The truth is that as a woman, a woman of color, and specifically an African American woman, the insults come so fast and furious that there’s always the danger of becoming overwhelmed and de-sensitized.
Sad to say, but I’m used to hearing black and brown women being call “bitch†“ho†“skank†“skeazer†“gold digger†or some variation of all of the above in popular songs and music videos. “Norbit,†Eddie Murphy’s current movie, may be the most recent example of a black man putting on a dress and playing the fat, ignorant, loud, brown-skinned black woman as an object of ridicule and revulsion, you can bet it won’t be the last. And check out “Flavor of Love,†VH1’s hit show in which women demean themselves in an effort to get Flava Flav - brought beneath low since his high as a member of the seriously political rap group Public Enemy - to choose them.
What these three have in common is that they demean black women, earn handsome profits for their corporate sponsors, and for the most part exist devoid of criticism.
Making the Movie About Everything
When stories like Cali's can't move people (at least anyone who has the requisite yellow brick road equipment to work with) then obviously something is very wrong. I think "it's the script, stupid."
I mean the script that gets into a person's head when disbelief is willingly suspended and the embrace of identity begins to take over and feel really good.
If I ever make a movie, my shooting script will be about everything, maybe based on the elusive Theory of Everything?
But I'm a suspect freak.
Sooner or later most folks get one dominant script stuck in their heads (religion, politics or some combination) and willingly immerse themselves in that one story, start to feel like one of its established characters and then start acting from that script in real life, responding to behind-the-scenes directors and producers who will use them as instruments, to bring that script to public life.
Those Unmoved By Cali must think they're in a whole different movie, different script and different target audience, so their reality has no relationship to hers. She ceases to matter, no, can quite literally cease to exist in their script, as they hunker down in their own comfortable genre, run the soundtrack as loud as they please and orchestrate critic bombs to lob across the lobby at her faceless crowd.