That Oscar Micheaux’s Within Our Gates (1920) survived at all is a miracle. In the early days of cinema films that failed to pull in overwhelming grosses were often melted down for their silver content. Micheaux’s piece, his second featured, proved controversial due to its stance on the racial attitudes and issues of its day, and would seem to have been destined for such a fate. It was reedited so often for its portrayal of lynch mobs that it’s hard to tell how much of the original still exists. When a nearly fully intact version was discovered in the early 1990s in Spain, it was restored and almost immediately named to the U.S. National Film Registry. As the oldest surviving feature by an African American artist it certainly deserves to be there, but I contend that its overall value as an almost complete example of silent cinema is notable in its own right.
Many have credited the film as a response to Griffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915), and it certainly brings to light the unfortunate fact that many of the issues raised in that Reconstruction period epic were not resolved 20 years into the 20th Century. However, intertwined as the two pieces may be in the eyes of some viewers, I prefer to think of them separately. This is a spectacular example of filmmaking in its own right, and should be viewed as such. It’s unfortunate in one sense that watching this piece reminds us how Birth, despite Griffith’s intensions, engendered new interest in the Ku Klux Klan, and that the lynching that Gates portrays was still common in the South. But such things should not be forgotten. The story follows Sylvia (Evelyn Preer), a northern Black woman who travels to the South to find work as a teacher after her fiancé leaves her. There she comes to work at a school that, though in financial crisis, turns away no Negro student with a desire to learn. She journeys to Boston on a fundraising mission for the institution, but has little luck until she is accidentally struck by a car. The owner of the vehicle is a wealthy White philanthropist, who eventually takes an interest in Sylvia’s plight, agreeing to help bankroll the school. In Boston Sylvia also encounters a doctor with whom she quickly begins a relationship.
Through a series of misunderstandings both the plan for funding and Sylvia’s romance go awry. Not wanting to lose Sylvia, the doctor confronts her cousin about his new love. The Cousin reveals to him a secret from Sylvia’s past in flashback. She was raised by a foster family who cared for her deeply and paid for her education. When she was able to review her foster father’s finances she revealed that his White boss, the contentious Gridlestone, had been swindling him for years. The resulting confrontation ended in the death of the boss, but not at the hands of the father. Through misleading circumstances involving Gridlestone’s manservant, both the father and his Black accuser end up dead; the accuser at the end of a rope, the father at the hands of the Gridlestone’s brother. These deaths, as well as another secret revealed through these events, way heavy on Sylvia, making it difficult for her to trust others. The doctor must come to understand her pain.
The dialogue cards for this silent work were translated from the Spanish print and restored through the tireless work of Scott Simmon and Alex Vargas. Using examples from Micheaux’s novels of the period they were able to resurrect a distinctive dialogue that incorporates both slang and Southern vernacular. One of the elements that make these texts, as well as the images of the film, so striking is the somewhat prevalent portrayal of a negative African American stereotype. This is not a film in which all Whites are bad and all Blacks are good, but the characterization of the antagonist African Americans, particularly a begrudgingly segregationist preacher and Gridlestone’s ignorant manservant, is downright upsetting. It’s clear that despite an African American helming this project, racist attitudes of the era still made their way into the narrative.
Another interesting note about these cards is their introductory function. Such purpose was common in silent film – to denote a character’s name – but I can recall no other instance when these cards have also served as the actor’s credit. I’m no expert on silent film, and it’s possible I’ve simply forgotten to note this with other pieces. Still, I feel that my point about the racial attitudes of the time is highlighted by the opening card in particular, which states that that Within Our Gates features “the renowned Negro artist Evelyn Preer.”
Within Our Gates has flaws. Structurally, it feels as if it is without a sense of direction, particularly in the lengthy flashback sequence. This is juxtaposed by a melodramatic sense of urgency common to dramatic features of this time. I found this disorienting, particularly as that urgency was underlined by the progressive metal soundtrack that the picture had been provided on Youtube.com. While not altogether inappropriate, this element did take some getting used to, and I found myself wondering if this accompaniment had been constructed for this piece or simply added by some Dungeons and Dragons fan with weirdly intersecting hobbies.
The film also features a cookie-cutter ending with a dash of unneeded patriotism thrown in. I feel that Micheaux was proud of his race and proud of their potential for progress in the United States. He wanted to display this potential, and certainly makes a more than convincing argument for Black education here with this piece. The message is strong, and the emotion conveyed feels genuine, and as with The Smiling Madame Beudet (1922; #119) to watch this film is to watch both cinema and social ideals develop before your eyes.
Language: English Titles
Runtime: 79 Minutes
Available @ Youtube.com
Grade: 2.5 Hats Off
0 comments:
Post a Comment