Is Black Media’s Only Source Material Trauma?
Brittany Palmer
African Americans have always had a monumental presence in American history. Once unlawfully tending solely to the needs of the White man; The Black community has swiftly started to claim its presence in nearly all economic and social avenues (and naturally, the arts are no different). There’s an indescribable joy seeing a multitude of melanated faces on stage at an awards show. The whole bunch smiling ear to ear, hovering over the mic to finally recite a speech they’ve rehearsed over a thousand times. It’s a beautiful and momentous moment. But truthfully, how many of these award-winning movies and shows do I anticipate watching? I’m hesitant to say, not due to the writers, actors, or director’s discretion, but the storyline.
Black media is rife with very limited representation of the Black experience. Black Americans, like any other group, are not a singular entity. Not everyone lives in the hood, is loud, or finagles in shady enterprises. Why are Black women constantly portrayed as ratchet or ghetto? Ironically, these stereotypes which originally emerged from racism, still hold an iron first. However, in modern times, this is a self-inflicted wound. Before Black Americans had leading roles, they were forced into obsequious roles. Stuck portraying holier-than-thou mammies and staunch illiterate sidekicks. The cinematic revolution began once Hattie McDaniels became the first African American to win an Oscar. As expected, she was nominated for her role as Mammy in Gone With The Wind. And to further the blow, she was placed at a segregated table to the side of the stage. Nonetheless, Blacks were at least being seen in predominantly White spaces.
In the 1970s, Blaxplotation films emerged, awakened by the need to change the Hollywood narrative. Martin Van Peebles created the archetype with his film, Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song. A simple movie about a Black man fleeing the authorities. By today’s standards, the film’s experimental and unconventional choices make the film feel clumsy and disjointed. But in 1971, this was a monumental occasion for Black media. In its first week, Sweet Sweetback’s grossed over $70,000 in Detroit. Eventually skyrocketing to a sum of $10 million dollars, creating a new avenue for Black cinema. No longer were Blacks forced to demeaning secondary roles; It was a new wave for Blacks not just becoming proprietary actors but also the intended audience. This surge reintroduces itself every few decades or so. During the 90s, it was classic Hood films; the 2000s saw budding feel-good movies, and the 21st century resurfaced an onslaught of Black oppression. Yet despite their differences, each and every genre of Black film has received numerous accolades for both actors and directors. (Starting in 2024, movies will only be eligible for the Oscars Best Picture category if films meet a newly propositioned diversity quota.)
However, contrary to popular belief, all these films share the same motif Hollywood feasts upon: Stereotypes. Black women are often portrayed as loud, overbearing, or trashy. The Black man is often depicted as cold-hearted, misogynistic, or broke. If on a rare occasion the movie doesn’t demean its own characters, then the plot will. Light-hearted Black romance films cannot fathom the idea of love without at least an iota of infidelity or domestic abuse. Oscar nominated and proclaimed Black cinema usually centers around trauma within the community. Would Moonlight have won Best Picture if it wasn’t analyzing Black homophobia? Would 12 Years A Slave be exhilarating if the story followed the journey of a free man? Would Girls Trip illicit laughs if Tiffany Haddish didn’t say every line with an overly exaggerated Blaccent? Whether it’s pimps, baby mamas, gangsters, or simply a man in a dress: these stories resurrect negative perceptions White Hollywood used to thrive upon.
Now, I’m not one to say movies must refrain themselves from all conflict. As a writer myself, conflict is riveting. It is the driving force of a story that keeps an audience compelled. My concern is with how so few Black films don’t include an element of trauma. As a Black woman, it can be quite distressing seeing yourself perceived this way. Many of the directors who make these films, don’t even resonate with the experience. They come from supportive, middle-class families that clearly encouraged the arts! Why is there no content surrounding that? I can name over ten Adam Sandler films that revolve around simple issues. His 90-minute comedies typically involve either the importance of family, true love, or self-growth. All set within a picturesque background. However, I would need a few minutes or more to find a Black film, which compares.
