In the early 1960's during the unfolding of the civil rights movement, when Martin Luther King marched on Washington, when three northern civil rights workers were murdered in the south, and when four children died in a Birmingham church bombing, Michael Roemer and Robert Young, two Jewish guys from Harvard, headed south and crafted, in the opinion of many, the most authentic film ever made of the black experience in America. Although racial relations have since altered, the film depicts the essence of racism, including the subtle and less than subtle forms of oppression still present in President Obama's America.
Roemer and Young have expressed some embarrassment at the naiveté and pure chutzpah they demonstrated in their attempt to make a film that truly represented the black experience. (The term "African-American" was not in vogue at the time.) Yet they insist that in the early 1960's, no one else was doing it. Today, they say, it would be "unnecessary", if not impossible, for whites to make the film. Perhaps the fact that director Roemer grew up in Nazi Germany and at age 10 was witness to the destruction of his grandfather's family store on "Kristalnacht" gave him the chops to understand oppression.
Few involved in the making of the film suspected they were making a film that would join Citizen Kane and Casablanca as one of American "classics" on the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress.
Set in early 1960's Alabama, it tells the story of Duff Anderson, played by Ivan Dixon, a proud black man who won't submit to his expected role. It explores the devastating impact of racism on his working life, his marriage, and his dignity. There is no bloodshed, but the threat of violence is always present. We are told that a lynching took place in the small town only 8 years before. The threats are as subtle as whites pulling into a gas station and asking attendant Duff for "38-cents worth of gas, and mind you don't make it 39." Or when a white supervisor, making a lame joke at which Duff refuses to laugh, says: "What's a-matter, boy, you don't think that's funny?" The everyday intimidation is humiliating enough, but the primary impact is economic. Duff won't allow his pride to be violated. "I don't get on so well in most places," he tells Josie, the preacher's daughter played by Abbey Lincoln. He isn't a political militant; for him it is personal. When workers are exploited, he doesn't have an agenda mapped out by a union organizer, he simply wonders aloud to his fellow workers why they don't "stick together" to make reasonable demands. Of course he is then labeled a trouble maker.
Critics loved the movie, but if universally praised, it was and still is rarely seen. A 40th Anniversary special edition DVD was released in 2004. It shows to best advantage the stunning black and white high- contrast low-light style of co-writer Young, who also doubled as cameraman due to an absurdly limited budget. The early Motown soundtrack, whose rights the fledgling filmmakers somehow managed to secure, contributes to the mood; performers include The Marvelettes, "Little" Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Martha and the Vandellas, and others who later became household names. The script, penned by Roemer and Young, is remarkably understated. Emotions boil under subdued, almost perfunctory dialogue. Viewers feel the action; it never clobbers them over the head.
But the film wouldn't be the same without Dixon and Lincoln, who are stellar in their powerhouse performances as Duff and Josie, the couple struggling for dignity in a racist world. As they tell us years later, the actors play themselves. Dixon IS Duff, Lincoln IS Josie. This is the story of their own lives.
Be sure to watch the extra features in the 40th year edition. It is a privilege to see and hear Dixon, Lincoln, and Julius Harris (who plays Will, Duff's alcoholic father), then in their 70's and 80's, talk about the film they made 40 years earlier. Fortunately for us, the interviews of the actors came in time; sadly, all three have since died. There is also a 30 minute unscripted discussion between Roemer and Young in which they tell the story of their experience in researching and making the film, and their feelings about it 40 years later. This is a rare peek into the chaotic craft of film-making.
Abbey Lincoln is better known as a jazz vocalist than an actress. In her remarkable interview, she believes that family is the salvation for blacks. In the film, fatherhood takes the thematic center stage, as personified by Duff's father Will, and by Duff's illegitimate son. "A man who doesn't take care of his children is nobody," Lincoln says. Her interview is a monologue, more poetry than prose, more sung than spoken. "Where are the African Gods?" she wails. "We don't know our names we live without our ancestors...Where are the African Gods who will save us from this misery and shame? Where are the African Gods who live and set us free?" She tearfully proposes the answer: "WE are the African Gods, you and me." The African Gods have been stolen. It is Duff and Josie who must set themselves free.
Abbey Lincoln's tears in the interview, like Josie's in the film, are no act. And when the script calls for Duff to push Josie to the floor in a frustrated rage, concerned director Roemer offers to cheat: "I can fake the fall," Roemer says he told Lincoln. He recalls her response: "I'm going to take that fall for all the black women." The fall is one of those classic moments, like so many others in the film, that emotionally freezes the viewer, and remains etched in our memory.
Roemer and Young have expressed some embarrassment at the naiveté and pure chutzpah they demonstrated in their attempt to make a film that truly represented the black experience. (The term "African-American" was not in vogue at the time.) Yet they insist that in the early 1960's, no one else was doing it. Today, they say, it would be "unnecessary", if not impossible, for whites to make the film. Perhaps the fact that director Roemer grew up in Nazi Germany and at age 10 was witness to the destruction of his grandfather's family store on "Kristalnacht" gave him the chops to understand oppression.
Few involved in the making of the film suspected they were making a film that would join Citizen Kane and Casablanca as one of American "classics" on the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress.
Set in early 1960's Alabama, it tells the story of Duff Anderson, played by Ivan Dixon, a proud black man who won't submit to his expected role. It explores the devastating impact of racism on his working life, his marriage, and his dignity. There is no bloodshed, but the threat of violence is always present. We are told that a lynching took place in the small town only 8 years before. The threats are as subtle as whites pulling into a gas station and asking attendant Duff for "38-cents worth of gas, and mind you don't make it 39." Or when a white supervisor, making a lame joke at which Duff refuses to laugh, says: "What's a-matter, boy, you don't think that's funny?" The everyday intimidation is humiliating enough, but the primary impact is economic. Duff won't allow his pride to be violated. "I don't get on so well in most places," he tells Josie, the preacher's daughter played by Abbey Lincoln. He isn't a political militant; for him it is personal. When workers are exploited, he doesn't have an agenda mapped out by a union organizer, he simply wonders aloud to his fellow workers why they don't "stick together" to make reasonable demands. Of course he is then labeled a trouble maker.
Critics loved the movie, but if universally praised, it was and still is rarely seen. A 40th Anniversary special edition DVD was released in 2004. It shows to best advantage the stunning black and white high- contrast low-light style of co-writer Young, who also doubled as cameraman due to an absurdly limited budget. The early Motown soundtrack, whose rights the fledgling filmmakers somehow managed to secure, contributes to the mood; performers include The Marvelettes, "Little" Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Martha and the Vandellas, and others who later became household names. The script, penned by Roemer and Young, is remarkably understated. Emotions boil under subdued, almost perfunctory dialogue. Viewers feel the action; it never clobbers them over the head.
But the film wouldn't be the same without Dixon and Lincoln, who are stellar in their powerhouse performances as Duff and Josie, the couple struggling for dignity in a racist world. As they tell us years later, the actors play themselves. Dixon IS Duff, Lincoln IS Josie. This is the story of their own lives.
Be sure to watch the extra features in the 40th year edition. It is a privilege to see and hear Dixon, Lincoln, and Julius Harris (who plays Will, Duff's alcoholic father), then in their 70's and 80's, talk about the film they made 40 years earlier. Fortunately for us, the interviews of the actors came in time; sadly, all three have since died. There is also a 30 minute unscripted discussion between Roemer and Young in which they tell the story of their experience in researching and making the film, and their feelings about it 40 years later. This is a rare peek into the chaotic craft of film-making.
Abbey Lincoln is better known as a jazz vocalist than an actress. In her remarkable interview, she believes that family is the salvation for blacks. In the film, fatherhood takes the thematic center stage, as personified by Duff's father Will, and by Duff's illegitimate son. "A man who doesn't take care of his children is nobody," Lincoln says. Her interview is a monologue, more poetry than prose, more sung than spoken. "Where are the African Gods?" she wails. "We don't know our names we live without our ancestors...Where are the African Gods who will save us from this misery and shame? Where are the African Gods who live and set us free?" She tearfully proposes the answer: "WE are the African Gods, you and me." The African Gods have been stolen. It is Duff and Josie who must set themselves free.
Abbey Lincoln's tears in the interview, like Josie's in the film, are no act. And when the script calls for Duff to push Josie to the floor in a frustrated rage, concerned director Roemer offers to cheat: "I can fake the fall," Roemer says he told Lincoln. He recalls her response: "I'm going to take that fall for all the black women." The fall is one of those classic moments, like so many others in the film, that emotionally freezes the viewer, and remains etched in our memory.