Glenn Heath Jr.’s review published on Letterboxd:
San Diego CityBeat review, published Feb. 8, 2017
Listening to James Baldwin describe the 1960s is like peering through a window into the modern day. “America insists on being narrow-minded…simplicity is taken to be a great American virtue.” While issues surrounding race, class division and economic inequality inspired the legendary author’s cutting prose during the Civil Rights Movement and beyond, one could imagine an evenly savage reaction to the morally repugnant and unconstitutional actions taken by the infant (and infantile) Trump presidency.
Raoul Peck’s I Am Not Your Negro serves such a purpose wonderfully. Using Baldwin’s words as a springboard to connect past traumas with present injustices, this dense essay film has so many prophetic ideas swirling around it’s hard not to feel a little dizzy. Archival clips from news programs, movies, television and interviews are woven together by passages from Baldwin’s writings and Samuel L. Jackson’s determined narration. The end result resembles a personal remembrance of 20th century politics and race relations stitched together with memories, anecdotes and calls to action.
In 1979, Baldwin decided to write his story of America through the lives of “three murdered friends”: Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. He only finished 30 pages of notes. I Am Not a Negro works as a continuation of that pursuit, visualizing Baldwin’s bold thesis through relentless montage: “I want these three lives to bang against and reveal each other.” Peck desires the same analysis for Baldwin himself, who becomes a fourth character in the film’s dynamic reconfiguration of black experience in America.
“I never learned to hate white people,” Baldwin muses while recollecting his experiences being mentored by a Caucasian teacher. But growing up in Harlem during the 1920s and 30s, he was not immune to the rampant racist caricature of African Americans that was constantly reflected through popular art and culture. The early segments of I Am Not Your Negro are dedicated to examining the complicated social environments that led Baldwin to leave the United States for academic and ideological sanctuary in Paris.
Eventually, concerted grassroots efforts against segregation and “a responsibility to write the story and get it out” brought Baldwin back to America. Here, Peck begins to blur multiple narratives together, crafting a mosaic of resistance in which Baldwin’s perspective stands on equal ground with those of his peers. But I Am Not Your Negro doesn’t indulge in hero worship, nor does it romanticize icons. It understands that history is messy, and sometimes actions and consequences don’t add up to clear resolutions.
Hoping to illuminate the complex timeline that connects 1963 Birmingham and 2014 Ferguson, Peck utilizes Baldwin’s stirring commentary on trends in film and television representation. John Wayne’s special brand of justice becomes indicative of “heroes who believe vengeance is theirs to take,” specifically white saviors who tend to “make legends out of massacres.” Later in the film, the illusion of diversity is explored as Baldwin dissects 1961’s The Defiant Ones with fervent animosity, offset by impassioned interviews with Harry Belafonte and Sidney Poitier standing in defiance of Hollywood’s worst impulses.
Even though Baldwin truly believes that “people in general cannot bear too much reality,” I Am Not Your Negro challenges the audience to recognize our nation’s scars are actually still gaping wounds that need to be triaged with discourse and empathy in order to combat the type of moral gerrymandering that divides communities and instills fear.
“The story of the negro in America is the story of America. It is not a pretty story,” Baldwin concludes, his equivalent of a mic drop. With a furious array of striking images and wisdom, Peck’s film presents an essential portrait of ongoing passionate resistance that continues to defy “the lie of pretend humanism.”