony nom.)

2010-2011

Motherf**ker with the Hat (Chris Rock)

Driving Miss Daisy (James Earl Jones)

The Scottsboro Boys

A Free Man of Color (Jeffrey Wright, Mos Def)

Sister Act (Notable producer: Whoopi Goldberg)

This year, Broadway boasts a great season. If you’re interested in seeing your favorite film stars live and in person, now is the time to visit New York.  Let me know if you’d like my travel guide!)

The Mountaintop (Samuel L. Jackson—debut, Angela Bassett)

Check out the website: www.themountaintopplay.com

Stick Fly (Dule Hill, Mekhi Phifer, Ruben Santiago-Hudson, and Condola Rashad (if her name sounds familiar, this is Phylicia and Ahmad Rashad’s daughter) Notable producer: Alicia Keys. www.StickFlyBroadway.com

Porgy and Bess (Audra McDonald, David Alan Grier) www.porgyandbessonbroadway.com

Clybourne Park (This plays imagines the aftermath of the Youngers’s move.)

Magic/Bird

A Streetcar Named Desire (Blair Underwood—debut, Nicole Ari Parker, Wood Harris,

The Best Man (James Earl Jones)

Also in the Works:

Unchain My Heart 

For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow in Enuf

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Check www.playbill.com for tickets and discounts.

Magnolias,

Candice Love Jackson