I find it rather telling when you know without knowing, understand without benefiting from firsthand knowledge the machinations of a system decidedly dismissive and silencing of evidential "black" love in all forms of media. That image, no matter how exact in its depiction of our circumstances and experiences (unapologetically black, proud, pleasant, ambitious, conscious) is not consistent with the narrative that must continue to be pumped, fed, looped and perpetuated; one of strife, trifling living and cooning. There exists no need to elaborate when examples are replete on big screens, tv screens and available for immediate viewing consumption on mobile devices.
love jones, 1997.
When first-time film director, Theodore Witcher of the 1997 respected classic, love jones spoke with Hillary Crosley of "The Root" three years ago Theodore mentioned he "couldn't get another movie," in spite of his desire to have a long list of credits to his name. "There has to be something that you want to do that a studio wants to pay for. I was never able to sync that up. I wanted to do ambitious films with more black people. You don't get to do that."
Telling, no?
A butchered version of the beloved classic recently aired on a "black network," but since the abbreviated film was tucked inside lengthy commercial breaks, the connection was wanting. This, the age of instant access, you'd think finding love jones on iTunes, Amazon Prime, Netflix or any content delivery site for immediate viewing a sure thing, yet you'd be wrong. Search love jones on GooglePlay and your device will side-eye you as if you were somehow mistaken in your request, instead offering movie suggestions with "love" or "jones" in the title. Results: love actually. "Really? I didn't mean love actually." (Looking for Menace II Society, released 1993? Take your pick of content delivery companies.)
There is a reason movies like The Butler, 12 Years a Slave are financed, filmed and distributed then later recognized by the Academy (as if that distinction is the definitive mark of cinematic greatness; an altruistic nod for diversity).
Movies are not designed to entertain. Their purpose is altogether different, singular.
Representations previously deemed offensive are now clutched tightly to bosoms and dubbed authentic works by masterful storytellers. There was a time when this alone would have saddened and vexed me, however, it no longer does. Instead, pen to paper, words appear.
Blaxploitation, slavery along with a host of psychological engines were not abolished . . . they evolved.
Posted in Cinema, Life, Love
tagged with movies, love jones, black love