On Getting Called Out

After writing a piece about Three Billboards the other day, I was called out on Twitter by Ira Madison who, in front of his 80K followers, linked to the piece, and added his signature derisive catchphrase: “Sis you can keep this.” Effectively, what that means for the blunt-force tool of social media is that this person is a racist, and everyone is invited to pile on. In case his call to arms wasn’t clear enough, Madison followed up with a tweet that said it point blank, calling our movie evaluation “loud, wrong and racist bullshit,” thus dropping a bomb that he rarely unleashes unless he’s sneering at Kellyanne Conway or Jeff Sessions. I have no doubt that some who have known my site for these past nearly twenty years were high-fiving him and relishing the deliciousness of the moment. They were finally getting the witch-burning they’ve waited for, after all of these years of seeing me advocate for movies made by black filmmakers and champion films about people of color, promoting and praising diversity in Hollywood whenever I could to the point of alienating more than a few readers over it. I would still like to think those efforts were all for the better, that my refusal to be quiet played some part in the evolution that is bringing more representation to the film industry. But I just don’t know anymore and I fear that I was wrong, that my readers were right when they wanted me to shut up about it. After setting in motion a bruising day of mockery and scolding, Madison tweeted another crude and divisive directive: “MLK also had a dream that white people would learn to shut up.” Is that where we are now? For a woman, yes even for a white woman, being told to shut up is strong medicine. So perhaps I really should finally just shut up.

But just a little more backstory: I’d never read Madison’s own piece on Three Billboards written back in December, and thus, it probably seemed to him like our piece was somehow in response to his opinion. It was not. He believes nothing I have to say on the subject could be of interest to him (which sounds about right), and further, he believes I’m in no position to even go there in any way, shape or form (which sounds righteous). No point in arguing with anyone who sits at such a satisfied spot.

Still, I do want to apologize for three things:

• I’m sorry if I gave the impression that my great respect for the African American Film Critics Association and the Black Film Critics Circle means I believe that all black people far and wide think exactly the same way as those critics. Of course not. Nor do all the members of these groups even agree with one another. It should go without saying that no group of people have exactly the same opinions, and are on the same page about everything all of the time, but I’ll say it anyway. I understand that invoking those two groups has effectively been seen by some as tokenism, to give cover to Three Billboards and dismiss legitimate criticism POC may have against it. That was never my intent, though I’ve learned that intent is no defense. We should have presented that more clearly. My point, however lamely I made it, was that suddenly the rectitude of those groups was being called into question for naming Three Billboards one of the best films of the year. I still don’t understand why the consensus assessment of the AAFCA and BFCC isn’t important in trying to suss out the tangled reactions to a racially charged film, but I’m willing to admit that, whatever my intention, the acknowledgement of black critics came off badly. That was the only focus on race in a piece that was primarily concerned with homophobia, but we forgot the caveat: “not all black critics.” I can’t imagine that this is the reason I was called out by Madison — remember, he said our piece was “dumb, loud and racist” — but if this is what set him off, I’m sorry. (Madison wanted to sure that everyone on Twitter knew he how strongly he dislikes this movie. He was loud about it.) Bottom line, of course every individual is going to have their own opinion about a film this provocative because provocation is part of the filmmaker’s intent.
• I’m sorry for not fully considering the extent to which a movie so deliberatively raw and coarse might touch different nerves in different people with different perspectives and experiences. I still don’t think Dixon is made out to be a hero. I still see him as a sadly damaged product of his upbringing. I still believe the movie had good intentions in trying to show how irrational violence can erupt in the absence of actual malice. But I can also see that whatever level of racial animosity Dixon might possess is never clearly addressed or even vaguely determined. To bring up such a serious issue as an off-screen plot point and then leave dangling is a bad look, even if the film ends with characters suspended in the midst of transition. Madison seems certain that Dixon was someone who tortured black prisoners, but the film is not exactly crystal clear on that. We see no evidence for or against the claim, and every throwaway mention of the incident is contradictory. Woody Harrelson says “there is no evidence to support that” but later Dixon, after throwing the clerk out the window, makes reference to how he’s violent across the board. I’m not sure what McDonagh intended us to think about Dixon’s bigotry, but either way the film ought to have been more clear in terms of resolving it. I don’t see Dixon learn compassion about the rape and murder case. I only saw him trying to prove to a deceased police chief that he’s a good detective, and failing spectacularly in his half-assed attempt. The only thing we know for sure is that what I think doesn’t matter.
• I’m sorry for getting Ryan involved in any way. That wasn’t fair of me. This should have been my piece to write and take responsibility for. When Ira Madison called me out on Twitter, I thought it strange that even though there were two names as co-author, he only targeted me, the woman. But I’m fine with accepting full blame for any of consequences. So if you want to start calling people racists, go ahead and aim that at me, not Ryan.

[Ryan’s note: I’m happy and proud be involved. I would feel frustrated right now if I wasn’t involved. My contribution to the original piece consisted of trying to streamline some points, elaborate on some shared feelings here and there, and dress up some phrasing. Sasha liked what I did and gave me the honor of adding me to the byline. As editor here, I share the blame for not seeing how we could have made the case better and avoided all this fracas. I dropped the ball on one of my most important duties: to be sure nothing we publish inadvertently creates a problem or offends any readers. As the last pair of eyes that looks at what all of us do here before we click “publish,” I take responsibility for letting some loose presentation slip past me. I was too caught up in the thrall of Sasha helping me reassess a movie that I had qualms about, and so beautifully crystallizing the gay elements that I felt had gone unremarked and even unseen. Most of all, I’m glad to be involved with my name on that piece, because it gives me a certified stake in the conflict. It deputizes me to help explain what I know we meant — to discuss complaints that are fair with thoughtful readers, and slap down accusations that are unfair from anyone willfully misreading what was written.]

That’s all I wanted to say. I don’t think what I wrote warranted such an attack, but I realize if anyone views it as a followup to Madison’s original piece I can certainly see how it could be misconstrued.

We’re at an interesting crossroads right now. When I first started there were not many black filmmakers out there that Hollywood was willing to hire for films destined for Oscar consideration. There was a history to that too.

Way back in 1985 when The Color Purple came out, Steven Spielberg was roundly criticized by the black community for telling a story that many thought a black filmmaker should have directed, criticized by the white community for “trying to win an Oscar,” and criticized by the gay community for erasing the lesbian themes of Alice Walker’s book. It was so bad that the film went home with zero Oscars. Even Whoopi Goldberg lost. Geraldine Page won instead for The Trip to Bountiful. It didn’t matter that lots of people went to see The Color Purple and loved it — enough of the loudest voices shut it down. That was 1985.

The Academy, afraid to go anywhere near that kind of controversy again, did not nominate a film with an all-black cast until they expanded the Best Picture ballot with a solid ten nominees and Precious got in. 24 years later, I kid you not. In the meanwhile, Spike Lee was shut out of the Oscars again and again, no matter what films he made or how good they were. Black filmmakers couldn’t get in while white filmmakers couldn’t tell stories about the black experience so black actors could not get any kind of power in Hollywood.

Eventually, things began to change and now it feels like there are so many powerful black storytellers that there really is no need for white filmmakers to tell those stories anymore (though hopefully there will be collective understanding that when they don’t tell those stories there is a good reason why not). Kathryn Bigelow made Detroit and she was criticized for showing so much violence against black characters. Sofia Coppola made The Beguiled and left out the only black character in the book because she was afraid of getting that story wrong — as it turned out, not only was she scolded for that but she was called a racist for her past work. As for the two films left in the Oscar race this year that deal overtly with race, Get Out and Mudbound, one is celebrated while the other may end up being completely ignored by the Academy because of antipathy towards Netflix. But after this year I don’t think Bigelow or Coppola or McDonagh will ever go near the subject of race again in any of their films. And maybe there are enough black storytellers, a Renaissance of black film now that white filmmakers should back off and maybe there are enough great writers out there — black film critics, black activists, black columnists like Ira Madison, in fact, who is quite good at what he does — that white bloggers like me should back off too.