Spike Lee at Carnegie Mellon (source)
Last night, Spike Lee visited Pittsburgh. He hosted a screening of his latest film, Chi-Raq, for Carnegie Mellon's International Film Festival. I've already posted my thoughts on the film; now, about the event. Since I don't often meet a world-class director, please excuse me as I indulge my inner Garry Wills.I.
The Face to Face event took place at 4:30 pm. Auditorium was packed, mostly with students but a few older folks as well. The stage had a simple couch with an American flag, a podium off to the side. I arrived early so I got a nice fifth or sixth row seat, center stage, next to a chatty Asian woman. The event started about twenty minutes late. Jolanta Lion, the festival director, gave a brief introduction, gushing with excitement about Lee's attendance.
When Lee entered, sporting a kepi and beaded necklace, he received a standing ovation. He ribbed the audience about Pitt's March Madness loss; when a hapless Pitt alum shouted "We'll be back," he retorted: "Back to what?" Lee dealt with cell phones ("If this were my classroom, there would be furniture flying!") and a CMU sign repeatedly falling off his podium. When he finally placed the offending sign on a chalkboard, the crowd erupted.
Lee gave prepared remarks, discussing the film and recent controversies: his Oscar boycott, racism in Hollywood and American culture, thoughts on Donald Trump ("He's dangerous") and Bernie Sanders (his preferred candidate). He declared that America rules the world not through bombs but the pervasiveness of our culture, noting further the disconnect between mostly-white studio chiefs and America's increasingly-diverse demographics.
Lee is physically unimposing (he admitted that "genetics conspired" to prevent him from playing sports) but is a unique, forceful presence. He speaks in a quiet, almost deadpan voice evincing blunt authority; he never varnishes his opinions, never shies from criticism or provocation. Lee doesn't claim to know answers, but evinces deep, probing intelligence that's hard to question.
He discusses history, politics and pop culture with equal authority. "America is built on violence," he says, citing slavery and the fate of Native Americans. He notes how this violence bleeds into America's urban centers and gun culture, each a central theme of Chi-Raq. He remarks that it's crucial that people, black and white, realize that "It's not cool to kill people. It's stupid."
He fields comments on cultural appropriation and exclusion. "Don't go for that Elvis shit," he says when discussing rock-and-roll. Quoting the Broadway musical Hamilton, he blames the Oscars on a mostly-white Academy: "If we're not in the room, we don't get a say." He also notes that films with more diverse casts make more money, commenting that Hollywood should diversify if only for that.
Lee connects with the audience, despite lacking textbook charisma. He makes perfectly-timed jokes and incisive statements with equal ease; he talks about Pittsburgh sports and asks for Brooklynites to identify themselves. Whether amused or angry, his tone remains unchanged. He won't alter his views to suit audience tastes. Lee's bluntness, and his actual opinions, may irritate some, but listeners appreciate that he won't bullshit them.
II.
Audience questions consumed much of the event, moderated by Pitt English professor Terrance Hayes. Most of the discussion was genial: several budding filmmakers asked Lee for advice on starting in the industry. One girl expressed affection for School Daze, which she said perfectly reflected her experiences at an all-black high school. She sheepishly asked Lee to sign her DVD; the director happily obliged, to audience applause.
Groggy offered a boilerplate question: How does Lee choose to make original films versus adapting the work of others (citing Chi-Raq, based on Lysistrata, and Clockers, adapted from a Richard Price novel)? Lee commented that "I love great material, I don't have to create it myself," noting that he collaborates with screenwriters and others, even on his original works.
Most questions addressed cultural matters. A teacher asked Lee how to make lessons about gun violence. Lee praised the woman for teaching, noting that his generation never mocked smart, educated people. He contrasts this with modern youth, who reject education for crime. When past generations fought for equal education, how can modern African-Americans reject it?
Despite Professor Hayes' pleas for no manifestos or speeches, a few oddballs insisted. A middle-aged gentleman rambled about Pittsburgh sports, asking why no one has made a film about failed Steelers quarterback Joe Gilliam. Lee humored him for awhile, but understandably lost patience. He also shot down a question about which movies he'd show to space aliens: "I don't answer hypothetical questions."
III.
Inevitably, several questions irritated Lee, drawing out the combative firebrand beloved by the media.
One girl, Sabrina from Chicago, asked Lee why he addressed the city's crime problems through satire, rather than a drama or documentary. Lee responded that it was his choice as an artist, and that comedy was a valid approach. "You can have humor about serious subjects," he noted, citing Dr. Strangelove ("Funny as a motherfucker"). This led to a discourse on the reactions to Do the Right Thing and Bamboozled, shopworn slams on clueless critics.
Lee started reasonably, but grew increasingly defiant and defensive as the conversation continued. "I can't help it if people don't know what satire is," Lee snapped. Thanks to his persistent deadpan, this testy transition went unnoticed until the last moment. Sabrina's personal connection to Chicago didn't lessen Lee's venom or modulate his answers.
Another girl (who didn't give her name) asked whether Chi-Raq fed into stereotypes of black women through its heroines' provocative dress. Lee explained, with weary condescension (he's fielded this one before), that Lysistrata tackled similar themes thousands of years ago, without reference to hip hop culture. He cited Beyoncé's "Formation" video as a similar work that didn't draw the same criticism.
Lee wondered why we'd complain about Chi-Raq's women dressing provocatively. "If they're having a sex strike, how are they supposed to dress?" Fair point.
A CMU student named Katie, pressed the point. She noted that critics find Lysistrata itself problematic, wondering how Lee approached complaints that Aristophanes reduced women to their sex. How did he address this problem?
"I don't think it's a problem," Lee answered. He noted the film's resemblance to a real-life sex strike in Liberia, demanding whether Katie thought those women were simply sexual beings. Understandable, but it didn't address her question.
Katie clarified that she wasn't attacking Lee, merely how he tackled the issue of adaptation. Lee, now defensively entrenched, reiterated his earlier point, adding that the actresses in the movie were themselves strong black women and didn't object to their characters' portrayal. He added that his wife vetted his scripts and didn't object, either.
The audience took Lee's side; I heard whispered insults around me as Katie responded. Never mind that Katie's comments mainly addressed differences between text and film, or Lee's increasing belligerence. The conversation continued for several minutes, neither director nor student backing down.
Professor Hayes tried moving on to another questioner, but Lee continued to pursue the argument. "I want to finish this," he said. "The women I work with aren't stupid," he commented; the characters in Chi-Raq "aren't robots." He asked Katie whether she had a problem with Beyoncé; she said no, and Lee proclaimed victory, raising his mike and generating applause. It was the only time that his persona slipped.
(Sabrina and the second girl eluded me, but I spoke with Katie afterwards. A sharp and engaging young woman, she appreciated my support but seemed satisfied with Lee's answers. "I think he thought I was attacking him," she said, "but his answer about working with strong black women was a good one.")
After several nicer questions, Lee regained his composure and concluded the presentation on a friendlier note. When a budding director asked how to make it in Hollywood, he suggested "Try to come up with something original." Then Lee exited to sustained applause; short break, then Chi-Raq.
IV.
Why dwell on Lee's testiness? Admittedly, it's good copy. This is why Lee draws press attention, whether calling out Clint Eastwood and Tyler Perry or tweeting George Zimmerman's address. A provocative, even obnoxious director is more fun than a polite, friendly one. But it also addresses the problem Lee, and other outspoken filmmakers face with the media.
Lee's easily caricatured as a white-hating bomb thrower. He's certainly done and said stupid, provocative things throughout his career. It's also a question of context. Refusing to back down is principled when squaring off against Bull Connor, studio executives, even crude critics. Before college students or reporters, intransigence can seem arrogant, condescending, pigheaded.
But it's not remotely fair to reduce Lee to a punchline. His films explore racism, crime and from multiple perspectives, avoiding easy answers and simple solutions. He'll naturally attack white bigotry, but calls out the black community for their own failings, all part of a rotten system. This complexity is rare in any artist, let alone filmmakers.
If nothing else, seeing Lee in person allowed me to experience not a controversial filmmaker, a flawed but fascinating person. Funny and tough, engaging and exasperating, brilliant and stubborn, all at once. And hey, how often does the director of Do the Right Thing visit your neighborhood?
Thanks to Carnegie Mellon for holding this festival, and thanks to Spike Lee for an interesting evening. And thank you, to any readers who survived this essay.
