OK. So saw Tyler Perry's "For Colored Girls" over the week-end. I purposely didn't read any reviews before seeing it (though I really wanted to) as I wanted to view it from my own perspective. I thought about writing this review the same day as seeing it, but I was unsure how I felt about it.
The fact is, I'm still pretty unsure. I know for a fact that it is the only Tyler Perry movie that I have ever even remotely liked, but I'm not sure how much. I saw the play when I was a little girl with my parents. It was long ago, but I do remember certain things about it. I remember thinking while watching the film "I don't remember any men being in that play". Sure there was talk about them, but I didn't remember seeing any.
The other thing, which I think may be my biggest problem with the film (besides the bad wigs and make-up) was that I didn't remember it being such a joyless experience to watch. At the play I remember feeling uplifted, with a great deal of admiration for the women involved. I remember that being colored and a girl seemed like a very great thing to be.
It is obvious Perry did try very hard to rise above his limitations, but we eventually get back to the branded theme of "bad Black men are the root of all Black women's ills." I'm ready to admit that bad relationships are afflicting our community in a huge and negative way, but that, monolithically, is certainly not the root of a great many of our problems. I would place racism high amongst that list (which I don't remember being talked about on any level in the film), as well as poverty, fifth rate education in public schools, lack of concern for nutrition, no genuine leadership in the community, and a host of other reasons as things we are to examine to make ourselves whole in the world.
Another limitation that has kept me from really getting into Perry's films is a complete lack of subtlety. I remember that the play was beautiful, and though not all beautiful things are subtle (certainly not), that was the beauty of this particular play. It made you think, to solve the riddles of Ntozake Shange's verse and prose. In the film, the transitions from regular speaking to the lines in the play were jarring, and mostly clumsily handled. A couple of times I found myself thinking "what the f*ck is she talking about?" only to realize a few moments later that a character was speaking lines from the play.
I did not think it lessened the experiences that were to be learned by adding men into the mix. And of course, the prose had to be expanded upon to make the film less "play-like", because as a lot of my readers have let me know, they are not huge fans of straight-on plays on film...I didn't think that detracted from the original messages of Shange. It was beautifully shot, and the set design seemed to be thoughtful. Everyone gave close to amazing performances, with special kudos to Whoopi Goldberg (surprising), Phylicia Rashad, Thandie Newton (underrated), and Macy Gray (whom I always love as an actress).
But I could not escape the feeling of claustrophobia that set in for me midway into the film. The close, tight face shots; the small, cramped apartments--began to close in on me. In the beginning of the film it was expansive and full of possibilities; as the film progressed and the plotlines and characters started to begin to be involved with one another, I felt myself shrinking. As everything became smaller and more universal, instead of feeling identity in the close relationships and growth of these women, I felt suffocated, and thoughts of wanting to escape the film began to arise.
"How long is this movie?" "Why is it so relentless in it's sadness and anger and hopelessness?" "Why doesn't anyone move from this horrible apartment building?" "Why does Janet Jackson's face look like a Kabuki mask?" And so on. Rape, abuse, mental illness, murder, undercover homosexuality....why did I not remember all of that from the play?
When the film ended, I was relieved. I don't think I've ever felt that way before about a movie. But I have to say I
was relieved to see the misery about the pain men cause be over, to not have to look at the dreary apartments anymore, and to not see Lorretta Devine's craptastic wig any longer.
And that is DEFINITELY not what I should have been left with. The meaning of "Colored Girls" is to give hope and good cheer, to let Black women know that everything we need in this life, and any other life, is already inside of us. To let us know that as long as we support one another is sisterhood, in creativity, in our awesome
womaness, it doesn't matter what a man does, or a whole race, or the whole world. We have to, and
can, support and hold each other up.
That was the feeling I was left with in the play. The film seems to be a lot less emphatic about those things. And those messages--in and of themselves, are what kept this from being a great film, and instead simply a great try.
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