Film #8 — 1/1 Film by a Black Director
Also filed under: A-One
By C. Ramsay
“He’s an addict. He’s not a criminal, he’s a victim.”
So pleads Rev. Luther Williams in defense of his boss, Dr. Hess Green, an upper class, Black anthropologist who was stabbed by his assistant with a ceremonial dagger that initiates vampiric symptoms. As Hess adapts to his new state he seeks companionship from someone who can identify with him on an experiential level, taking for granted the support of his staff and overlooking the love of his existing family. Broken into chapters, the story amplifies the anticipation we feel as we know we’re building to something but have no idea what. What quickly becomes obvious, however, is that the film is much less reliant on linear narrative than it is the visual renditions of its own philosophies, oscillating from story to metaphor to feeling and back.
Early on the viewer is given a personal moment with George Meda, Dr. Green’s assistant who’s played by director Bill Gunn, as he reads a philosophical letter he’s written that denounces the participation of Black boys in philosophical thinking. He argues in part that it alienates the ability to learn by narrowing the thought process to conventional standards, and that these standards are already unfairly projected onto the Black community and should not be humoured in an effort to assimilate. Though full of contradictions, each part has the potential for some element of truth depending on the approaching perspective, and in its entirety Meda declares that in life’s endless cycling, love is the only thing worthwhile. He then kills himself, and the film uses superimposed and interspliced shots over the course of the rest of its runtime to blend its central philosophy and praxis, recalling different moments in time as one, and synthesizing cultural experiences across time and space.
Shot on 16mm film, cinematographer James E. Hinton maintained the richness of the natural colours of the locations and sets while also constantly diluting them through an ethereal haze, creating a unique palette of tans, greens, reds, and browns. The film grain makes the print look like an artefact, and the way the subjects are shot captures the glistening details of things like sweat and blood as if they were made up of thousands of minuscule gemstones. Blackness is steadily enshrined in nature, framed by tall grass, trees, and lots of white or vivid, warm-toned florals. Reds, especially, serve as a through line in the film, interlocking the significance of blood with the visuals of pomegranates, flowers, wine, clothing, and church decor. Identity, sex, religion, and being are therefore all given their associations with both life and death. The action sequences are methodically shot using lots of these same colours, as well as thrashing camera movements and intensifying music, akin to how jazz is often performed to be calculated in its abstractness. The broader audio quality tends to echo or sound slightly muffled, which can sometimes break audience captivation, but it mostly ends up being atmospheric, notably when paired with the blues and gospel music that make up much of the soundtrack.
Music is recurrently used to underscore Dr. Green’s success in life, either highlighting the troubles he’s going through or the lack thereof. Being upper class and, as he points out, the only Black person on the block, we see that he has some Black friends and acquaintances, but far more who are white. Yet, the economic and sociopolitical status of all of Dr. Green’s victims cannot be missed as they are all Black and all of lesser means than him. This includes Ganja, George’s estranged wife, who becomes romantically entwined with Hess and is chosen by him to be the experiential connection that he’s been longing for, with the severity of fulfilling such a role being unknown to her. Green’s cannibalization of his own community to sustain his standing and emotional well-being is central to discerning the actions of his character regarding Ganja, who struggles with her self-esteem and is critical of Hess’ staff for enabling his behaviours without question. She wants more for herself in life than what she has, and Hess seeing that she also has a penchant for taking his staff for granted makes her a prime candidate for sharing in his lifestyle. What’s more, her expression of having spent her life feeling like a disease—sometimes in how she feels to others, sometimes in how others treat her—is a vulnerability that Hess takes to assume that she’ll adapt well to vampirism, or addiction, because she’s more easily exploitable and he doesn’t see that the status could detract from how she already feels about herself.
Though Ganja does seem to love Hess, her consent in their relationship is not invariably submissive, and Green’s lack of communication around the status he chooses to inflict on her, or any of her symptoms and new requirements, rings to her as an attempt to force her dependency. She faces continuous fear, confusion, and betrayal, desperately trying to make sense of what her situation even is let alone what she needs to do for herself. While still framed by some reds, Ganja differs by how often she is also surrounded by much deeper greens. She stands at a crossroads, in a unique position to break from the history laid before her, or commit to repeating its cycles.
Star rating (/5): ★★★★★
Recommend?: Yes!