To Sleep With Anger

 

 

Writer/director Charles Burnett

Burnett with Danny Glover (left)

Burnett (center) surrounded by the cast

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TO SLEEP WITH ANGER              A-                                                                                        USA  (101 mi)  1990  d:  Charles Burnett

The past is never dead.  It’s not even past.                                                                            —William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun, 1951

A curious hybrid of a black American film, one that views the modern Los Angeles landscape with an eye on the past, totally aware that their roots are in the Deep South, yet separating themselves from the mythical folklore that arose out of slavery days.  The film is an enchanted yet thoroughly understated depiction of the contradictions of being black in America, one of the few with no apparent references to an urban ghetto, no drugs, no gangs, no guns, no policemen, no hookers, and no rap or hip-hop soundtrack, showing the extent to which black lives have been stereotyped elsewhere.  With aspirations running into a wall contending with a predominately white America, there is a deep connection with where you came from and a special significance paid to historical roots, including what was once an illiterate culture, where slaves were deprived of education and even reading books, relying upon oral traditions, fables, and symbols, creating their own customs and mythology, where the modern era vantage point offers so many more opportunities, yet connections to black heritage include the memories of grandparents and those family members who came before, describing things that bear a resemblance to witchcraft, to a spiritual realm where the ancestors live, providing an unsettling depiction of life in a Jim Crow era where lynchings still occurred, and where people had run-ins with local police, and bad blood between various members of families.  People may still view what happened with deep prejudice, still casting blame for unnecessary deaths that occurred, carrying their disturbing recollections over into the present, where bearing grudges doesn’t begin to describe it, as some still live under the shadow of omens and spells, believing nothing ever happens naturally, that good luck charms really exist, and that ancient remedies are still needed.  This is a family film that suggests the ancestors are angry, bearing an ominous, near Biblical significance on the living, where prior sins need atonement and perhaps a bit of mercy, all of which suggests we need to put our differences aside and live better lives.  The idea behind the film is a reflection on what constitutes black consciousness, a mosaic constructed from fragmented memories, where we remain connected as a people, though deep understandings about ourselves are rooted in a strange mysticism that may have lost its potency through the passing years, that may go back to superstitions and folklore brought from Africa, where this film reminds us of deep connections that are on the brink of extinction, yet remain relevant in our lives and still powerful enough to remember.  Between the 1890’s and 1910, large groups of black Americans migrated to Los Angeles from Texas, Shreveport, New Orleans, and Atlanta to escape the racial violence and bigotry of the South.  The great migration of the 1920’s saw major populations of the black South move to northern cities like Detroit, Chicago, and New York, largely bypassing Los Angeles.  It was during the Second Great Migration in the 1940’s that the most significant shifts in the city were made.  During World War II defense production skyrocketed in Los Angeles with more than $11 billion dollars in war contracts, which called for labor in the automobile, rubber, and steel industries, where the black population in Los Angeles leaped from 63,700 in 1940 to 763,000 in 1970 (The Great Migration: Creating a New Black Identity in Los ...). 

Burnett was born in Mississippi and moved to the Watts area of southern Los Angeles at an early age, a neighborhood with a strong southern migration influence, where the Watts riots of 1965 played a prominent role in his upbringing, having witnessed the burning down of the neighborhood, while Watts is also notorious for the beating of Rodney King in 1991 and the subsequent outbreak of violence and looting that followed the acquittal of the police officers responsible.  Burnett became known to the film going public through Thomas Andersen’s extraordinary documentary Los Angeles Plays Itself (2003) which identified black independent filmmakers like Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep (1979) and Billy Woodberry’s Bless Their Little Hearts (1984), both key figures of the L.A. Rebellion, black and brown UCLA film students from the 70’s dedicated to providing a more authentic black perspective, with both creating a new aesthetic countering false and stereotypically inaccurate Hollywood images, with a focus on working-class black families living in South Central Los Angeles living from paycheck to paycheck, which comes across as near documentary truth without an ounce of artifice about the black experience.  Winner of a MacArthur Foundation Fellowship in 1988, this is among Burnett’s most accessible films, his first to find a distributor and the first to feature professional actors, given a higher budget, made for an estimated cost of $1.4 million, but only after partnering with actor and executive producer Danny Glover, who was immensely popular after making the first two Lethal Weapon movies in 1987 and 1989 which earned $100 million and $200 million dollars in net profit respectively.  But this film was only released in 17 theaters nationwide, with the director conceding it “offered no apparent reference point for white Americans,” so like all of this director’s films they are criminally underseen, despite the fact he may be the best black American director working today, or in the past 30-years, though Barry Jenkins has recently given him a run for his money, however he’s rarely mentioned in the same breath as Spike Lee or John Singleton.  Opening in a foreshadowing dream sequence, we hear the gospel sounds of SISTER ROSETTA THARPE - Precious Memories [1956 ... YouTube (2:52) and we’re immediately attuned to the fact this is a memory play, a summoning of ancient spirits, featuring Paul Butler (remember him? always superb) as Gideon, a retired laborer living comfortably in a house of modest means in Los Angeles with his devout wife Suzie (Mary Alice), an old married couple with family photographs seen scattered around their home, retaining signs of their old-style rural upbringing by raising chickens in the backyard, with church figuring prominently as the moral center of their lives.  Like Cain and Abel, they have two distinctly different older sons, Junior (Carl Lumbly), the favored son, hard-working, mature, and responsible, married to Pat (Vonetta McGee, as they were in real life), and the more insecure, perpetually disrespected Baby Brother (Richard Brooks) who grows increasingly hostile, remaining susceptible and confused about his identity, torn between a disconnected black heritage and capitalist aspirations, easily seduced into doing the wrong thing, troubled by what he perceives as overt favoritism shown to his older brother, both seen arguing incessantly while crying the blues that his father is always picking on him, criticizing every selfish move he makes, including his rocky marriage to Linda (Sheryl Lee Ralph) where both work long hours, largely avoiding his paternal responsibilities with his young son, who always seems to be staying with the grandparents, picked up at all hours of the night, never at any designated time, continually shuffled back and forth in a routine that suggests taking advantage.  

Set in a place with a very strong sense of family and community, which may no longer be the norm, the film offers a unique black perspective on their historical connections to the Deep South, where unmitigated racial violence consumed the lives of nearly all descendents of southern slaves and sharecroppers, creating an invisible and near underground black culture, like a parallel universe remaining undetected from the neighboring white community, which makes this film an utter revelation, operating on the premise, “You don’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve been.”  What sets the gears in motion is Gideon’s loss of an old charm, a toby, an ancestral talisman, believing it will help protect his family.  As if on cue, an old friend Harry (Danny Glover) that he hasn’t seen in thirty years from Mississippi mysteriously arrives at his door, where he is wholeheartedly welcomed and embraced and urged to stay as long as he likes, evoking an overpowering nostalgia for the old ways.  Harry is like a figment of the imagination, a folkloric character, a trickster and master manipulator, deceptive and dishonest, the embodiment of evil, yet isn’t evil, a multi-dimensional presence that exists in a realm of ambiguity, hiding behind a façade of Southern graciousness, whose enduring charm and sly smile make people see what they want to see, where references to mythical crossroads are legendary in Robert Johnson blues songs, seemingly making a deal with the devil, where his presence is a throwback to an earlier era, symbolic of the old days, constantly reminding people who they were back in the day, yet constantly stirring up trouble wherever he goes, as trouble just seems to follow him, having a hugely unsettling and destabilizing effect on the entire community.  Baby Brother, on the other hand, is enthralled by his overwhelmingly brash male confidence and bravado, filled with stories about the old days, as ghosts of the past come perilously close to haunting and disrupting the present.  Bringing back the traditional fish fry, the presence of corn liquor seems to bring people out of the woodworks, strange, disreputable people we hadn’t seen before, spending the night telling tall tales, while laughing and drinking, and even singing songs, as we hear the sounds of LITTLE MILTON - ANNIE MAE'S CAFE YouTube (5:06) and Bobby Blue Bland - Walking, Talking & Singing The Blues ... YouTube (3:55), with Jimmy Witherspoon actually making an appearance onscreen singing “See See Rider,” To Sleep With Anger – Jimmy Witherspoon YouTube (1:23), with a guitar played by musical composer Stephen James Taylor.  Urging a former lover Hattie (Ethel Ayler) to perform some old juke joint songs, recalling her mother ran a home of ill repute back home, but she defers, righteously offended by his insinuations, telling him, “You remind me of so much that went wrong in my life,” perhaps the only one to see right through him, as she’s been saved, having found religion, and instead can be heard singing an eloquently slow rendition of a gospel song, ETHEL WATERS Gospel Spiritual. Church , Stand By Me , Mammy YouTube (3:56).  Casting a spell on an otherwise peaceful household, tempers flare, smoldering tensions brew, large knives are unleashed, with people inexplicably struck down, though it’s hard to tell if by God or the Devil, as Burnett beautifully interweaves evocative strains of blues and gospel traditions mixed with images of poetic realism, easily moving between tragedy and comedy, featuring a constantly moving camera by Walt Lloyd.  Thrown into the mix is a young kid next door (Burnett’s son) heard practicing the trumpet, continually making screeching sounds and playing off-key, where at least in the eyes of Harry he’s nothing but a nuisance disturbing the neighborhood, but his finally on-key music melodically soars over the closing credits, To Sleep With Anger Ending Credits (Ramon Flores Trumpet Solo) YouTube (3:57), bringing symmetry and harmony to what feels like a spiritual road movie, constantly following the wrong path, continually swerving off course, yet ultimately finding its way. 

Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool

Miles with Charlie Parker in 1947

 

Miles with Frances Taylor

Miles with Gil Evans

Miles with John Coltrane

Bill Evans (left to right), Miles, Cannonball Adderley, and Coltrane

Miles with Cicely Tyson

Director Stanley Nelson

MILES DAVIS:  BIRTH OF THE COOL – made for TV               B                                         USA  (114 mi)  2020  d:  Stanley Nelson

Listen.  The greatest feeling I ever had in my life — with my clothes on — was when I first heard Diz and Bird together in St. Louis, Missouri, back in 1944.  I’ve come close to matching the feeling of that night, but I’ve never quite got there.  I’m always looking for it, trying to always feel it in and through the music I play.                                                                       —Miles Davis, opening line from The Autobiography of Miles Davis, with help from Quincy Troupe, 1989

Documentary filmmaker Stanley Nelson makes another PBS American Masters film, moving from one radical piece of black history, The Black Panthers: Vanguard of the Revolution (2015), to another, this time documenting the life of jazz great Miles Davis, one of the most innovative and influential jazz musicians of the twentieth century.  Using much of the narration taken directly from The Autobiography of Miles Davis (421 pages), published in 1989 with help from Quincy Troupe, spoken by longtime TV actor Carl Lumbly in a raspy voice meant to sound like that of Miles, it’s a fairly straightforward documentary style that mainstreams an unconventional artist into a conventional format, easy to digest, wall-to-wall music playing in the background, plenty of vintage photographs, never really delving under the surface, instead standardizing his legacy.  Since the story is told by the artist himself, it has a ring of authenticity, but what’s lacking is material that refutes his greatness or offers any divulging opinions, as it’s basically a puff piece celebrating his status of jazz royalty.  While that was never in dispute, there were quite a few musicians who had their run-ins with Miles, Charles Mingus among them, finding him too egotistic and wrapped up in himself, making too many demands of others, where he refused to play with him after some early sessions, finding his irascible personality too easily provoked, as there was always tension in the room.  Jazz music, on the other hand, usually took the tension out of the air, so at least as a young artist there was an enigma associated with his name (An open letter to miles davis — CHARLES MINGUS).  Yet you won’t find any comments from Mingus in this film, or Monk, who Miles harassed and tried to change or alter his peculiar playing style, wanting the piano to accompany his trumpet in a supporting role, a vision not shared by Monk, to his credit.  So none of the abrasive moments butting heads with other jazz musicians are mentioned here.  Instead it appears that his career was all smooth sailing, where a child prodigy simply took the celebratory Mozartian road to success, where everything he touched was beloved by the public.  Only Stanley Crouch, a black cultural critic known for his jazz criticism, takes issue with the music he’s playing late in his career, wondering out loud why people are drawn to it, as at least in his mind there’s nothing about it that feels the least bit interesting.  And this touches on what’s not mentioned in the film, how jazz as a commercial form was largely directed towards white audiences, as they’re the ones buying the records, while jazz as an art form is a uniquely black cultural expression.  Late in his career, Miles wanted to be a rock star, doing live shows, like Hendrix or the Rolling Stones, selling out venues that appealed to mostly white audiences.  Certainly some purists in the jazz industry would call that selling out to make a buck, yet because he’s Miles Davis, legendary jazz artist, no one questions his motives.  The almighty dollar certainly plays into this as a driving motivation, yet so is success and popularity.  Miles wanted to be as popular as Michael Jackson or Prince.  In that vein, the difference between the unembellished portrayal of Monk in Charlotte Zwerin’s Thelonious Monk: Straight, No Chaser (1988) and Miles in this film couldn’t be more profound, as Monk was never searching for the money or accolades associated with winning over white audiences. 

Something of a contrast to Don Cheadle’s Miles Ahead (2015), showing Davis in one of his dark periods, which veered into the ridiculous and surreal, Nelson’s film may lack flair or originality, but it does provide much of the music that Miles is known for, even if it’s presented in a greatest hits manner.  Davis was born in Alton, Illinois, but soon moved to East St. Louis where his father set up a dental practice, owning 200 acres of land in Arkansas, while his grandfather owned acres of nearby farmland as well, spending his summers there, so he didn’t grow up poor, as his family was among the wealthiest black families in the region, but he witnessed his father physically abuse his mother, a trait he inherited in his own relationships with women, repeating the same mistakes, becoming a major flaw in his character that was often overlooked.  He was gifted a trumpet by his father at age 13, playing in the high school marching band, while also playing in local bands.  While still in high school, he filled a seat on a band called Eddie Randle’s Rhumboogie Orchestra, becoming the musical director, but the most significant event after high school was sitting in on the Billy Eckstine Band on tour in St. Louis, featuring both Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, where the three of them comprise the future of modern jazz, Groovin High - Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie (5:14).  This gave Miles the musical inspiration he needed, knowing his future would lead him to 52nd Street in New York, known as the Mecca of Jazz clubs, with various establishments lining both sides of the street.  His father urged him to attend Juilliard School, learning music theory, but he hit the clubs in the evenings, eventually dropping out to join a bebop quintet with Charlie Parker, who struggled with mental health issues and heroin addiction problems, gaining plenty of weight, going on alcohol binges, where his physical condition just deteriorated.  So he worked with a collection of LA artists, including Gil Evans, who specialized in small orchestra arrangements, both seemingly bringing out the best in one another, giving birth to his first legendary recording session in 1949-50 with Birth of the Cool, but it was a trio of later albums that helped separate Miles from the field, Miles Ahead (1957), Porgy and Bess (1958), and Sketches of Spain (1960), all examples of re-inventing the limits of jazz parameters using non-jazz music, deeply introspective, master of the muted sound, with each showcasing a more lyrical, mournful anguish rarely heard in jazz.  Often overlooked in Miles’ career is the success he had in Europe in the mid 50’s, which embraced American jazz music after the war as a sign of freedom, where black musicians were more appreciated in Europe for their artistry, as opposed to the continued legacy of racism in America, with Miles Davis greeted alongside the likes of Picasso and Jean-Paul Sartre, all celebrated for expanding the realms of consciousness.  During a brief Parisian tour in 1958, film director Louis Malle asked Miles to improvise a musical score for his latest film, Elevator to the Gallows (Ascenseur pour l'échafaud) (1958), an existential film noir starring Jeanne Moreau about distanced lovers who never meet, with Miles improvising on the spot by watching the completed film footage in the recording studio, where his music plays as Moreau wanders the streets endlessly at night, perfectly capturing her loneliness and growing sorrowful detachment, Miles Davis - Générique - YouTube (2:49). 

Among his greatest collaborations is working with John Coltrane in Kind of Blue (1959) prior to Coltrane’s own break-out ascendancy to becoming a legendary star, but also Julian “Cannonball” Adderley and the compositional genius of Bill Evans before they formed their own bands, where the intimate setting allowed each musician their own space, with Miles providing a spare outline of a melody, becoming what is regarded as the greatest jazz album ever recorded and still the best-selling jazz album of all time (Kind of Blue: how Miles Davis made the greatest jazz album in ...), largely due to its accessibility, appealing to audiences that aren’t necessarily jazz devotees, as it perfectly captures the spontaneity of the moment, Miles Davis - So What (Official Video) - YouTube (9:06).  Let’s not forget the recent Barry Jenkins film based on a James Baldwin novel, If Beale Street Could Talk (2018), which prominently features the achingly sad Blue in Green by. Miles Davis - YouTube (5:37) in one of the more harrowing scenes.  As Coltrane demanded his own independence, however, wanting his own spotlight, Miles had to re-invent himself once more in the mid 60’s, creating a quintet with relatively unknown talent, adding Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock to the mix, and a 17-year old drummer extraordinaire in Tony Williams, priding themselves on rehearsing in performance, as they wanted to capture the explosive freshness each time, “Footprints” - The Miles Davis Quintet Live In ... - YouTube (9:08).  And when jazz lost its popularity to the cultural fascination of rock music, Miles re-invented himself again going totally electric in one of his most neglected albums in 1969, In a Silent Way, which is never mentioned, yet rivals his best work, introducing jazz fusion.  The film gushes over one of his more demonstrative phases, using echo and reverberation effects in crafting an experimental new sound, Miles Davis - Bitches Brew (Live In Copenhagen ... - YouTube (15:34).  Miles experienced his own Rodney King-like beating at the hands of the New York Police Department, standing in front of a club where he was the headliner, smoking a cigarette, but was ordered by cops to move along, which he refused to do, leaving his suit splattered with his own blood while his head was battered by nightsticks.  He suffered his own battles with drug dependency, especially in dealing with the constant pain from hip surgery gone wrong, but he had several episodes with drug addiction, which was a contributing factor in ending his marriage to dancer Frances Taylor, who may be the most welcome presence here, where they were the talk of the town, a chic and sophisticated New York City couple, both extremely fashion conscientious and both extremely talented, where her face appears on an album cover for Someday My Prince Will Come.  But drugs and alcohol, a toxic mix, only accentuated his jealousy, not wanting anyone else to show any extra affection to his wife, showing up in rehearsals for West Side Story and taking her home, refusing to allow her to have her own career, then belting her to the floor when she happened to mention she thought Quincy Jones was cute, the first of several instances, eventually walking out the door for good.  Plenty of faces offer commentary throughout, none offering any definitive historical view, so in equal measure they all weigh in during certain stages of his life, including his son Erin Davis and nephew Vince Wilburn, former girlfriends French singer/actor Juliette Gréco, Marguerite Cantú (mother of Erin), and painter Jo Gelbard, with brief appearances from Betty Mabry and Cicely Tyson, but also childhood friends and musical collaborators Gil Evans, Jimmy Heath, Jimmy Cobb, Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, and Ron Carter, but also Marcus Miller and Lenny White.  Quincy Jones makes an appearance and Clive Davis, manager Mark Rothbaum, also concert organizer George Wein, who recalls how influential it was for Miles to play at the Newport Jazz Festival, which was like a trial run for signing with Columbia records.  Perhaps most surprising is the adoration expressed by Carlos Santana, but also reflections offered from scholars Farah Jasmine Griffin and Tammy L. Kernodle, which reveal surprisingly little.  However his own dire reflections carry over through the end credits, revealing what could amount to a fitting epitaph, “When God punished you, it’s not that you don’t get what you want.  You get everything you want and there’s no time left.”