As far as classic Black movies go, it's a common joke in my circle that I am really behind the ball. I have apparently missed out on a huge elemental part of my development by missing some cult classics like "Coffy" or "Do The Right Thing". Heck, I only just saw "Purple Rain" a week ago. (I wasn't disappointed...but I wasn't impressed. However, Appolonia got some tig ole' bitties.)
I'm aware that the blaxpoitation genre of movie-making was huge back in the day. In an era that is widely understood as "not-a-good-look" for the Blacks of America, there was that call for something strictly for us. As time went on, and the filmmakers in America started to see the market value in being all inclusive across the production spectrum, blacks started popping up in more movies, getting more play time, more accolades, and better roles. Being militant and explicitly pro-black/revolutionary started to become unnecessary and obsolete, and we started to GET OURS. From Eddie Murphy in "Coming to America" to Eddie Murphy in "The Nutty Professor", things slowly changed.
This is not to say that White America-friendly roles didn't exist in the 1960-1970s. But I do feel that there has been a decline in your typical Pam Grier role.
Enter Black Dynamite. That man that's gonna "shake the tree from the roots, rake up the fruits, rip it up out the ground to find out what's goin down."
I really thought that this movie was a joke, a lame joke at that. Who wants to watch a movie that is such a throwback? Do we really need another "Undercover Brother" in these racially sensitive times? And who the heck is Black Dynamite anyways? How much of a spoof will this be? Never one to lie, I was definitely quite suspect.
That was before I saw the film.
Daggone.
Now, I wasn't around for the 70s. I was barely cognizant for the 80s. I was only exposed to a world of Bill Cosby and Reading Rainbow: happy Black people. I wasn't aware of "The Struggle". And any reference to it in the idiot box was pretty much parodied.
But I have to give much kudos to writers, the producers, actors, all involved with the film, because it must have been a HUGE task to do what this film did for me. Don't think that this is the next Spike Lee joint or some life changing movie, because it's not. You won't hate Whitey, you won't paint the White House black, you won't start fighting with nunchucks. But I feel that you may appreciate how far we've come.
Because it's been a while since a movie thoroughly entertained and excited me. Watching it, I was rooting for the good guy, who was also a B.A.. Not Sam Jackson's Shaft. Not Will Smith's Ali (that was a different inspiration, so calm down). I just...I felt like I was transported to a time where being Black was an actual struggle, a clearly defined one at that. In this country, being anything but White will always resemble an uphill battle, but the heat was UP at that time. While this up and coming generation will be more-or-less fighting to make sense and be relevant without sounding like a track on repeat, a generation before mine, they were still fighting to be HEARD and RESPECTED.
Now, there are tons morally wrong, if not questionable with this movie. Not all black heroes were dang-a-lang swanging, pre-hip-hop rhyming, kung-fu fighting militants. Luckily, I'm in my 20s and not as impressionable. But like I said...it made me feel something solid.
So I urge ya'll to check this movie out. When I say thorough, this flick was thorough. And funny as crap. Can you dig?
Well, I've been ever so graciously awarded with an Honest Scrap by I.Am.Spoken.Word.
According to the rules, I have to ante up, so ante I shall.
The protocol is to be encouraging and inspiring.
This won't be hard.
Here are the rules.
The honest scrap award rules:
1. Present the award to seven bloggers whose blogs you find brilliant in content and/or design or who have encouraged you.
2. Tell those seven people that you have given them the Honest Scrap Award.
3. Share ten honest things about yourself.
The Nominees for (R)Evolution's Honest Scrap Awards 2009 are:
I am growing to hate politics more and more each day. More than that, I am hating how religious folk USE politics to instigate their own agenda instead of God's.
There is no telling what I would do to perform on stage with some of my favorite artists.
I feel that at this point in my life, I have the same amount of regrets as successes.
I wouldn't mind being famous for something positive and inspiring.
I feel that my life's purpose is to work with children.
I know that God is in control, regardless of how it may look to me.
...but I just wish I had a clue.
Finally, I am accepting the fact that I know nothing about Love. Absolutely NOTHING.
In another life, I may have been a gigolo. Feel free to ask why.
My life is heading somewhere great, and I can't wait until I get there.
It was an early part of the Summer, one of those days when the heat starts to show up.
Granted, it wasn't unbearably hot. It wasn't hot enough to feel restless, but like I said...it was coming.
I was in Missouri, working at Kids Across America, a Christian Sports camp for inner city youth. Before the kids arrive at the camp, the counselors are there for a little over a week to prepare the camp for the kids' arrival. This Staff Training Week encompasses everything from camp upkeep and protocol to bible studies and fellowship.
Drawing closer to the end of the Staff Training Week, we began to relax on the upkeep duties and prepare ourselves spiritually for the task that lay ahead of us, both in and out of camp's gates. Some of us were staying for one term, which is three eight-day sessions, others were staying for two terms. A few were dedicating their entire summers to camp, a full 9 sessions.
For one of our final camp-wide fellowship meetings, we met in the gym at one of the camps. Now picture this: possibly hundreds of college aged students gathered in a cramped gym, during the dawn of the summer, in the middle of the country (read: the boonies), with absolutely NO air-conditioning or air-freshener. Never mind to that whole "groups-of-black-people-naturally-give-off-heat" thing. Body heat is body heat, and there was much of body heat that night. My glasses were fogging up, I was bumping into folk I didn't know, my deodorant had worn off long since that morning...it should have been a mess.
The dj running the sound system started playing music. The speaker hadn't come up yet, so we were all anticipating the message. Each song played was choice and lively, probably all in an attempt to keep us focused.
Then he played "Melodies from Heaven", from Kirk Franklin's "Whatcha Lookin' For?" album. Any fan of Gospel music knows this song in and out. No, not just black people.
On cue, folk starting singing. And it started out playful, because we had actually tried this a few days prior, a Capella. That attempt failed like Sisqo's career, but with the accompaniment of the track behind us, we all had a new sense of confidence. With each line, the group's tone grew more triumphant.
Chorus
Melodies from Heaven
Rain down on me (2x)
2x
Take me in Your arms and hold me close
Rain down on me (2x)
Fill me with your precious Holy Ghost
Rain down on me (2x)
Repeat from Chorus
Tenors: Rain(1st)
Sopranos: Rain down on me(2nd)
Altos: Let let let let let it fall on me(2nd)
4x
Melodies from Heaven (4x)
Rain down on me (repeat till end)
Something amazing happened in that room that night. I have head countless scripture about how the heavens sing out and how there is such joy in heaven. I've had classes point out which angels sing and why. But that night in Missouri, almost 200 college students put everything on pause for one unified purpose.
Family issues? Pause.
Relationship troubles? Pause.
Financial woes? Pause.
Political affiliation? Pause.
Public scrutiny? Pause.
Religious denomination? Pause.
God. That was is. Just him.
I have never been a part of such a beautiful event, before or since. I've been in church before, and I've been on choirs and choruses. But never have I been more at peace than when in a random assortment of blacks, whites, men, women, Pacific Islanders, unemployed, drop-outs, students, Trinidadians, Jamaicans, football players, band geeks, cheerleaders, Democrats, Republicans, suburbanites, hood aficionados, sanctified sinners, all gathered to wholeheartedly sing OUT LOUD, with arms stretched HIGH, some crying out, without a care to anything else but to simply PRAISE HIM.
Just to praise Him.
I believe that night, I caught a glimpse of an idea of what heaven is like.
