White Gaze – How films of anxiety and… | Little White Lies

Obama Era Cinema

White Gaze – How films of anx­i­ety and intro­spec­tion cloud­ed America’s dom­i­nant perspective

01 Nov 2016

Words by Stephen Winter

Stylised portrait of a woman in a red top, with a bookshelf and posters in the background.
Stylised portrait of a woman in a red top, with a bookshelf and posters in the background.
In our lat­est Oba­ma Era Cin­e­ma essay, Stephen Win­ter con­sid­ers the impact of two con­tro­ver­sial role rever­sal fantasies.

Just as Rea­gan had Die Hard and Bush had The Dark Knight, so America’s 44th Com­man­der in Chief, Barack Oba­ma, will come to be asso­ci­at­ed with spe­cif­ic films from the last eight years. So what exact­ly is Oba­ma Era Cin­e­ma, and what does it reveal about the world we live in today? Have your say @LWLies #Oba­maEraCin­e­ma.

In ref­er­ence to the eth­nic­i­ty of near­ly every notable Amer­i­can actor and direc­tor ever, Richard Pry­or once summed up the his­to­ry of film as white folks kick­ing ass.” So what hap­pened when the advent of the first black Pres­i­dent coin­cid­ed with mas­sive eco­nom­ic reces­sion? Oba­ma Era Cin­e­ma got red hot around 2012, when two movies dove into pre­sump­tions of race and infi­nite role rever­sal fan­tasies. As often with pro­gres­sive visions, some folks got real mad at them. They were not wrong to do so.

In Anto­nio Cam­pos’ Simon Killer, Brady Cor­bet, stripped of his oth­er­world­ly dewi­ness as seen in Mys­te­ri­ous Skin and Fun­ny Games, plays Simon, a mal­con­tent who, after a wretched girl­friend break-up, decides to loosen his mind in Paris by mooching off acquain­tances until they tire of him. Clear­ly inspired by Joran Van Der Snoot, the clean-cut Euro-killer of girls, Cor­bet (who co-wrote the script with Cam­pos) drains his baby blues of all human essence to present Simon’s self-dis­gust of his easy” white-boy life from scene one. You’ve heard of Dri­ving While Black,” the phe­nom­e­non of black dri­vers being stopped by cops more than white dri­vers? Simon par­tic­i­pates in Coast­ing While White”. Simon knows he’s a mon­ster but peo­ple are copacetic to his ersatz face and fall for his per­for­mance of nor­mal­i­ty, which makes him sad­der and mad­der than ever.

More 2001 than A Clock­work Orange, Cam­pos’ long, spongy shots take their sweet time watch­ing Simon invade people’s lives by aping an Ivy Leaguer’s arro­gant angst. He con­stant­ly explains a wonky col­lege the­sis he sup­pos­ed­ly pub­lished about eye/​brain con­nec­tions, a speech so prac­ticed and devoid of pas­sion, we can’t believe him. But Simon’s goal isn’t to charm; it’s to make you under­stand him as a legit­i­mate per­son so you’ll give him your spare keys and wi-fi pass­word then leave him be. He enjoys the priv­i­lege of assumed iden­ti­ty very few peo­ple of colour are afford­ed. He knows if he plays things right his actions, and by exten­sion his life, will have zero consequences.

Watch­ing Simon casu­al­ly exploit pop­u­lar assump­tions, we review our own cred­u­lous notions of legit­i­ma­cy” absorbed from insti­tu­tion­al white­ness. We may be tak­en aback. When I assign Simon Killer to stu­dents as home­work, they often return say­ing they hat­ed it, before spend­ing an hour or so dis­sect­ing and high­light­ing the dif­fer­ent chal­leng­ing aspects of the film. Tru­ly, Simon Killer gets them in ways they are unac­cus­tomed to. They love to hate watch­ing Simon dive into the Parisian under­world, befriend and bed a beau­ti­ful young black pros­ti­tute (played by Mati Diop, a fear­less actress of Sene­galese descent) before final­ly ini­ti­at­ing the dread­ed promise of the film’s title.

Two people, a man with a hooded jacket and a woman with intricate head jewelry, looking concerned in a forest setting.

Once upon a time, in the Bush era, it seemed every­body want­ed to see Halle Berry naked (see: Monster’s Ball, Sword­fish, Die Anoth­er Day). I want­ed to see Halle Berry play a white woman. To sur­vive Cloud Atlas, the most per­for­ma­tive, byzan­tine and racia­li­cious big tick­et Oba­ma film, you must embrace spe­cif­ic labours; you must access your child­like buoy­an­cy, yet retain an adult sense of humour. You must prac­tice look­ing at black­ness on film. What is black film? Must a black film have all-black stars? A black direc­tor? Must a black film adhere sole­ly to black” themes that, whether his­toric or trag­ic, main­tain a We Shall Over­come” moral? What is a white” film, any­way? Aren’t they just movies, where white­ness is nev­er inter­ro­gat­ed via total actor trans­for­ma­tion, a nine-fig­ure bud­get or mul­ti­ple storylines?

In Cloud Atlas, Tom Han­ks – America’s most acces­si­ble and trust­ed every­man – appears first mut­ter­ing in near unfath­omable pid­gin about Bab­bits bawl­ing, wind bitin’ the bone. Ances­try howl­in’ at’cha,” his face cov­ered in dark scars and tat­toos. Per­haps light skin is a sur­vival-of-the-fittest lia­bil­i­ty in a glob­al­ly warmed future? Your knuck­les grip the seat. Ances­tors are howl­ing indeed. Is this the first major Afrop­unk sci-fi to stand with Sun Ra’s Space is The Place’, or is this horseshit?

Cloud Atlas rarely tells us where we are or explains what’s hap­pen­ing and there’s plot enough for sev­en films, but in order to ful­ly get down you must accept movie stars trans­form­ing across gen­der, race and age. (Cat­a­stroph­ic camp or Brecht­ian per­fec­tion?) Hugo Weav­ing and Ben Whish­law play swash­buck­lers that align with their usu­al per­sonas. They play white women – the Lady Weav­ing is par­tic­u­lar­ly ter­ri­fy­ing and fun­ny. It’s meant to be.

Hugh Grant and Han­ks play men their own age, and they play old men, and one of those men is a jab­ber­ing can­ni­bal. Even Susan Saran­don plays a man. There’s a birth­mark that trav­els from the 19th cen­tu­ry to the year 2321. There’s a Bud­dhist thing going on and a not-quite-Bud­dhist thing. There’s gay sub­text. Actors speak in accents from every era and astral plane. Every­one plays Asian at some point includ­ing bone-white Brit Jim Sturgess who does not emerge with dig­ni­ty intact, yet com­pels nonethe­less. It’s all tru­ly sense-derang­ing, akin to the eth­nic human­i­ty yowl­ing in Ralph Bakshi’s Coon­skin or that superb moment in the mid­dle of Jaques Tati’s Play­time when a hand­some brown man in a match­ing Hulot rain­coat and clum­sy gait is mis­tak­en by a dude for Hulot him­self. That blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Play­time ref­er­ence goes way beyond the sur­face. We now know some­where, in this new Paris, there lives an African Hulot.

In addi­tion, Cloud Atlas casts the first black woman to win the Best Actress Oscar as… well, what exact­ly is Halle Berry meant to be? Is this a quaint sum­ma­ry of some East­ern rein­car­na­tion the­o­ries, where the soul is colour­less, gen­der­less and can be reborn into any­thing? Or the sly cin­e­mat­ic revenge of Berry for the first black Acad­e­my Award win­ner Hat­tie McDaniels (in 1939’s Gone with the Wind), and all black actors of the 20th cen­tu­ry who died with their great­est roles left unre­alised because the racist indus­try and soci­ety deemed they only play tramps, scamps, but­lers and maids? And yet Cloud Atlas does ful­fil cinema’s core promise and Obama’s cam­paign mes­sage: in movies, you can open your mind and be any­thing you want. Yes, you can.

Stephen Winter’s lat­est film, Jason and Shirley (“One of the year’s best” Richard Brody, The New York­er), is cur­rent­ly screen­ing across the US. As a pro­fes­sor, Win­ter has taught at Williams and Cor­nell. He would like to thank Will Ware for pro­vid­ing research assis­tance for this piece.

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