LOVE AND THEFT: Blackface minstrelsy was perhaps the most popular form of stage entertainment in the 19th century -- and easily the most difficult for 21st-century Americans to understand. At first (and second and forty-seventh) glance, minstrel shows seem to be nothing but unadulterated racism: white performers in grotesque makeup and garish costumes singing in heavy dialect about happy, foolish slaves. And there's no doubt that racism drove much of minstrelsy's popularity, especially among immigrants and the working class, who now felt that they had somebody to look down on.
But both performers and audiences may have had additional motives and inspirations. American popular culture is full of moments when white producers have appropriated elements of black culture for purposes of entertainment -- ragtime, jazz and swing, rock 'n' roll, rap -- and minstrelsy represents the first chapter in that long history. At the same time, some white performers and audience members may have actually identified with black slaves, through a common nostalgia for rural life or a sense of lower-caste laborers locked in "mudsill mutuality" (as W.T. Lhamon claims in Chapter 3 of our textbook). This combination of admiration and appropriation -- of Love and Theft, in the words of historian Eric Lott (later adopted by Bob Dylan) -- makes minstrelsy incredibly complicated to analyze. Indeed, it's one of the most contentious topics in pop-culture studies, as evident in this brilliant review essay by rock-critic god Robert Christgau.
What's really remarkable, though, is just how long minstrelsy lasted. Well into the 20th century, movie stars like Al Jolson and Judy Garland were "blacking up" for musical numbers. Moreover, the stereotypes created by minstrel shows would dictate the roles that black performers could play on stage and screen for decades. Today, of course, we can't imagine any performer using blackface or singing about "darkeys" and "ole massa". But that instinctive revulsion makes it hard to understand the enduring power and appeal of the minstrel show. When Spike Lee used the minstrel format in Bamboozled, many viewers and critics couldn't get past the offensiveness of blackface and dialect to see the bitter (if ham-fisted) satire underneath.
So is minstrelsy really dead? Or does it live on in other forms? And what does its long history say about the role of race in American popular culture? Pretty heady stuff for a Friday, I know, but I'm confident you're up for it.
Next week: Barnum, dime novels, Westerns, and Coney Island.
But both performers and audiences may have had additional motives and inspirations. American popular culture is full of moments when white producers have appropriated elements of black culture for purposes of entertainment -- ragtime, jazz and swing, rock 'n' roll, rap -- and minstrelsy represents the first chapter in that long history. At the same time, some white performers and audience members may have actually identified with black slaves, through a common nostalgia for rural life or a sense of lower-caste laborers locked in "mudsill mutuality" (as W.T. Lhamon claims in Chapter 3 of our textbook). This combination of admiration and appropriation -- of Love and Theft, in the words of historian Eric Lott (later adopted by Bob Dylan) -- makes minstrelsy incredibly complicated to analyze. Indeed, it's one of the most contentious topics in pop-culture studies, as evident in this brilliant review essay by rock-critic god Robert Christgau.
What's really remarkable, though, is just how long minstrelsy lasted. Well into the 20th century, movie stars like Al Jolson and Judy Garland were "blacking up" for musical numbers. Moreover, the stereotypes created by minstrel shows would dictate the roles that black performers could play on stage and screen for decades. Today, of course, we can't imagine any performer using blackface or singing about "darkeys" and "ole massa". But that instinctive revulsion makes it hard to understand the enduring power and appeal of the minstrel show. When Spike Lee used the minstrel format in Bamboozled, many viewers and critics couldn't get past the offensiveness of blackface and dialect to see the bitter (if ham-fisted) satire underneath.
So is minstrelsy really dead? Or does it live on in other forms? And what does its long history say about the role of race in American popular culture? Pretty heady stuff for a Friday, I know, but I'm confident you're up for it.
Next week: Barnum, dime novels, Westerns, and Coney Island.
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