|
``He's
made a tremendous difference in the history of American
cinema,'' said Jacqueline Stewart, a film professor
at Northwestern University in Chicago who teaches a
class on Lee's work. ``Spike Lee's films get people
to talk about what race means and how race continues
to function in our society.''
For
years, Lee did that with an in-your-face approach _
characters that yelled racial slurs at the screen, on-screen
brawls between whites and blacks. Lee himself was often
in front of the camera, playing a string of incendiary
sidekick characters. He also often wrote, produced and
directed his films, enlisting family members to contribute
music, writing and acting.
But
in recent years, he has stepped back. He did not write
or appear on-screen in ``Inside Man,'' ``She Hate Me''
in 2004 or 2002's ``25th Hour.'' Though he remains focused
on black America, his approach has become quieter, less
self-conscious.
``Levees''
reflects that.
Using
current and historical footage, music and more than
100 interviews, the film reminds viewers that although
Katrina shattered the entire Gulf Coast, New Orleans
and its mostly black residents got hit especially hard.
Thousands fought to survive deadly floodwaters for days
while federal help was slow in coming. Many are left
today with a nearly ruined city and broken hearts.
Lee
conducted each of the interviews, and viewers occasionally
hear him asking questions, but he never steps in front
of the camera. There is no narrator telling viewers
that New Orleans was abandoned, or that this may have
happened because most residents are black. There is
no need.
``Let
the people tell it, the witnesses,'' said Lee, 49, during
an interview this week. ``People are giving testimonial,
sharing all the rage and anger. What they're doing is
sharing their humanity with us.''
Nevins
said the film is ``a surrender of the ego of the maker
to the people.''
Despite
heavy media coverage of Katrina, the film pulls together
the before, during and after of the storm in a way that
manages to be agonizingly fresh.
One
man tells of being forced to abandon his dead mother's
body in the city's Superdome. He pinned a note with
his phone number on her shroud. Some spew rage as they
insist that the city's protective levees, which gave
way and flooded most of the city, were bombed.
Cameras
follow trumpeter Terence Blanchard, the longtime composer
for Lee's films and a New Orleans native, as he and
his mother visit the family home in the Gentilly Woods
section of the city for the first time since the flood.
``Oh Lord have mercy,'' weeps Wilhelmina Blanchard,
nearly hysterical. ``You can rebuild this stuff,'' Terence
murmurs, clutching her shoulders. ``That's easier said
than done,'' she says. ``I knew it was devastation but
I didn't think it was this bad.''
Blanchard
reflects later that day: ``When we went into the house,
that was really hard because, you know, it's like I
can't go home.'' He stops, choked up. An ominous drumbeat
finishes his thoughts.
The
film, Lee said, is ultimately a plea to renew the city,
where most of those forced out have not yet returned,
tons of debris remains and there is no comprehensive
rebuilding plan. ``We want this film to spur action,''
he said. ``Things still aren't right. People are still
suffering.''
This
is partly why HBO gave it four hours, making it the
channel's longest documentary. Two-hour segments air
Monday and Tuesday.
``You
never could tell the whole story because the story's
still being told, but you sure couldn't tell it in two
hours,'' Nevins said. ``I don't know any other filmmaker
who could have been a better match. I just don't know
anyone with that kind of talent.''
It's
a long way from 1986. Lee, four years out of New York
University's film school, was selling T-shirts outside
a midtown Manhattan theater urging people to see ``She's
Gotta Have It,'' about a black woman and her three boyfriends.
He was living in a rented basement apartment in the
Fort Greene section of Brooklyn, where he grew up and
still has offices for his production studio, 40 Acres
& a Mule Filmworks.
Three
years later came ``Do the Right Thing.'' It weaves a
sentimental gaze at brownstone Brooklyn with the explosive
tensions among blacks, Italian-Americans and police
on a scorching summer day. After the police kill a black
man, a fiery riot erupts and the neighborhood is ripped
apart. It firmly planted Lee on the culture map, winning
him staunch critics and supporters.
Lee
is ``the epitome of the independent auteur of the '90s
and the 21st century,'' said William J. Palmer, a film
professor at Purdue University who has included Lee's
films in his classes for
14 years.
Stewart,
the Northwestern professor, said it's hard to imagine
a film like last year's ``Crash,'' which explored ethnic
clashes in Los Angeles, being made without Lee's influence.
It won the Oscar for best picture.
Lee
himself says he's most proud that he helped the careers
of some of the nation's most celebrated actors and filmmakers.
Halle Berry's first film role was a crack addict in
1991's ``Jungle Fever.'' Rosie Perez and Martin Lawrence
were first seen on film in ``Do the Right Thing.'' Filmmaker
John Singleton _ who wrote and directed ``Boyz n the
Hood'' in 1991 and directed ``Four Brothers'' last year
_ was in high school when he sought out Lee and declared
that he, too, would become a filmmaker.
Lee
says he's considering a follow-up documentary to ``Levees,''
perhaps focusing on how New Orleans' black middle class
has been gutted, and what that may mean to the city.
For
now, he's spending little time pondering his 20-year
milestone. ``What I'm trying to do is just get better,''
he said. ``Become a better storyteller. That's what
I do.''
___
On
the Net:
HBO:
http://www.hbo.com
|
Email
This Article To A Friend
