Having achieved some improvements in numerical and symbolic representation, groups can stake citizenship claims in the dominant cultural canon. For example, Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989), about racial conflicts on the hottest day of the summer in Brooklyn, New York, was inducted into the National Film Registry in its first year of eligibility for the honor and was deemed “culturally, historically, and aesthetically significant” by the U.S. Library of Congress.2 As voting members of the Academy, Black directors have a hand in influencing whose movies are memorialized during the Oscars as national cultural artifacts.
Presumably, the last goal for attaining representation in cultural production is to occupy positions of power. In such positions, groups can control cultural output and steer flows of workers into and out of positions on cultural projects. Therefore, beyond the numbers of directors present or absent behind the camera or the number of victories at awards podiums, rethinking representation to look more closely at qualitative measures of institutional representation—especially access to lucrative positions of influence—is a way to investigate in more depth how racial inequality happens in Hollywood. An institutional analysis of the contemporary race politics of representation in the film industry would need to be located in the dimension of hierarchical representation. Hollywood insiders, who have the power to shape cinema from within the industry, structure film production around unequal racial hierarchies and justify inequality using statements that value and privilege white movies and directors over Black, Asian, and Latino/a movies and directors. This Hollywood Jim Crow racial hierarchy, in which outright expressions about race matter for the sorting of individuals and films in the movie industry, privileges whites at each level of the cultural representation pyramid, whereas African Americans and other marginalized racial groups find underrepresentation at each level. For film directors, racial disparities span what kinds of movies they direct, which movie genres are prominent, how much movies cost, and which studios are involved. Hierarchical racial representation has implications for individual careers and for the broader impact that directors and their movies can exert on global societies.
Symbols of progress, numbers of people in jobs, markers of cultural citizenship, and placement in positions of power and prestige reveal multiple levels at stake in the complex struggle over racial representation in the film industry. All this happens within the nation’s sociopolitical context. The nation’s racial context, for instance, plays no small role in shaping groups’ access to each level of representation. The racial climate determines which groups are most likely to be employed and to occupy positions of power just as much as it influences whose cultural citizenship rights are realized or dismissed and what images become commonplace occurrences or rare anomalies. Examining various measures of representation provides a new look at racial inequality in Hollywood, while new reasons to explain away those inequalities circulate among those who are positioned to protect their advantage.
Symbols of Progress
Steve McQueen’s win was quickly followed by other victories for Black talent behind the camera. In fact, the 2017 Oscars ceremony was a landmark year of firsts for Black workers in technical, behind-the-scenes positions in cinema. They received an uncharacteristic barrage of recognition in nominations and awards. An unprecedented four Black directors were nominated for Best Documentary Feature: Ava DuVernay for 13th, Roger Ross Williams for Life, Animated, Haitian-born brothers Raoul Peck and Hebert Peck for I Am Not Your Negro, and Ezra Edelman, who ultimately won Best Documentary Feature, for O.J.: Made in America. Barry Jenkins, for Moonlight, became only the fourth Black director in Academy Awards history to receive a directing nomination. African Americans also received nominations in film editing and cinematography. What is more, the 2017 Oscars marked the first occasion that three Black-cast movies were in consideration for the top honor of Best Picture. Three Black producers received Best Picture nominations: Denzel Washington for Fences (2016), Pharrell Williams for Hidden Figures (2016), and Kimberly Steward for Manchester by the Sea (2016). Ultimately the Barry Jenkins–directed Moonlight, an adaptation of Tarell Alvin McCraney’s novel In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue, took home the Best Picture win.
Upon the announcement of victory, smartphones fanned the room. Blinking lights from the handheld gadgets captured the moment on video. Barry Jenkins accepted the award to raucous applause from a crowd of cheerful, teary-eyed onlookers with mouths agape. With a look of wondrous disbelief, he stepped up to the microphone and uttered, “Even in my dreams, this could not be true. But to hell with dreams—I’m done with it, because this is true. Oh, my goodness.”3 The momentous energy was palpable throughout his speech. Fists pumped toward the ceiling. Clearly, something of magnitude had been accomplished, something beyond expectations, and it felt good.
Via symbolic gestures such as Academy Awards accolades, Black directors can influence audiences and effect change through their creative works. The producer of Moonlight, Adele Romanski, a white woman, spoke about the symbolic power of the Best Picture victory for uplifting young African American teenagers: “And I hope even more than that, that it’s inspiring to people—little black boys and brown girls and other folks watching at home who feel marginalized and who take some inspiration from seeing this beautiful group of artists, helmed by this amazing talent, my friend Barry Jenkins, standing up here on this stage accepting this top honor.”4 In an essay in The Root, Danielle Belton describes the exchange of inspiration and admiration that took place at the African American Critics Association Award Ceremony when, prior to the Oscars’ Best Picture Award, John Singleton presented an accolade to Barry Jenkins for Moonlight. Belton writes that “probably one of the most deeply affecting moments during the awards ceremony was when acclaimed director John Singleton (Boyz N the Hood, Baby Boy) could barely mask his pride and admiration for a man he admitted he hadn’t met, but felt he knew through his art: fellow director Barry Jenkins, the auteur behind independent film Moonlight. Singleton was presenting an award to Jenkins for Moonlight. Jenkins, in turn, thanked Singleton for inspiring him through his work on Boyz N the Hood, Singleton’s first, groundbreaking film.”5 Before ever meeting in person, they engaged each other through their films. Movies and images are symbolic vehicles that shape audience perceptions and exert influence beyond the screen.
As a marginalized group in Hollywood, Black Americans have a restricted ability to control their own self-images or to challenge disparaging stereotypes about themselves—stereotypes that not only influence individual people but also shape crucial social factors such as politics, racial attitudes, and treatment by authority, namely, employers and law enforcement. The capability to create images for mass consumption comes packaged with the power to effect change. Cinema can be a vehicle for both racist and antiracist ideologies. Hence, cinema can serve to counteract racist ideologies with progressive ones. With inadequate representation behind the camera, Black Americans are less able to shape the minds of viewers or create mass-disseminated cinematic images that effect change with regard to social issues around race relations in the United States, such as mass incarceration and police brutality.
In the post-2000 era, the wheels of integration into the Academy Awards also turned for Asian and Latino/a directors. Twice, Ang Lee won Best Director—for Brokeback Mountain (2005) and Life of Pi (2012). On the heels of Ang Lee’s achievements, two directors of Latin descent, both Mexican, won Best Director: Alfonso Cuarón for Gravity (2013) and Alejandro González Iñárritu for Birdman (2014) and The Revenant (2015). For Birdman, Iñárritu also won Best Picture. Implanting seeds of retreat from a racist past, these victories provided the arsenal for one to believe, or at least hope, that Hollywood would turn a new leaf toward a long-awaited future of racial inclusion.
By and large, film directors’ symbolic acceptance in the Oscars aligns with Hollywood’s public reputation as a liberal-leaning industry. Across the broad spectrum of Hollywood professions, actors and executives alike have