Why Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust remains… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

Why Julie Dash’s Daugh­ters of the Dust remains essen­tial viewing

01 Jun 2017

Words by Matt Turner

Two figures sitting on a beach, holding large paper umbrellas with intricate designs against a sunset backdrop.
Two figures sitting on a beach, holding large paper umbrellas with intricate designs against a sunset backdrop.
A key inspi­ra­tion for Beyoncé’s Lemon­ade, this afro­fu­tur­ist 1991 dra­ma is a mile­stone in Amer­i­can cinema.

Made in 1991, Julie Dash’s first and only fea­ture film, Daugh­ters of the Dust, has recent­ly been under­go­ing some­thing of a revival, in part due to its role in inspir­ing for Beyoncé’s Lemon­ade. The first main­stream release for an African-Amer­i­can female direc­tor, the film is final­ly receiv­ing a ful­ly fledged restora­tion and re-release on both sides of the Atlantic.

Dash emerged as part of the The LA Rebel­lion’, a move­ment of artists and film­mak­ers who emerged from UCLA in the wake of the 1965 Watts upris­ing, and made sev­er­al films before Daugh­ters of the Dust. Her ear­ly projects Four Women and Diary of an African Nun plot two paths that would feed into her lat­er work. The for­mer, a Nina Simone-sound­tracked dance short, expounds the kind of ener­gy in motion, rich­ness of colour and inven­tive­ness of cam­er­a­work seen in some of Daugh­ters of the Dust’s more kinet­ic sequences. And Diary of an African Nun, an adap­ta­tion of the Alice Walk­er short sto­ry, explores a pared back ver­sion of Dash’s height­ened nar­ra­tive approach, con­trast­ing clean black-and-white visu­als against a grand, ges­tur­al per­for­mance from Bar­bara O Jones, one of the stars of Daugh­ters of the Dust’s ensem­ble cast.

Illu­sions, Dash’s 1982 short, is a mul­ti­fac­eted tale of screen rep­re­sen­ta­tion which mir­rors the aes­thet­ic of 1940s Hol­ly­wood cin­e­ma. It fol­lows a black singer who is hired by a Hol­ly­wood stu­dio to dub over a white actress, as well as the (black, pass­ing as white) stu­dio exec rep­re­sent­ing her bat­tling for agency with­in a cor­rupt­ed sys­tem. Both a scathing cri­tique of Hol­ly­wood hier­ar­chies and the exploita­tion of black labour, and a trea­tise on the pow­er of the movies and their poten­tial for shap­ing per­cep­tions and invert­ing expec­ta­tions, Illu­sions is Dash’s most ambi­tious short and the film that enabled her to make Daugh­ters of the Dust.

Peo­ple make films about them­selves: what they want, what they love, what they fear the most,” states the exec­u­tive in Illu­sions, a line that could also serve as a mis­sion state­ment for Daugh­ters of the Dust. Both films broke new ground in cre­at­ing empow­er­ing visions of women on screen, craft­ing authen­tic, aspi­ra­tional black char­ac­ters and depict­ing an expe­ri­ence that – while steeped in the weight of past and present griev­ances – offers some­thing oth­er than suf­fer­ing and deprivation.

Dash began work on the film short­ly after com­plet­ing Illu­sions, but it took 15 years of devel­op­ment to get from script to screen, with a sol­id decade of that time devot­ed to research. A dense, lay­ered mix of per­son­al and famil­ial expe­ri­ence, explo­ration and imag­i­na­tion, the film demon­strates the pow­er of cin­e­ma to shape and inform the same per­cep­tions that Illu­sions laments the betray­al of.

Two women with long, curly hair looking contemplative on a beach.

Set on a sea island off the coast of South Car­oli­na at the turn of the 20th cen­tu­ry, Daugh­ters of the Dust fol­lows a matri­ar­chal fam­i­ly plan­ning a migra­tion to the Amer­i­can main­land. It reflects the expe­ri­ences of this group of young women while touch­ing, through nar­ra­tion from a daugh­ter who has not yet been born and reflec­tions from per­sons long gone, on the mem­o­ries and sen­ti­ments of gen­er­a­tions both future and past. There is a con­flict at the heart of the film between home and his­to­ry. As two women return to the island to bring the remain­ing mem­bers over to the main­land with them, some wel­come the promise of new pas­tures while oth­ers remain hesitant.

Less a sto­ry than a series of inter­re­lat­ing moments, the film’s loose nar­ra­tive switch­es seam­less­ly between time­lines and char­ac­ters, often lin­ger­ing on per­spec­tives and places impres­sion­is­ti­cal­ly. Much of the film’s strength lies in its sense of splen­dour, with cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Arthur Jafa’s images depict­ing ideals of beau­ty to match Dash’s expan­sive, con­tem­pla­tive script. Whether in bloom­ing green island forests or vibrant yel­low sand dunes, in pearl white dress­es con­trast­ed against black skin, or in rolling ocean waves and immac­u­late sun­sets, there is sen­su­ous­ness in every frame.

This soft­ness and seduc­tive­ness is fur­ther expand­ed by John Barnes’ lulling score; the lyri­cal, rhyth­mic qual­i­ty of the mono­logues; and the edit­ing which smooth­ly tran­si­tions through fades, slow-motion and super­im­po­si­tions. Above all though, the thing that stands out most about Daugh­ters of the Dust when viewed today is its sense of hope. It is an entranc­ing, com­plex film, one that now, 25 years on from its ini­tial release, deserves to be dis­cov­ered by a whole new generation.

A new­ly restored dig­i­tal print of Daugh­ters of the Dust plays on 2 June as part of the Barbican’s The Bat­tle For Rep­re­sen­ta­tion’ sea­son, fol­lowed by a wider UK release via the BFI.

Illu­sions and Four Women can be seen along­side LA Rebel­lion films by Bar­bara McCul­lough and Allie Sharon Larkin in the pro­gramme Brick By Brick’, a high­light of the sea­son Unbound:Visions of the Black Fem­i­nine’.

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