Watching “Fruitvale Station” on New Year’s Day
It’s a straight up metaphysical coincidence that I decided to watch Ryan Coogler’s Fruitvale Station* *on New Year’s Day. I made it all the way up to VLC timecode 54:33 out of 1:24:57. I promise to watch the last act when I’m feeling a bit more wealthy and generous. I am not trying to say that Ryan Coogler did a “bad” job like a snarky little man-bitch. On the contrary: Ryan Coogler is bright star for the future of cinema—especially Black cinema—and, even though I have teased him to his face in the past, I am proud of Forest Whitaker for investing in Ryan’s vision. Whitaker, like Antoine Fuqua, has pleasantly surprised me with making innovative investments in Black projects—instead of trite, saccharin, chocolate-colored, white-liberal moves.
Southern “Black Codes”?
Every African-American visualization should be evaluated by classical Southern “black codes.” We don’t have a Civil Rights Law we have a Civil Rights Act—so let’s not act like these “black codes” are long gone. There’s an email or two leaked from Sony Pictures to prove my point, kids. So when Ryan Coogler composes this scene it makes perfect sense to me why the Academy would overlook Fruitvale Station:
Coogler stages a scene between a Black male and a white female that, in its first few seconds, is deliberately ambiguous. I am definitely sure that members of the Academy, like many other white viewers of all skin colors, saw this scene and assumed that the Black male meant to do harm to the white female. These viewers would surely feel the shame of leaning that way before the scene is over. It’s a genius move on Coogler’s part and because I like it so much, I know the white gatekeepers of Hollywood do not. The traditional, “racially tolerant” thing to do is let the white character lead the action and monopolize the initiative and/or replace the young Black male with an old-ass, Morgan-Freeman-like dude.
The “Crime”
The “crime” that Michael B. Jordan’s character commits in the film is that of not having a job while being Black (and telling lies to loved ones around it). Coogler with his cinematographer, Rachel Morrison, states the gravitas of this situation, visually in this shot:
Michael B. Jordan’s rendition of Oscar Grant is staring into the void with his last few dollars, gripping on what could be the last bit of groceries he’ll buy for his family for a long, long time. As we see revealed later in the film, this brother is stepping out into the void of uncertainty without the toxic cushion of narcotics. He is trying to do it sober. I’ve been in the same position many, many times in my life and what I have learned is perhaps what this film is trying to express: young Black men get no character arcs; we are not really allowed to make mistakes and recover—when we screw up, our punishment is verifiably disproportionately severe. My bizarro-world ‘solution’ to this ‘problem’ is to be damn near “perfect” by ghetto standards (which is not an issue brought up in this film but might be cool to mention here because—should Coogler ever read this—he might think about building a story around such a “perfectionist” young Black man from the ’hood—might be autobiographical for him).
Perfect Composition
Speaking of perfect, this shot says volumes perfectly for me:
Our Oscar Grant has been humiliated completely and rapidly in this flashback scene during his incarceration. Not only is he called “nigger” to his face by a straight-up, classical racist, his mother is insulted by the same racist pig of a character. All of this is punctuated by a white authority figure stepping in front of the pig/racist like he is protecting him—stating quite efficiently that white privilege exists even for lowlifes in jail—the system protects them. A typical white-liberal, storytelling strategy (developed during the 1970s) would have dragged this shit out perhaps over an entire 20-minute act but Ryan Coogler steps in and gets the job done in a handful of minutes. This level of efficiency, leaves space for our Oscar Grant to reveal his humanity, instead of siphoning off too much goddamn attention to white actors in a movie about people of color.
My Daughter
Yes, of course, unlike most (perhaps all) members of the Academy, this shot reminds me of my daughter:
Based on what happened to me in my 20s (before my daughter was born) and without regard to how much money I’m bringing in now, I will never get used to being able to provide something for my daughter. What I am trying to say is I will never take it for granted. I have two sons but with a daughter it is totally different. What should bring tears to anyone who deeply understands is that Oscar Grant will never get the chance to be there for his daughter. This film reminds me that I am very, very grateful to higher powers—more powerful than any flesh man—that my person has been able to be there for my daughter. And my “perfectionist” self says there is always room for improvement but I’m thankful nonetheless. So J’ah seh: not one of my seed will sit in the sidewalk and beg your bread…
Accurate Depiction of a ‘Modern’ Black Family Gathering
Fruitvale Station is the first film I have ever seen that depicts a Black family gathering in a way that resonates as real with respect to the late 20th and 21st century. This composition says it all for me:
It’s More Than Just Brushing Teeth
This shot from the tooth-brushing scene between our Oscar and his daughter, played by Ariana Neal, sets off very, very intimate family issues from my parental life:
Whenever I pick up my children and I see that their hair is not combed or their nails in need of pedicure or manicure, I become concerned that they are being neglected. I am already neglecting them (especially when they were toddlers) by holding down a job away from them all day. To see them with flagrantly bad cavities or dirty nails only compounds the issue. My mother would be very sexist and deeply offended that such shit it going on. But to me this is just another indicator of the “new” world we live in today.
These grooming moments become oftentimes the only extended moments of intimacy a “modern” child has with its “working” parents. So when I see a child unkempt—especially my child—I get ‘concerned’—often pissed off. A parent has no right to complain that their child cannot concentrate or pay attention when concentration or attention was rarely lavished on them. A child can deepen a bond with a parent (or caretaker) by connecting with them during a manicure—or just tying shoes. A child can learn how to deal with impatience or frustration simply by observing and bonding with a parent during these mundane tasks.
“We Gay”
This shot is from a scene that represents how I would comment on the new ‘wave’ of homosexuality among 21st-century Black youth. Again, because I like the way Ryan Coogler efficiently handled the subject matter, I know that colored-white-liberal Hollywood would not find this scene refreshing or charming in any way:
You see, kids, when I was a teenager, a beautiful chocolate girl told me once, “You gay.” The reason why she did this was because I did not lose my self-control when I saw her and effectively ignored her (we were on a public street and she was a stranger). She was very, very attractive. Fast forward to the 21st-century, add one more beautiful chocolate girl and we live in a “new” world where the girl is likely to say, “We gay”—with the implication that I, again, should lose my sense of self-control and get so jealous and angry that such a physically attractive female is hanging her arm around another one. Nine times out of ten both of those girls from both of those centuries would be right. But Coogler is showing us that on the 10th time, these narcissistic kids, drowning in novelty and perverse prejudice, are wrong. My imaginary-but-extrapolated, experience-based profile of the typical Hollywood gatekeeper would not welcome such sophistication from a Black filmmaker and would “question” why such a scene would exist. “Why associate ‘gay’ with ‘wrong’?” I really dig this scene. It’s a long overdue follow up to all that Queen-Latifah-gratuitous-lesbian shit in Set It Off (way back in 1996).