Chapter 6 considers approaches to reenvision cinema in order to overcome the adverse effects of the Hollywood Jim Crow. One plan of action is to advocate for racial-minority participation in key positions. This involves closing racial disparities related to working at major studios, directing big-budget movies, and occupying decision-making positions. Another viable path toward equality involves greater investment in filmmaking outside of Hollywood. This path requires directors to place emphasis on forging youth film cultures and striving to create ways to “remake cinema” removed from Hollywood’s governance. In particular, it calls for the revival of Black owned and operated organizations that support film production, distribution, and exhibition. The chapter details the goals, shape, and components of a Black cinema collective. Through organization, planning, institution building, and technological education, directors can orchestrate a Black cinema collective to circumvent the Hollywood Jim Crow and produce a diversity, number, and scale of movies without having to rely on financing from Hollywood studios. The revitalization of a Black cinema collective could serve as an impetus to curb racial inequality within Hollywood and include narratives it currently marginalizes or excludes. That is, if the burgeoning Black cinema industry becomes successful, it could put pressure on Hollywood to diversify in order to remain competitive as a producer of movies about Black people.
The conclusion contains a summary of the book’s main findings. Implications of the Hollywood Jim Crow are pertinent not only to comprehend how race matters in a popular culture industry but also to grasp how racial hierarchies operate in other spheres of social life—and to ameliorate their impact.
1
Representation and Racial Hierarchy
Members of the exclusive Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences—mostly white-haired white men over age sixty (and a few select others)—annually convene in an auditorium for the Academy Awards ceremony, held to commemorate the highest achievements in the American film industry. Red carpets, four-piece tuxedos, black bowties, and glittering designer gowns adorn the evening, which despite its grandeur, usually passes with little fanfare for Black directors, for whom few nominations and even fewer wins are rather the norm. When the presenters tear open their sealed envelopes to announce “and the award goes to …,” the phrase completing the sentence is rarely the name of a narrative-feature-film director who is Black. In fact, since the first Academy Awards ceremony was held in 1929 through the arrival of the twenty-first century, the Academy had yet to award any feature-film director of African, Latin, or Asian descent. For all the faint praise of symbolic nominations, the pinnacle accolade had evaded even the best of them.
Only recently has the Academy formally recognized movie directors of African, Latin, or Asian descent. For Black filmmakers, the 2014 Academy Awards ceremony marked a historic turning point when Steve McQueen, who is British born and of Grenadian descent, won the coveted Best Picture Oscar for 12 Years a Slave (2013), which he directed and coproduced. Eighty-five years after the inaugural Academy Awards ceremony, McQueen’s victory marked the end of a long drought at the podium for Black-directed films. 12 Years a Slave chronicled the life and tribulations of Solomon Northup—a man who was kidnapped, sold into slavery, and held in captivity for over a decade. By the movie’s end, Northup has regained his freedom. Coincidentally with the accolade, Hollywood sought a liberation of its own. To some people, the dismantling of a racial barrier for Black directors signified a departure from a history of nonrecognition.
Despite the movie’s clear merit, its victory at the Academy podium was far from being a shoe-in. In fact, some Hollywood insiders, who hold positions of influence and control in the movie industry, thought that the racial demographic of the voters would deter McQueen’s film from receiving the shining crown. As a case in point, before the Best Picture Award was settled, Laura, a Hollywood insider, expresses doubts about the likelihood that white men in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences would support a movie such as 12 Years. She voices this observation in a correspondence to Hollywood executives and other insiders:
“12 Years” is truly a brilliant film with a compelling story.… This film is made by a Brit that exposes the darkest “hidden history” of America, exposing a cruel and brutal segment of our white society. These plantation owners are as terrible [as] the Nazis, who are the only “acceptable” cinematic villains. The Academy’s experience of watching this film is not pleasant. Some will not see it … yet, because of the violence. Eventually they have to, to vote. If they put it in their dvd, they may fast-forward or turn it off. So, will they vote for a Best Picture so difficult to watch? Many others who have seen it tout the brilliant filmmaking but are a bit embarrassed by the story and more importantly did not “enjoy” watching it. My point is … is this the story American cultural bell ringers want to send around the world as the “best story” in the best picture? I think the voters are patiently waiting for an excuse to vote for another film. In their hearts, they are uncomfortable sending a global message from a Brit that we are or were terrible people.1
As this quotation reveals, race is a defining characteristic of Hollywood that matters in film-industry workers’ deliberations about movies. Laura points out the whiteness of Hollywood as an industry. In her correspondence to several Hollywood insiders, she refers to “our white society” and self-consciously feels that after watching the historical drama about U.S. slavery, viewers at home and abroad would conclude that “we [whites] are or were terrible people.” She believes that white Academy voters such as herself would be hesitant to award a movie that envisions white Americans as cinematic villains, that showcases white-on-Black violence as a “cruel and brutal” yet integral and enduring mechanism of American race relations, and that depicts a narrative of Black suffering that is downright unpleasant for most whites to relive. Laura’s quote demonstrates how easily criteria besides sheer filmmaking (even filmmaking described as “brilliant”) enter into decision-making about what kinds of movies receive recognition during the annual ceremony. Race and racism are explicit factors governing how Hollywood insiders contemplate and evaluate movies. In Hollywood and in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, representation is important for members of all racial groups to equally impress their opinions and subjectivities on crucial decisions in cinema.
Key aspects of representation in a culture industry can be visualized in the “cultural representation pyramid” shown in figure 1.1. At the bottom of the pyramid are symbols and images. A reminder of the slogan “if you can see it, you can be it,” both images and symbols typify visible monikers of representation that indicate early signs of inclusion in popular culture. Recognition at the Academy Awards and other awards ceremonies is a form of symbolic representation. Images and themes in movies also provide racial symbols of inclusion.
Figure 1.1. Cultural representation pyramid.
Once a group has established visibility in symbols or images, its members might subsequently pursue advocacy for numerical representation. Fighting for representation in numbers, groups emphasize demography, usually in the form of landing roles in films or attaining adequate employment in jobs. The threshold of representation might be tied to the group’s population share. Struggles for numerical and symbolic representation is ongoing, and the goal may take a long period of time to attain—if parity, or something like it, is at all in reach. Meanwhile, numerical representation promises