LIKE WRITING HISTORY WITH LIGHTNING: I don't often spend a whole class meeting on a single pop-culture product, but then few artifacts in American cultural history are as significant and controversial as D.W. Griffith's 1915 film, The Birth of a Nation. Based on Thomas Dixon's 1905 novel, The Clansman, the film sets a fairly conventional tale of star-crossed lovers against the historical backdrop of the Civil War and Reconstruction. While the romantic episodes involving the Stonemans (Northern) and Camerons (Southern) aren't especially compelling, the film's real impact comes in its portrayal of life in the Reconstructed South. Dixon had explicitly intended his novel to rewrite Reconstruction history by denigrating African Americans and Northern radicals and celebrating the supposed savior of the white South, the Ku Klux Klan. Griffith made Dixon's mythical history even more powerful by employing all the tools of the new film medium -- dramatic close-ups, epic battle scenes, multiple camera angles, parallel action and editing -- on an unprecedented three-hour scale. On Griffth's screen, blacks and mulattoes covet white women, insult Southern men, and rule through ignorance and corruption, while hooded Klansmen save innocent maidens, terrorize Northern sympathizers, and ulitmately restore white rule.
Most critics and audiences applauded Birth of a Nation for its extraordinary cinematic and narrative power. The filmmakers even promoted endorsements from President (and former history professor) Woodrow Wilson -- who reportedly described the film as "like writing history with lightning" -- and Chief Justice Edward D. White, himself a former member of the Klan. Not surprisingly, though, African American leaders vigorously protested the film, calling for its censorship or withdrawal. After discussions with the NAACP, Griffith did consent to some minor changes to the movie, and he offered his next epic film, Intolerance, as evidence of his opposition to bigotry and prejudice. But the damage had already been done: Birth of a Nation cemented the Dixonian version of Reconstruction, reinforced racial tensions in 1910s America, and helped inspire the 1920s revival of the Klan.
So how should we deal with Griffith's film today? We could conduct academic symposia about its historical and cultural significance; we could debate its place among the all-time "great films"; we could reduce it to convenient shorthand for pop-culture racism; we could even subvert it through creative reinterpretation. Ultimately, though, we're still left with a troubling dilemma. Is it really possible to acclaim Birth of a Nation for its cinematic influence and cultural impact while simultaneously condemning its virulent racism and historical distortions? Can you think of any other pop-culture moments that inspire this same combination of artistic admiration and moral revulsion?
Most critics and audiences applauded Birth of a Nation for its extraordinary cinematic and narrative power. The filmmakers even promoted endorsements from President (and former history professor) Woodrow Wilson -- who reportedly described the film as "like writing history with lightning" -- and Chief Justice Edward D. White, himself a former member of the Klan. Not surprisingly, though, African American leaders vigorously protested the film, calling for its censorship or withdrawal. After discussions with the NAACP, Griffith did consent to some minor changes to the movie, and he offered his next epic film, Intolerance, as evidence of his opposition to bigotry and prejudice. But the damage had already been done: Birth of a Nation cemented the Dixonian version of Reconstruction, reinforced racial tensions in 1910s America, and helped inspire the 1920s revival of the Klan.
So how should we deal with Griffith's film today? We could conduct academic symposia about its historical and cultural significance; we could debate its place among the all-time "great films"; we could reduce it to convenient shorthand for pop-culture racism; we could even subvert it through creative reinterpretation. Ultimately, though, we're still left with a troubling dilemma. Is it really possible to acclaim Birth of a Nation for its cinematic influence and cultural impact while simultaneously condemning its virulent racism and historical distortions? Can you think of any other pop-culture moments that inspire this same combination of artistic admiration and moral revulsion?
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