Review of “Hollywood Black”: Justin Simien’s MGM+ documentary series

Justin Simiens Hollywood Blackan edifying, if somewhat focused, four-part documentary series about the central but underappreciated contributions of African Americans to film history, presents some semi-contradictions.

The entire premise of the documentary is based on the inadequacy of the way film schools treat the subject, and yet it is inspired by the book by Donald Bogle, whose Tomcats, raccoons, mulattos, mammies and bucks has been a staple in cultural studies classes for 50 years. It presumably aims to bring its subject to the widest possible modern audience, but does so via a streaming service – MGM+ – whose presence is rooted in the past and almost negligible in the present.

Full of fascinating conversations with fascinating people and packed with exciting clips, Hollywood Black is not a comprehensive documentary on the subject, but even well-informed viewers will gain some insights and discover some overlooked texts.

The Dear White And Haunted House The director, who filters all four hours through his own on-screen presence as a thoughtful narrator and excited host, says that in film schools, courses tend to move from Oscar Micheaux to blaxploitation to Spike Lee, “and that’s it.” Putting aside the fact that the subject has changed dramatically since Simien’s time at film school, there’s no doubt about his stated goal: “I want everyone to rethink film history, because whoever controls cinema controls history.”

Simien argues that black talent has been part of the Hollywood machine since the industry’s inception, even if it was “obviously hidden.” That means positioning Micheaux as one of the first truly independent filmmakers, introducing audiences to the actor Bert Williams, who should have been a legend, and The birth of a nation through his blockbuster Racism and the positioning of Al Jolson and The jazz singer in the tradition of minstrelsy. Nothing here is revolutionary, but it lays the groundwork for an understanding of an industry in which the control, appropriation, and stoking of fear of black bodies and voices have always been an integral part of the business.

Although Simien pays tribute to iconic figures such as Lena Horne – complete with stories told by Horne’s granddaughter Jenny Lumet – and Paul Robeson in a way that never leaves any doubt about their electrifying screen presence and unique voice, his interest is more business-oriented. What corporate conditions enabled waves of black cinematic excellence from The Baadasssss Song by Sweet Sweetback To Boys in the area To Black Pantherwhat careers were launched by the various waves of independent black cinema, and why did so many filmmakers on the verge of impressive careers perhaps end up getting only one chance?

What the documentary can’t do nearly as well is talk about the artistic work. For every film like Julie Dash’s Daughters of Dust — his formal majesty and great influence are laid out in exceptional detail — there are a dozen films and characters that Simien presents more nebulously. You will understand why Micheaux is a required piece of those introductory film courses, and some young viewers will probably remark, “I should to watch some Oscar Micheaux films” – but for some reason Simien cannot direct the conversation to why someone want In other words, the films sometimes get lost in a continuum of influence and need for informed discourse, rather than being recognized for their aesthetic or rhetorical merits. This leads to either gaps or omissions; for example, Marlon Riggs is recognized more in terms of how United Tongues Simien was more important than Riggs’ body of work itself. This, in turn, makes it less likely that newcomers are sufficiently informed to seek out Riggs’ films.

The focus is a little odd, considering how many of Simien’s interviewees are craftsmen themselves, from Ava DuVernay to Gina Prince-Bythewood and Issa Rae to Ryan Coogler, Forest Whitaker and Lena Waithe. Simien tries to spark conversation by watching scenes from films with his interlocutors, with mixed results. The impeccably photographed talking heads – against a black background or emerging from the darkness in a metaphorically lucid way – are more casually impressed by older films they may not have seen; newer films tend to inspire rhapsodism and excitement. It’s no surprise that it’s easier to find people excited about films they don’t know. Love & Basketball or Waiting to exhale as someone willing to explain why Oscar Micheaux is cool, but it’s still limiting.

Simien and his colleagues have fun, smart, and insightful conversations, especially when people are willing to challenge some of his arguments (DuVernay and Prince-Bythewood) rather than just nod chummy. The figures who have taken the most active steps to push the industry toward inclusivity through initiatives and mentoring opportunities provide the most substantive insights—not that there’s anything wrong with the lighter and more emotional responses from people like Gabrielle Union or the pointed observations of a W. Kamau Bell, who has been the MVP of more cultural documentaries than I can count.

Perhaps it is just the breadth of Simien’s early remarks that makes the limitations of his correction a little disappointing. With only four hours of work to do, it is easy to understand why certain high-profile figures are discussed but are not present to talk about themselves. Spike Lee, Barry Jenkins and Pam Grier are just a few people whose absence I found myself pondering, if not regretting. Tyler Perry, recently the subject of his own Amazon documentary, perhaps did not feel the need to do more self-promotion, and the talent available sings his praises so thoroughly and unconditionally – even Simien, who played Perry in Dear White – that it is not necessary.

There are lines of conversation that are addressed and not explored. How do you talk about who is allowed to tell which stories and let people rave about In the Heat of the Night And 12 years slave And Waiting to exhale without even mentioning what it means that these stories were told by a white Canadian, a black Briton and a black man? Is it enough for Simien to remember often excluded or forgotten directors like Charles Burnett (Sheep killer) and Charles Lane (Sidewalk Stories) for short conversations, or does the brevity hurt even more?

And how do you make a documentary about revolutions in black storytelling without showing even the slightest respect for television and the opportunities that medium offers – both for the documentary’s on-screen talent and for several directors who may have only made a single film but have become prolific on television?

But if Simien’s main thesis is that there are still stories to be told in most depictions of black Hollywood, then the fact that he ends up leaving so much unexplored is probably a sign of progress.