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MA RAINEY'S BLACK BOTTOM
Director: George C. Wolfe Cast: Viola Davis, Chadwick Boseman, Colman Domingo, Glynn Turman, Michael Potts, Jeremy Shamos, Taylour Paige, Jonny Coyne, Dusan Brown MPAA
Rating: Running Time: 1:34 Release Date: 11/25/20 (limited); 12/18/20 (Netflix) |
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Review by Mark Dujsik | November 24, 2020 Ma Rainey (Viola Davis) commands a stage, set up in a tent in the woods somewhere in Georgia. That's where Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, an adaptation of August Wilson's 1982 play (which would later be the great playwright's Broadway debut in 1984), begins. The audience, still running toward and trying to get a good view inside the tent as the show continues, loves it—laughing, cheering, singing along to Ma's raspy but booming vocals, imploring everyone to look upon and learn that old "Black Bottom" dance. The real Gertrude "Ma" Rainey was pretty famous in her day, a Black blues singer touring and later setting her music to records, and Wilson's story, adapted here by screenwriter Ruben Santiago-Hudson, supposes what might have happened during one of those recording sessions. It's about her, in that her presence and even her absence dominate the talk and the mood of a studio in Chicago, where her band, her manager, and the studio's owner wait and wait and wait some more for Ma arrive. When she finally does show up, they wait and wait and wait even more for Ma to actually start singing. All of this is portrayed as a game for Ma, who, in 1927, has been in this industry long enough to know that she has the power to make and enforce the rules in the studio. It's what she deserves, because she has earned it, but more to the point, it's what the manager and the owner, two white men, deserve, because Ma knows they'll have all the power as soon as they capture her voice. This story, set mostly in and sometimes around the recording studio, is all about power—who has it, who wants it, how those in positions of authority use it, and, ultimately, how those who believe themselves to be powerless will take whatever power they can, even if the act makes no logical sense. It is, in another way, about a battle between logic and emotion, too. Ma is cold and calculated in the way she employs her power against those—all of them men—who would and will demean, exploit, and otherwise poorly treat her. It is a game to her, and she plays it with a cunning sense of satisfaction. We don't learn too much about Ma's past, but we don't need to. Her present—ordering around and toying with these white men, as well as an upstart member of her band, who becomes like collateral damage in the wake of her domineering path—tells us everything we need to know about the pain, the struggle, and the anger that has come with her decades of performing and more years of life. Some of that experience, indeed, might have been like that of Levee, the ambitious and charming trumpet player in Ma's band, played by the late Chadwick Boseman in his final and utterly devastating performance. Boseman's presence here looms large, not only because we watch him knowing that we have lost such a talented and dynamic actor too soon, but also because his performance so dominates this film. Knowing his health struggles, it's sorrowful to see his physical state but encouraging to witness how much passion he still possesses, as if he is transcending the mortal coil and tapping into some deep reserve of his soul. If Ma is all about the logic of holding power, Levee serves as the counterweight, a man defined by pain and righteous resentment. In that way, he's like Ma—not to mention the other band members, who reveal parts of their own stories but are primarily here to focus on the work of playing music. Levee, though, is nothing like Ma, because she has power, if only temporarily in this place, and he can only want it. The story is more observational than anything. We see Ma's band—trombonist and leader Cutler (Colman Domingo), pianist Toledo (Glynn Turman), and upright-bassist Slow Drag (Michael Potts)—arrive at the studio, where the singer's manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) and the studio owner Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne) keep asking when Ma is going to arrive. Levee shows up a bit late, too, having just purchased some fancy shoes for the session. He has been writing songs on the side at the request of Sturdyvant. This, Levee believes, is his chance to make it big. The band members talk, debate, playfully mock each other, and knowingly set up the themes Wilson wants to explore here (They're summed up in an haunting interlude, featuring Toledo speaking of the "stew" that is the people of Africa and the "leftovers," currently living in the United States). In the midst of it, Levee offers a monologue, delivered with heartbreaking conviction by Boseman, about his mother, attacked by a gang of white men in her home, and father, smiling even as he plans to enact revenge. Levee smiles a lot, too, as he talks to Sturdyvant, as he flirts with Ma's girlfriend Dussie Mae (Taylour Paige), and even when Toledo accidentally steps on his shiny, new shoes. Ma arrives, holds up the recording some more, and offers her philosophy about power. The drama unfolds as Ma keeps pushing Levee to do things her way. He won't. It's a simple story about some big ideas, staged with claustrophobic tension by director George C. Wolfe. Performed with completely naturalistic control by the cast (In addition to Boseman, Davis is a commanding and demanding presence, while Turman provides some existential sorrow to counteract the big personalities), Ma Rainey's Black Bottom shows power as a game and the denial of power as a tragedy. Copyright © 2020 by Mark Dujsik. 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