2019 Top Ten List #5 Amazing Grace

AMAZING GRACE                          A                    

USA  (87 mi)  2018 d:  Sydney Pollack and Alan Eliot

We forget, sometimes, that we are in the presence of greatness, and Aretha Franklin was a once in a generation singer whose influence could not be harnessed or diminished.  Though she was the first female performer to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in 2010 Rolling Stone magazine ranked her number one on their list of the “100 Greatest Singers of All Time” ("100 Greatest Singers: Aretha Franklin"), with her 1967 album, Aretha Franklin, ‘I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You’ on Atlantic voted the greatest female album of all time, Women Who Rock: The 50 Greatest Albums of All Time – Rolling Stone.  That album made her a superstar, but perhaps more significantly was the influence of one particular song on the album, Aretha Franklin - Respect [1967] (Original Version) - YouTube (2:30), which resonates with the power of her own personality, becoming synonymous with the spirit of the changing times, as she devoted an enormous part of her life working for the social change advocated by Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. with this song playing on the radio all day long.  Franklin sang at the 1968 funeral for the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and at the Democratic National Convention that same year, sang at the funeral services for Civil Rights pioneer Rosa Parks, performed at three Presidential inaugurations, Jimmy Carter in 1977, Bill Clinton in 1993, and Barack Obama in 2009, while also receiving a Presidential Medal of Freedom award from former President George W. Bush in November 2005.  However, she rejected requests to sing at a fourth, claiming “no amount of money” could convince her to perform at the Trump inauguration, though Trump claimed Franklin “worked for me on numerous occasions” and implied a sort of friendship between the two, though it’s clear Franklin, a staple in the Civil Rights movement, “despised” everything Trump stood for, including his inflammatory rhetoric and demeaning policy proposals.  This film actually goes back to 1972, following a string of 11 consecutive No. 1 songs, having graced the cover of Time magazine, crowned Queen of Soul, yet despite the superlatives, there were those that criticized her for “leaving the church,” though anyone listening to her music was inundated by clear gospel roots, even in secular music, which is perhaps what set her apart from all the rest, as she sings with such a spiritual grace.  As if answering those critics, this film was going to be Aretha’s return to traditional gospel, recorded live inside the humble and unpretentious setting of the Los Angeles’ New Temple Missionary Baptist Church that used to be a movie studio, located in the neighborhood where the Watts riots occurred, probably holding no more than 200 people, populated by church goers and avid fans, filmed by a white film crew from Warner Brothers led by Sydney Pollack, whose only claim to fame at that time was a Depression-era danceathon with Jane Fonda and Gig Young entitled THEY SHOOT HORSES, DON’T THEY? (1969), winning the aging Young a best supporting actor award and the director a best director nomination.  As it turns out, Pollack made the rookie mistake of forgetting to use a clapper board for sound, so the audio was not in sync with the 20 hours of collected footage, something he could not easily fix, with the project eventually scrapped by the studios in 1972, languishing on the shelf for years, as the film was never completed.  You can imagine the heartbreak and disappointment this must have caused her, led to believe this was her coming out party on film, like a black WOODSTOCK (1970), a gospel celebration of love and peace, and then no film materializes, where everything that she was promised dies right along with it.  The record album, however, released that same year, was a remarkable achievement and went on to become the largest selling gospel album in history.  Shortly after Pollack died in 2008, music producer Alan Elliot mortgaged his home and was able to procure the rights to the film, using digital technology to re-sync the film, where it was ready to be released by 2015 until legal constraints by Franklin mysteriously put a stop to that, never able to work out the details of adequate compensation.  It was only after her death in 2018, with the consent of her family, that this film could finally see the light of day, where we can rediscover a 29-year old Aretha at the supreme height of her powers.    

Few films take us into the heart of the black church as well as this one, where if it’s possible for a film to touch your soul, this is it, ironically filmed over two days by an all-white crew, using five 16mm cameras, yet the performers are exclusively black, exhibiting a flair for the moment that really can’t be described as much as “experienced.”  Say what you will, but the stark contrast between what happens here and what we historically see in churches throughout film history, like Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest (Journal d'un curé de campagne) (1951), Dreyer’s ORDET (1955), Buñuel’s NAZARIN (1959), Bergman’s Winter Light (Nattvardsgästerna) (1963), or Reygadas’ SILENT LIGHT (2007), couldn’t be more radically different, where you wonder if they’re all praying to the same God, with one culture visibly moved and jubilant, raising their hands, spontaneously jumping to their feet as they are literally moved by the spirit, with the entire building immersed in wall-to-wall sound, while the other feels austere and distant, where you can hear a pin drop inside the church.  All are devout Christians with a deep history of scripture and hymns, yet this religious tribute, unseen for over half a century, couldn’t be more inspiring.  As a performer, Aretha, along with Ray Charles, helped bring the black church to the radio, both black and white, where her voice swells with raised emotions, providing that promised resilience of the soul needed for the long and difficult days ahead.  Introducing her is Rev. James Cleveland, who collaborates with Aretha and serves as master of ceremony, playing piano, introducing each new hymn, featuring the dynamic Southern California Community Choir conducted by their animated choirmaster Alexander Hamilton, one of the unsung stars of the show.  Occasionally Hamilton and Cleveland would briefly switch places, with Aretha mostly singing at the podium, at times accompanying herself on the piano as well.  Originally scheduled to be released alongside SUPER FLY (1972) in the heart of the Blaxploitation era of cinema, the fashion is distinctly different, coinciding with the Black is Beautiful movement, with large afros, ostentatious hats, and sunglasses worn indoors, with Aretha herself decked out in immaculate attire, first dressed all in white, then in mixed aqua and green, though nothing outrageous that suggests a diva (though seen in a floor-length fur overcoat when she arrives), wearing a modest afro, barely uttering a word, allowing her voice to do all the talking.  There is applause after each number, with each song arousing plenty of back and forth interaction with the audience, with the camera finding individuals of interest, including Mick Jagger and Charlie Watts of the Rolling Stones who are initially seen clapping near the back before later moved closer to the front.  While they’d seen Aretha many times in performance, this is the first time seeing her in church.  There are two invited guests who are openly acknowledged, gospel legend Clara Ward (Aretha would sing at her funeral just 7 months later), who actually spent time in the Franklin home mentoring a young Aretha, as she toured with her father (with whom she had a longtime romance), while also introducing her father, Rev. C.L. Franklin, an infamous Detroit-based preacher who was a legend and a star even before she became one herself, known as the man with the “million dollar voice” for his radio sermons (supposedly earning $4000 an appearance in 1956 when Elvis Presley was earning $7500), some of which are in the Library of Congress, early on taking Aretha on the road with him.  Known as one of the country’s most powerful black pastors, adamantly respectful of him, she loves hearing the praises of her father, who provides heartfelt remarks acknowledging his daughter’s gift at an early age, describing her as a “stone cold singer” who would infuse the black church into any song she performed.   

One might be surprised by the generic look of this film, which is nothing remarkable, using no tricks of the trade, no interviews, no backstage moments, no signature shots, with photographers constantly swirling about, where most cameras remain in fixed positions, yet what they capture is nothing less than magnificent, raw and unfiltered, holding steady in close-up on Aretha’s face, where beads of sweat drip down her face and accumulate non-stop (as it happens, Aretha loves to keep the temperature high in her performances), with her father affectionately wiping his daughter’s brow in such a dignified manner while she performs at the piano before returning back to his seat, a simple gesture that must have been repeated over and over again from the early days when she had to stand on a chair just to be seen over the podium.  But in this church, with this audience, it seems unusual that she’s never performing for the cameras, deadly focused on her task at hand, with viewers ever so fortunate to see such a rare artist at work, literally transfixed on the material, calmly enunciating every syllable, drawing out the dramatic tension in every turn of the phrase, with parishioners unable to contain themselves, spontaneously moving to her rhythms and inflections, with her singing holding a transfixing spell over the entire proceedings, with tears of joy streaming down people’s faces.  You might not be expecting a Carole King song in church, certainly not in most churches, but when Aretha arranges “You’ve Got a Friend” mixed with “Precious Lord,” well, it’s a different kind of conversation, with a unique friend, but one that glorifies the name of God.  Whether you’re a believer or not, it’s hard not to believe Aretha, as there’s not a hint of insincerity anywhere, and that is the true power of her electrifying artistry.  Accompanied by her own musicians, organist Kenneth Lupper, electric guitarist Cornell Dupree, Chuck Rainey on bass, Bernard Purdie on drums, with Pancho Morales on congas, no single instrument ever overpowers the sound of her own voice, much of which is contained and controlled in low registers before unleashing into the heavens with an unexpected onslaught of emotion that just releases all pent-up inhibitions, with dancing in the aisles and bodies gyrating all throughout the room.  Pouring her heart out into the titular song, the same heightened moments are as dramatically appealing as on the album, with this song perhaps the centerpiece of the film, with Rev. Cleveland forced to take a private moment, literally overcome with emotion, while an elderly woman in front appears to faint (turning out to be Clara Ward’s mother), as her rendition is so mesmerizing and authentic, where even her humming the tune is just as eloquent as her soaring voice, deeply somber, unfazed by it all, where it’s just a conversation between a singer and her Lord, one they’ve apparently had a thousand times, yet this one is caught on film, preserved as a time capsule, an historic rendering of a singing prayer, an anthem of the times that is no less powerful today, as it speaks to the social injustice inherent in just being black, with all their struggles, the deaths, the grief and enduring despair, always having to overcome, yet she taps into the hopes and aspirations.  While you’d think there’s no way they can top that, toward the end of the film they try, recalling “Never Grow Old,” an old favorite (the first song she ever recorded), but Aretha makes it her own, like rediscovering the fountain of youth, where the dream of heavenly eternity may have never been expressed with more eloquence and unbridled joy.  With bodies swaying back and forth, she has the audience’s raptured attention, as they can’t take their eyes off that combustible energy that is her voice, finally winding down, with Aretha sitting down, with viewers thinking the song is over, but Rev. Cleveland hands her an outstretched microphone where she continues to sing while seated, capturing the essence of spiritual transcendence as it’s meant to be humanly experienced.  It’s simply a phenomenal extension of her ability to retain focus, never veering for an instant, as she literally holds the entire congregation there, as if cradled in the arms of the Lord, so safe, so satisfying, such a beautiful rendering of eternal harmony and peace.  For most viewers, the exuberance in the room will be hard to shake afterwards, as it’s like the living embodiment of a James Baldwin novel, or the experience of reading him for the very first time, as a brand new world opens, with new textures, complexities and insights.  There was only one Aretha.

Bless Their Little Hearts

Charles Burnett

Billy Woodberry

BLESS THEIR LITTLE HEARTS                B+                  

USA  (80 mi)  1983  director:  Billy Woodberry  writer and cinematographer:  Charles Burnett

By the turn of the next century, film historians will recognize that a decisive turning point in the development of Black cinema took place at UCLA.  By then, persuasive definitions of Black Cinema will revolve around images encoded not by Hollywood, but within the self-understanding of the African-American population.

—Clyde Taylor, film scholar and cultural critic who coined the phrase “L.A. Rebellion,” 1986

One of the strengths of cinema is the power of observation, taking audiences into worlds they would otherwise never see, generously allowing viewers to size up a situation often without any words being spoken, where it’s all about what’s real, what stands out, and what we can take from any given scene, where in this film we become fascinated by the curious eyes of children, where brief looks and short glances say it all, as they are literally engulfed in the adult world around them, watching and learning, where it seems like nothing gets by them.  Prominently featured in Thomas Andersen’s splendid documentary Los Angeles Plays Itself (2003), that film identified black independent filmmakers like Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep (1979) and Billy Woodberry’s BLESS THEIR LITTLE HEARTS (1984), both of which focus on working-class black families living in South Central Los Angeles living from paycheck to paycheck, which come across as near documentary truth without an ounce of artifice about life or the black experience, offering a mirror image of August Wilson’s poetic revelations about growing up on the streets of Pittsburgh, filmed about the same time he was writing his 1985 play Fences (2016).  These two films happen to be connected, as Burnett wrote the script and provided the camerawork in Woodberry’s film, while the children onscreen are Burnett’s daughter Angela along with nieces and nephews.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, both films were selected for inclusion in the National Film Registry, Burnett’s in 1990, while Woodberry’s film was added in 2013.  Both were key figures in the L.A. Rebellion, black and brown UCLA film students from the 70’s that brought a different perspective, committed to creating authentic cinematic depictions of black peoples and experiences, creating a new aesthetic to American independent films, following the Civil Rights movement and having witnessed the 1965 Watts riots, which included the burning down of their neighborhoods, with both of these films revealing empty lots where children play that were once homes or businesses, yet a decade or so later nothing has been rebuilt, instead vacant space has become part of the existing urban landscape.  Burnett and Woodberry were in school together, along with an influx of other minority students, with this being Woodberry’s graduation film, where part of their focus was redefining the black image in American films, as the lives of blacks were all but absent in Hollywood films, or stereotyped beyond recognition, so these films corrected the strange narratives in the Hollywood tradition regarding a false and inaccurate depiction of black life.  The L.A. Rebellion came immediately after the Blaxploitation period, exaggerating the world of guns and gangsters or mythical heroes, yet continuing to associate blacks with criminality.  In Woodberry and Burnett’s films, criminality exists, but on the periphery, where the main characters turn their backs to it and refuse to rob or cheat people to make a buck, instead they’re continually seen searching (or perhaps meandering) for a righteous path, but not always finding it.   

Featuring the uncredited blues music of Little Esther Phillips and jazz saxophonist Archie Shepp, it resembles the cool jazz of the 50’s, which was particularly West coast oriented, as the Southern California lifestyle is more laid back and sunny, even in Watts, a mostly black, segregated neighborhood about seven miles from downtown Los Angeles, which includes many who migrated post WW II from the American South.  Shot in a neo-realist Italian style, raw and unpolished, like the late 40’s work of Roberto Rossellini, where the focus of his films was exposing the underlying conditions of poverty, set amongst the working class poor, using non-professional actors to convey the harsh realities of everyday life, contending with often brutal economic and moral conditions.  Similarly, here work is scarce, as there are few jobs in the neighborhood, where part of the segregated racial isolation means schools, hospitals, and industry have moved elsewhere, where most have to travel significant distance just to look for what’s available, where much of their world is portrayed as a broken down, industrial wasteland.  Enter Charlie Banks (Nate Hardman), cigarette dangling from his mouth, who is seen filling out applications (in pencil!) at a neighborhood job center, writing down names and numbers of possible prospects, where it’s clear this is a frustrating way of seeking employment, as nothing moves quickly, instead you’re always waiting for someone to call your name and contact you, but that waiting grows increasingly tiresome, as the frustration feels endless, where this film shows how humiliating it becomes, eventually taking a toll on his family, as there’s a ripple effect of continuing hopelessness.  While we watch him cut weeds and tall grass with a scythe under the hot sun and stack it into a pile, he also paints the walls of a graffiti-laden storage bin for daily pay, returning home with a special gift for his three kids, three-favored ice-cream, where each can have their own favorite flavor.  Of course it’s amusing to see Burnett’s daughter Angela as the oldest immediately assume the role of mother and tell the other kids no one gets to eat anything until the kitchen table is all cleaned up.  This mimicking of adult behavior is a charming aspect of the film, as these kids spend a lot of time inside the congested four walls of the room, where constantly rubbing elbows can grow testy, as they taunt and tease one another.  His wife Andais (Kaycee Moore, also in Killer of Sheep) is exhausted from working a job and continually looking after the children, making them help in the preparation of meals or doing the chores, while also making sure they do their homework.  By the time Charlie gets back home, they’re often in bed already, leaving him awake at night contemplating his continual frustrations.  With no money in his pocket, there’s a telling scene when the kids get dressed for Church, with Andais in the hallway taking change from her purse and giving it to Charlie to give to the children, sparing him the humiliation of having nothing to give them.  This offers the appearance of being involved, while the truth is otherwise, especially when he runs into an old flame down the street, a woman he begins hanging around for comfort. 

Andais is not easily fooled, especially when it comes to paying the bills, as some of the money he supposedly earned comes up missing, with Charlie offering a lame excuse to cover his butt, a diversionary technique used since the dawn of time, but Andais is having none of it, as it’s affecting the rest of the family, so his little misdirection plot misfires, only aggravating things further, as she needs some regular income from her husband that just never seems to come, instead it’s a day here or there, but nothing regular.  This kitchen scene explodes into genuine anger and indignation, as Andais has put up with his two-timing with a hussy down the street, which she hears about from everyone on the block, which is demeaning enough, working like a dog and then hearing people laugh at her situation, where even the kids are asking about it, but she can’t take the fact money is disappearing into someone else’s pocket, as her children need things she can’t afford all on her own.  For him to be so useless at this stage in his life, it’s as if he’s never really grown up and learned to face his responsibilities.  While he pleads that he’s doing the best that he can, claiming everyday he’s trying, she angrily reacts, “Don’t try, do it, do it!”  Exasperated beyond belief, she breaks down in a soul-crushing chorus of “I’m tired, tired, tired…Start trying to be a man.”  And herein lies the heart of the film, pointing out how joblessness leads not only to a road to oblivion but to a condition of emasculation, as men learn how to evade or con their way through life rather than accept responsibilities.  In impoverished, segregated neighborhoods, jobs are hard to come by, so this emasculation becomes a stigmatized social condition where you give up, becoming resigned to your fate.  While not talked about much in Hollywood portrayals, where blacks are usually oversexed and overly aggressive, this inner resignation works its way into the gut of a man, leading to a kind of hopeless paralysis, where he has to literally re-learn what he’s supposed to do, as men in similar circumstances are on every street corner, each one lying and bluffing their way through, but they only end up conning themselves.  With so few role models, Charlie has few options to turn to for advice, seeking out the neighborhood barber, asking how a man is supposed to find work when there’s none around.  It’s an understated scene, one with no easy answers, with the usual advice that you have to get up earlier than the next guy and literally beat him to whatever job is available, claiming there is no other choice.  He adds that there’s plenty of guys that can pull that off for awhile, but they can’t seem to do it on a regular basis.  With that brief aside, the film ends with a self-imposed ambiguity, where Charlie has to turn his back on a couple of swindlers, literally walking “away” from them, but where he’s heading is a complete unknown.     

Preceded by a 13-minute short, THE POCKETBOOK (1980), which was also shot by Charles Burnett and two other UCLA students, the film is based upon a short story by Langston Hughes entitled Thank You, Ma'am (by Langston Hughes) 3-page short story, 1958 (pdf), adapted and directed by Woodberry, given plenty of flexibility, particularly in the improvisational opening, which resembles the playfulness of Burnett’s Killer of Sheep (1979), showing children at play in abandoned industrial zones, hopping on trains, or walking on rails, fleeting images that inspired the early indie work of David Gordon Green in George Washington (2000).  Using a Leadbelly blues song as a continual refrain, this wordless opening introduces us to one kid, initially seen among a group of five, but later this anonymous youth (Ray Cherry) takes it upon himself to try to snatch the purse of an older woman (Ella “Simi” Nelson), who instead catches him by the arm and pulls him all the way into her apartment.  Giving him the business for making the wrong choice, as she hasn’t much to spare, she’s a stern but sympathetic woman who immediately cooks him up a meal, even offers him a few bucks before he leaves, showing him some grandmother kindness, talking to him as if he was a member of her own family, taking great care to make sure her message sinks in.  Many of the night-time street scenes are reminiscent of Kent MacKenzie’s The Exiles (1961), particularly the illuminated store windows on the sidewalk and headlights from the passing street traffic, with additional music by Thelonious Monk and Miles Davis, where the final musical choice is pitch perfect, a final glimpse of this young man released out into the world with just the opening few bars from My Funny Valentine - Miles Davis [1964] - YouTube (15:03).