‘Tis the season to head to the movie theatre, and that’s exactly what I did on Xmas day. I finally saw Precious, and won’t give a long, detailed review but will say a few things I’ve noticed lately about the writing profession. I’ve felt this way for a while now, really, but every so often something comes up and I feel the need to go off. A few weeks ago, an illustrator friend of mine shared an exciting experience she’d had with an artistic director; after seeing a stunning image in her portfolio, the AD encouraged my illustrator friend to write a story and turn the image into a picture book. Sadly, instead of getting excited for my friend, I started to growl (sorry, friend). Why? Because that would NEVER happen to a writer. A writer could never show an editor a couple of lines of text and have the editor say, “That looks great–now make a few illustrations and we’ll turn it into a book!” It would never happen that way because illustration is something generally believed to require a level of training and expertise. If I had an interesting idea, I would likely be encouraged to finish writing as soon as possible so that the editor could begin searching for the right illustrator to hire for the project. Now, there are some illustrators who are good writers. But writing has its own special quality—good writing also takes talent and training and expertise. I often find that it is assumed that any ole body can write a story or book. But no one assumes that about other art forms. And I’m all for the idea of “art for everybody”—you don’t have to have an MFA to paint a picture or make a film. In fact, I just ordered a Flip camera and hope to start making short films soon. And I accept that what I produce probably won’t be as good as the films of a trained filmmaker. But why do trained filmmakers assume they can write a good script?
I saw Medicine for Melancholy last week, and had high hopes; last year I taught a film course around representations of “black love,” and this was an independent film I told the students to look out for. But within the first twenty minutes, I was watching the clock, wondering how I’d ever make it through the full 90 minutes. The story sounded promising: after a drunken one-night fling, two black 20-somethings spend a day together in San Francisco and realize they share a meaningful connection. Except the writing wasn’t meaningful, and I didn’t connect with either of the characters. Written and directed by Barry Jenkins, the film quietly meanders through the city, capturing local landmarks and neighborhoods experiencing rapid gentrification. In fact, that’s a subplot of the film, and when the two lovers walk past the open door of a community meeting, the viewer winds up observing about five to ten minutes of actual (white) activists hashing out the future of rent stabilization. Really? I can forgive the female lead her perfectly pressed hair (isn’t San Fran foggy?) and her flawless look/lipstick holding up whether she’s hung over, stoned, having sex, or riding her bike up and down those SF hills. I like Wyatt Cenac, and bought his performance as a spacey (yet socially conscious) Indie dude. But I can’t stand bad writing, and I wonder why the filmmaker didn’t hire a *professional* writer to go over the script. Then there’s Precious, which was adapted for the screen by Geoffrey Fletcher, a Harvard-educated guy who went on to study film at NYU. Now, we all know a man (Lee Daniels) directed the film; why would he approach this particular filmmaker to adapt a novel that’s about the lives of several traumatized women? Being male doesn’t make him a bad writer, but it does explain for me some of the bizarre choices made in the adaptation process. Here’s what one article said:
Fletcher altered other things, including expanding the role of a male nurse (played by rocker Lenny Kravitz). In the novel, the character is only mentioned in a sentence or two.
“I thought it would be great to have him be a significant part of the story, for a few reasons,” Fletcher says. “The only male characters in it are her father, who was a horrible memory of the past, and a young man who exists in her fantasies. But to have a man who is kind, intelligent and caring in her current reality, I thought, was very important because: A) those men do exist; B) as she is shaping her world view and realigning her perspective, he is an important character to have in her reality.”
Lenny Kravitz’s character was one of the worst decisions made in this film, I thought—and he was NOT intelligent and kind; I believe he called Precious’ trophy “dumb and tacky”? Right before trying to get Precious to help him make a move on her lesbian teacher. The rest of that interview with the screenwriter explains a few other things—like why there was so much emphasis on Precious’ fantasy life: apparently the audience needed a break from the trauma, and these pseudo-music videos did the trick. At the beginning of the film, Precious is shown looking into the mirror and seeing a stereotypical white girl as her reflection; I have no problem with that so long as you FOLLOW IT UP with some kind of analysis…in the book, this moment comes when Precious attends an incest-survivor group and meets a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman who’s gone through the same type of abuse she herself endured. Precious is then able to see that she wasn’t raped *because* she was heavy and dark-skinned—she’s able to see the abuse as something external. Film adaptations always have to reshape the book, but for me, this film lacked a narrative core and opted to focus on a highly dysfunctional mother rather than Precious’ journey toward literacy and self-awareness. We meet the girls in her class, but mostly they goof around or diss each other; in the book, we hear *their* stories and understand how they came to be illiterate and “at risk” (was this removed b/c it painted men in too negative a light?). When I wrote about Push for my master’s thesis on urban narratives, I focused on how Precious sees herself reflected in the degraded urban landscape—that’s one of the first things she writes about. And most importantly, the MAN in her life is Louis Farrakhan, head of the Nation of Islam. HE is her role model, and she’s sucked into his patriarchal black nationalist fantasy UNTIL she learns that Miz Rain is a lesbian. And that’s when the homophobic rhetoric loses its hold on Precious. I’m glad they allowed Blu Rain to remain a lesbian in the film, but Paula Patton’s light skin and “good hair” really put me off. She seems tired of her job and these troubled girls from the very beginning, and that’s not what I recall of Miz Rain from the book. She dressed conservatively, seems bourgie, and just generally seemed out of place. Mariah Carey surprised me by being *very* good in her role as a social worker, and Monique did give an outstanding (if over the top) performance. I don’t recall Precious having a TV hurled at her after the fight with her mother. Did that happen in the book? If not, why was it necessary? Writers take liberties with the truth, and I understand that this was Fletcher’s interpretation of the narrative. But I think I only heard the word “push” once in this film, and that tells me these male filmmakers missed the point…
Zetta,
You have a way of zoning in on what I feel but can’t articulate. I liked the film more than I thought (I realize now it’s because I was entertained) I would but I wasn’t sold on it. I had problems with the film from the beginning. I didn’t see the purpose of Kravitz’s character, the fantasy scenes lightened the movie too much, there should have been some screen time devoted to the dynamics of Precious’ relationship with her father and while Monique was good, the movie should have been about Precious not Monique’s performance. I was equally annoyed how the class was downplayed and we never got to know those characters.
And about anybody can write. I’ve had that debate so many times with hobbyist poets I won’t even go there. It really rubs me wrong why anyone wants credit or they are given credit for something they haven’t worked hard enough for. You should earn the right to a title. Art is work. If you don’t know that, you shouldn’t call yourself an artist/writer.
Everyone thinks they can write just like everyone who has gone to school thinks they know how to teach.
We’ve moved away from valuing professionalism particularly as we delete borders in this virtual frontier. Yes, my little blog gives me a voice that I wouldn’t otherwise have but I know I’m not a poet, not a trained reviewer and not someone with a strong literary background. I introduce materials and give voice to those who would otherwise be missed. I claim to do no more than that. Heck, on most days I can’t even do a good job of editing my own writing! I do work to improve my skills, but only for the sake of blogging. I don’t know the craft of writing.
This reminds me of someone I met a while ago who, because of his background (not his training) thought he could ‘help the children’. In fact, he wanted to write a book about his experiences but he didn’t want to read any books beforehand because he didn’t want to be unnecessarily influenced.
I guess we all think we have something unique to say and in that uniqueness comes the skill to say it. Like Susan just said “Art is work”.
I keep telling people “Precious” is not as sad as you’re made to believe. The more powerful story is certainly to book. I don’t look from a feminist perspective, though I think if I continue to hang out with you and Susan that I will be educated to do so. When I watched the fantasies, and saw them change over time, I equated them to the change in Precious’ handwriting in the book, symbolizing her growth. I read the book too long ago, but I guess vestiges remain in my memory and I remember it as a story of her coming of age and it not being the mother’s story. I hope people who’ve seen the movie will want to read the book. I know many students in my media center have asked for it, but Push is one of those books that doesn’t get returned.
Fabulous review of the movie (which now I would never go see) and the book. And I totally agree with you about the insult of the “anybody can do this” attitude. So actually here, I’m not saying anything with any content at all, because you and your first two commenters have said it all and I agree with everything!
I haven’t seen Precious or read Push yet. I own Push and I think I’ll read it first and wait to rent the movie. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this Zetta, as always it’s eye-opening and edi and susan make good points as well.
I don’t know why everyone thinks they can write. There are plenty of titles out there that prove everyone can not.
“I don’t know why everyone thinks they can write. There are plenty of titles out there that prove everyone can not.”
I love this. Thanks, Ari 🙂
Thanks, Zetta you said everything I didn’t know, how to say.
Its been a while since I read Push but I don’t remember Prescious and her classmates goofy around so much. I remember they slowly began to connect and trust each other by telling their stories. I missed the other stories.
I hate to resort to stereotypes around gender, but we do generally think of male filmmakers being more invested in “action” (TV sets hurled down several flights of stairs) whereas women filmmakers focus more on relationships…I don’t mind a mix of both, but definitely prefer the latter.
Thanks Zetta for your thoughts on Push. I saw it a few weeks ago and I also wondered about the fantasy scenes in the movie.
I wondered if that decision was made to make the movie have some light moments for certain audience members? Especially the fantasy scene with Precious and her mother in the Spanish TV novella—trying to make light of how her mother was force-feeding her.
I have also noticed the different strategies in marketing the movie as well. When the promos first started it focused on core of the movie–the hard issues and situations with “Happy” by Leona Lewis as the soundtrack.
Now, the promos are more light-hearted–showing the girls goofing off in class, Precious fantasy red-carpet scenes all to the soundtrack of Mary J’s song “Fine”.
Makes you wonder since the profits have dwindled if they are trying to connect to a different audience saying that “Hey that movie Precious isn’t as bad as you’ve heard.”
As for notion that people think anyone can write a book–well it’s even worse for people who think they can write for kids and teens.
Read the book, but haven’t seen the movie, and so I really appreciate this review.
I, too, will most likely wait until it’s out on DVD. Thanks for breaking it down, Zetta.
I’ve been thinking about this. You know, there is something about teaching, about writing, about public speaking . . . that cannot be taught. So, maybe not to be too hard on those who just want to give something a try, know that professional training is one more thing necessary to get you over the top.