Don't be afraid to call it a 'black movie'

Avoiding the term is avoiding the real problem.

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Complex Original

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I believe in calling things what they are. 

I am a black man. I am a black writer. I'm not afraid of these labels because they accurately represent me. More importantly, no matter what I call myself, my race will always be part of the equation. I could be “Puff the Magic Dragon,” but the inconvenient truth is that people would still likely refer to me as “Puff the Magic Black Dragon.”

Being a black writer and owning that doesn't mean I'm incapable of relating to those who aren't like me. For those who feel differently, however, I shouldn't carry the burden of changing their small minds. I refuse to downplay myself to win the approval of those who can't get past how I look.

That's exactly why I was disappointed by actress Sanaa Lathan's comments in a recent article titled, "Why The Perfect Guy Isn’t A Black Movie."

“I have heard people talk about this film as an urban film because we’re black. The truth is … all races love watching us if it’s a good story," said Lathan, who stars as lobbyist Leah Vaughn in the film. "If it’s a good movie, it’s a good movie, regardless of our color. We’re brown, but we’re just making movies. We don’t have to comment on our race.”

She added, “I was reading about Straight Outta Compton, and it’s interesting how the journalists talk about it. The way that they talk about the success is very marginalized. It’s like, ‘This is a specialty film.’ No, it’s not. This is an American film about American history. Hip-hop culture is world culture now. It is universal.”

Why should we tone down who we are to appeal to others?

While I agree race should not dictate whether someone enjoys a movie or not, what good is it to pretend that a film with a predominately black cast is not a black movie? And why should we avoid calling something a "black movie" just to encourage non-black people to see films like Love & Basketball?  Trying to be colorblind when categorizing a movie puts the onus of combating racial prejudice on black people, rather than on those who should overcome their prejudices.

Lathan​'s The Perfect Guy co-star, Michael Ealy, also chimed in, saying, “I understand why people want to label them black movies. But … if you watch The Big Chill, I don’t think they talk about their whiteness.”

The problem with that argument? White people don’t declare their whiteness because whiteness is considered the norm. It's the standard; everything else is an outlier.

For all that talk of The Perfect Guy not being a “black movie”—despite heavy promotion in black media and black neighborhoods—the film debuted with $25.89 million in its opening weekend, thanks to a primarily black audience (estimated at nearly 60 percent). I’m glad non-black people made up 40 percent of the audience, but I don’t buy into the theory that branding The Perfect Guy a “non-black movie” would've attracted more non-black moviegoers. 

In the 1990s, black cinema was something to be celebrated. Our stories were varied, complicated, nuanced, and profitable by Hollywood's standards—just like with black music, black fashion, and other black art forms. Somewhere along the way, though, we felt the need to avoid using "black" as a descriptor. But why? To make blackness more appealing to the masses?

Why should we tone down who we are to appeal to others? Why can’t others simply appreciate our experiences and contributions the way we do theirs? We’re still not truly considered part of the mainstream, and until we are, I see no good reason to lump black entertainment into a space that has historically excluded us.

When it comes to language, I’m a firm believer in going all the way. Say exactly what you mean. Be proud of who you are. Abandon all pretense.

The term “black movie” is not the problem. Pretending it doesn't exist won't curtail other people's racial prejudices. Let’s not bother trying to transcend race in our language by avoiding labels; instead, let's focus on the real issue: moving past racism.

We have to stop treating the symptom, and tackle the disease.

Michael Arceneaux hails from Houston, lives in Harlem, and praises Beyoncé’s name wherever he goes. Follow him@youngsinick.

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