finally saw “i am not your negro” (had been waiting patiently for the film since i came across an interview with raoul peck back in 2016), and am still shaken. it’s an emotional experience. yes, the utter brutality of white supremacy, yes, baldwin’s luminosity and fearless words, yes, peck’s genius in reincarnating baldwin and making him present thru the medium of film, yes, samuel l jackson’s stunning narration (it doesn’t mimic baldwin’s unique cadence but rather remodulates jackson’s voice to produce a slower, smoother, weightier rhythm and timbre and flows seamlessly in and out of baldwin clips), yes, the bold graphics and robust music that highlight baldwin’s vigor and audacity but also his pain, yes, the surreal reliving of the murders of medgar evers, malcolm x and martin luther king (none of them lived to be 40), yes, the vulgarity of doris day and gary cooper dancing heedlessly when juxtaposed with photographs of lynched bodies, yes, the ugliness exposed by the desegregation of schools and captured in photographs and video footage, yes, baldwin’s searing commentary on white america’s immaturity and preference for a world of warped fantasy (embodied by john wayne, who spent his entire film career admonishing and shooting native americans), yes, to all of this and more. but what broke my heart irrevocably was when, toward the end of the film, the camera zooms in on the faces of black men and women. we are able to make eye contact with them directly, personally, and it’s almost unbearable to look them in the face. the film’s eloquence and power are worthy of james baldwin. and that’s saying a lot.
