Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom is one final, brilliant showcase for Chadwick Boseman
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“Life can change in the blink of an eye” is one of those clichés that sounds more hyperbolic than it really is. While it may seem dramatic to suggest that actual milliseconds can radically alter the trajectory of a person’s existence, the daunting fact remains that life is delicate and fickle. The late playwright August Wilson explored as much in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, in which one man’s trauma and hubris leads to a tremendous, lightning-quick fall from grace. At its core, Wilson’s 1982 play is a tragic allegory about the extremely tenuous nature of the Black American Dream, and how, for too many in this country, prosperity comes down not just to hard work but also righting larger wrongs and overcoming systematic roadblocks. To that end, an ostensibly minor setback can be catastrophic for someone reliant on sweeping success for basic survival—a reality Wilson explores through the figure of Levee, a young, ambitious trumpeter who, over the span of mere hours, loses everything: his job, his love interest, and, via creative theft, much more.
Ma Rainey’s is the ballad of a promising talent whose rising star is unceremoniously dimmed. That aspect takes on fresh significance—a uniquely cruel irony—in George C. Wolfe’s new adaptation. After all, Levee is played by Chadwick Boseman, in his final screen role, shot before his shocking death in August. The film has more than its share of toast-worthy elements, from its sharp ensemble to its dutiful nods to 1920s Chicago and Old Hollywood, courtesy of Tobias A. Schliessler’s illuminating cinematography. But the appearance of the actor, in one last tremendous star performance, only enhances the material’s tragic power.
The title refers to Gertrude “Ma” Rainey, one of the earliest Black professional blues singers of record. Ma Rainey’s fictionalizes the creation of one of her most prominent tracks, “Black Bottom,” as a cataclysmic recording session over a single day in 1927. While the Mother Of The Blues, played with irreverent ease by Viola Davis, maintains a somewhat spiritual presence throughout the production, her physical presence is sparse in comparison to the men at the center of this tale: the members of Rainey’s backup jazz band, who await her arrival inside a dimly lit, secluded practice room in the basement of the studio. While they wait, bandmates Cutler (played by the charming Colman Domingo), Toledo (Glynn Turman), Slow Drag (Michael Potts), and Levee (Boseman) attempt to rehearse ahead of the landmark session.
Any chance at productivity comes to a halt when the boastful trumpet player and his seasoned colleagues engage in a lengthy dispute regarding which version of “Black Bottom” they’ll play. Will it be the slower original arrangement, or Levee’s quick-tempo update, which he believes will place him squarely on the path to one day leading his own band? Eventually, the men are paid a visit by Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne), the exploitative studio owner, who unabashedly sees little value in Black performers. When Levee, eager to lodge his foot in the proverbial door of fame, shamelessly pitches his music for the chance to record his own record, the interaction is lampooned by his older bandmates, accusing him of sacrificing his dignity for racist white men. It’s an explosive exchange that leads to a revealing, harrowing monologue about Levee’s past, his mother’s sexual assault, and his father’s murder.
Though his cocksure attitude puts him at odds with Ma Rainey, in many ways Levee aims to be just like her: a leader, a marquee-ready performer, and powerful enough to have full autonomy over his music. But there are a lot of people between Levee and his happiness—the band, Ma Rainey, Sturdyvant— and each charged encounter reveals more of his inner torment, a new layer of unthinkable trauma. For this troubled musician, music is both a passion and means of desperate escape from his demons. With the stakes so high, a boiling point—a fatalistic climax—seems inevitable.
It’s with great sincerity that Boseman and Davis anchor their characters to a sense of purpose. “Black Bottom” holds a special significance for both. For Ma Rainey, it solidifies her control over her own career, a luxury often granted only to her white counterparts. (Her insistence on offering her nephew Sylvester [Dusan Brown] a prominent part in the album recording, despite his stutter, is a potent illustration of this.) As for Levee, the song is an opportunity to ascend above his circumstances, to achieve greatness despite the toxic racism that claimed the lives of his parents. Neither artist is willing to relinquish the marginal power this moment affords them, and so there’s a desperate intensity to their scenes, captivating and dread-inducing in equal measure. Boseman, in particular, delivers Wilson’s hefty dialogue with rapturous aplomb. Levee’s colleagues (and maybe the actor’s costars, too) seem as thunderstruck as the audience will, watching with equal parts fear and awe.
Wolfe, a renowned theater fixture in own right, leans liberally (and possibly bravely, considering how much hyperrealism is valued these days) into the stage roots of the material. The dialogue is heightened, the sets enchantingly artificial in a Hollywood backlot kind of way. Which doesn’t imply a total absence of subtlety. It’s more that Wolfe recognizes that Wilson’s work—especially Ma Rainey’s—is tailored for the theater. Interactions are no less authentic for being played to the back of the proverbial auditorium, and the environment lends itself to some truly buoyant moments, like Davis offering a sizzling performance in the recording studio or Boseman flaunting some enviable footwork. For whatever else it may be, the movie is a reverent tribute to both the medium of theater and Wilson’s indelible impact on it.
It’s important to note that there would not even be a show to admire without the trailblazing career of Ma Rainey, which Davis recognizes and honors with her otherworldly portrayal. Still, this is undoubtedly Boseman’s show and will likely live on as his greatest work. Witnessing him rise to meet the vivacity of titans like Davis and Turman (who, thankfully, is granted his own moment to shine with a sage monologue at the seat of a piano) is an unjust tease, promising something we won’t get to relish again. What makes the movie unbearably heartbreaking is just how well the star fits among the greats, delivering Wilson’s heady words with the electrifying verve of someone you’d think had decades of credits to his name. By the end, we’re left to wonder just how much Boseman and Levee had left to give the world. Here, reality and fiction blend in a way that’s nearly impossible to overlook.
40 Comments
Is there any way Boseman doesn’t get a posthumous Oscar for this?
Anything can happen, but the odds looks pretty stacked in the late Boseman’s favor.
I think all awards for the arts are suspect, but at least the award helps you continue to get work (unless you are Sam Jackson and it raises your asking price uncomfortably high)…I just don’t agree to giving it to people who have passed
I get that the Oscars can help build a career. But the Best Actor often goes to well-established performers. Currently the other favorite in Actor is Anthony Hopkins – does he really need help getting jobs at this point?
he needs encouragement not to phone it in
Of course–I mean, giving it to dead or dying actors is totally not a tradition. Just ask Henry Fonda and Heath Ledger. Or Peter Finch, for that matter.
Oh great point, there’s no difference at all between honoring somebody just before they pass and giving it to them after they’re dead, brilliant of you to group those two together. I think “individual awards are for what they can do for the LIVING individual” be that make them feel appreciated, help them get work, whatever, is a pretty reasonable standard.
Most who win the Oscar don’t, in fact, go on to get more work. Casual perusal of Oscar winners would demonstrate that. I also mentioned Peter Finch, of course, not just Heath Ledger. Posthumous winners also include Howard Ashman, Conrad Hall, William Horning (TWICE!), Sidney Howard, and several others. I am not at all sure why you think people voting for those awards think only of the living–half the Academy is voting from a hospital bed.
Are you on PCP?Yes, most dead people don’t go on to do a lot more work on this particular plane. They have shuffled off this mortal coil. Turned their toes up to the daisies. In short, they have ceased to be.Obviously that is not how the current academy voters view it, they love giving it to people who were not able to take it with them when they even had the possibility of having it in order to not be able to take it with them.I disagree with this approach to awards-giving, I think it is about the honoree (either feeling appreciated or getting more work). I will add that for the industry the Oscar is about making more money for the movie and maybe getting a re-release into theaters, slapping “academy award nominee” on The Phantom Menace for sound editing, etc. The studio that made Ma Rainey will definitely pour everything it has into getting Boseman a posthumous Oscar that accomplishes nothing for a dead guy and freezes out living people who could either be honored or get more work from it, but it might make more $$$ for the movie.
Uhm. So, like, cynically-speaking, giving Boseman an Oscar helps the properties they’re trying to sell in the future. You do get that right? Or are you so convinced that Marie Cottard’s award helped her career so much that they’ll give an award to an up-and-comer over someone who, even dead, has a built-in brand? How’d Halle Berry work out with her post-award boost? Mo’Nique? I don’t doubt there is something to your point, but it’s not a solid point at all—Oscars are sentimental AND strategic, and in a year of death and political uncertainty, I’m willing to bet there’s gonna be a sentimental award this year, and it will be Boseman.Sometimes they give the award to an up-and-comer who disappears. Sometimes they give it to someone, like Julia Roberts, who maybe didn’t deserve it but has turned in solid work. Sometimes they give it to someone who should’ve won it for other things, like Pacino for Scent of a Woman. But they never simply just give it to a young, living actor just because they want to boost a career or something. Honestly, looking for logic in awards shows, while undeniably fun for me, is like trying to read tea-leaves in the dark.ETA: The studio is Netflix–they won’t get a boost at the box office, of course. But then no one will be getting a boost at the box office this year, so money’s to be made on stream sites, and subscribers. Both Disney AND Netflix would benefit from a Boseman win, surely.
“it might make more $$$ for the movie” – not sure if you can’t read or don’t read but I said that already.
You were so consistently wrong I forgot to respond to this one. You remain wrong, and Boseman is currently the frontrunner.
god damn you’re fuckin’ dumb.
I remember that The Dark Knight was barely out before people started clamoring for Ledger to get an Oscar. Yes, he was good, but I actually think he was better in Brokeback Mountain. I think part of the reason people liked his Joker so much was that it was very against type for him.
The awards show nominations are probably gonna be in a weird state of flux, but Boseman winning is as close to a sure thing as you’ll get.
I’d bet a month’s salary he will, for 4 reasons:1. The performance is getting outstanding reviews
2. This is going to be a very, very weak year so competition will be slim3. Boseman was (rightfully) beloved in the industry and an award would be both a recognition of his life as well as his work in this one film.4. The Academy loves to use its awards to make up for past slights (Classic example: awarding Jimmy Stewart the Oscar for Philadelphia Story, was as much a consolation for not awarding him the previous year for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington). To give an Oscar for Boseman would be a gesture of contrition for not giving Black Panther more respect.
4. The Academy loves to use its awards to make up for past slights (Classic example: awarding Jimmy Stewart the Oscar for Philadelphia Story, was as much a consolation for not awarding him the previous year for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington). To give an Oscar for Boseman would be a gesture of contrition for not giving Black Panther more respect.Black Panther was the first superhero film in history to get a Best Picture nomination, and it won three Oscars. I doubt the Academy membership at large feels it was overlooked.
Remember, Sonic the Movie came out this year. It’s going to be tough for any movie to compete with that.
Given how rare posthumous Oscars are, I would never bet on it happening.
Posthumous Oscars are rare because posthumous nominations are rare. It’s not that often that an actor puts in an Oscar-level performance in a film and then dies before award season, but once they have been nominated, a win is not particularly unlikely. I don’t buy that this is an apology for not giving him an award for Black Panther, because I don’t think there was really any discussion at the time of Boseman being a contender for his performance in that film (if anyone was getting any talk like that, it would have been Michael B Jordan), but he was still a beloved actor who died at a tragically young age and this is the one chance they will have to honour him for it, so I’d wager pretty good money that he’s a lock for this one, even if he might not have been in a year with stiffer competition and were he still alive.
Having just watched it and having not seen a lot of movies this year (obviously) or this award season (even more obviously), no.
I am sure Boseman will win a posthumous Oscar and rightly so. But what’s the point of anything after death. It’s like telling someone you love them after they die – such a damn waste!
The old “The Living Years” by Mike And The Mechanics problem.
“You guys can kiss Ma’s black ass!”
Aww man, now I’m pissed off all over again. Fuck cancer!Fucking great actor just knocking it out of the park again and again, and he’s a great dude with a good head and heart (or so it always seemed) just embodies the thousands who die for no good god damned reason, just fucking sucks.Gonna have to check this one out, though I think the way it sounds like the fates of the character and the actor overlap might be a little intense.
I am so happy that all these August Wilson plays are getting remade as movies so they can get the big audiences they deserve.Also “Ma Rainey” has one of the funniest jokes August Wilson ever told, about the Lord’s Prayer and how to spell the word “music”.
This despite being a movie is very much just a play that is now a movie. It’s a great play and it has great performances for all the actors. There’s probably no way to adapt this to a movie to really make it it’s own without pissing people off so I guess that’s that. Plus it’s not like anyone’s going to see a play much anymore. Viola Davis is really great. It really shows the range Boseman had and how much we’re missing out with him being gone.
It’s a very good play, possibly my favorite of Wilson’s. I’d be interested in seeing someone tackle Gem of the Ocean, as there is one scene (the “City of Bones”) that is very fantastical, and might not work on film.
This is more a movie that retreats into 3 walls in a way. The acting is well done, but it’s not so much a movie as it is watching a play with a few more options. Stage settings and actors performances. An actory type thing rather than a cinema experience.
Maybe it’s because I miss theater so badly, but I kind of loved that they leaned into the “we know this is a play” kind of vibe. Too often I feel like scripts are overworked to try make cinema out of a blackbox.
I also thought Boseman’s performance felt so theater-y that I was dazzled by how well it worked on screen. Usually actors are told to tone that kind of thing down, but he just leaned into it and it worked.
I totally understand why you and other people would enjoy that. Less my thing.
Serious question: Teacher in very white Vermont trying to diversify the reading list. I am hoping on showing this to my class, but it brings up a lingering question: Reading POC work aloud in class.The way I’ve traditionally taught plays is that we read it; we sit in a circle and students take roles and read, stopping to discuss the text. Fine. But with talk of whitewashing and other issues, I am wondering about “Raisin in the Sun” and other works with POC characters.
I want to bring more diversity to my syllabus, and treat authors with the respect that comes with the canon. Still, the path to hell is paved with good intentions. Thoughts?
Viola Davis is a strong favorite for best supporting, she is really incredible in this. Boseman is great but as I said elsewhere, I hope they don’t give the oscar posthumously. Glynn Turman and Colman Domingo are incredible, I can only imagine Slow Drag’s monologue must have been cut because he didn’t get the same chance. Despite that, it isn’t a perfect success. Two things really stand in between it, one is that Levee’s actions are so above and beyond insane from the beginning that it’s hard to sympathize with him, he has no sense at all. This leads to a great lesson in why you never try to go over your boss’s head. But also the denouement is so sudden, and anticlimatic, and over so quickly, I have to wonder if there was more build-up. Additionally, I have to wonder why the script didn’t make it clearer how Ma was eating her own, killing a black man’s dream out of her own ego and spitefulness, some acknowledgment of Levee’s talent and that she was aware she was killing it at least, something towering instead of pique and indifference. It was pretty damn good but not quite a towering masterpiece. Also, do they just abandon showing the recording of “Black Bottom” in the play, because suddenly they were just doing a different song…I should read the play, I wonder what else got cut.
I have to wonder why the script didn’t make it clearer how Ma was eating her own, killing a black man’s dream out of her own ego and spitefulnessI thought that came through pretty clearly. We see multiple instances of white people behaving badly/exploiting Black folks’, and then Black folks taking out their frustrations on one another, up to the choice that seals Levee’s fate. It’s a pretty searing take on how the politics of power keep the underclasses from achieving a meaningful revolution, because the power they are granted only goes so far. So, as is often said, we eat our own.
I guess that is a good point, the men in the band did spend their entire time together tearing each other down “good-naturedly” or “taking the piss” as some might say. I just wanted a little more self-awareness from Ma because she is at the top of the power pyramid. Having her not want to engage with her actions, her jealousy with Bessie Smith or fear of being supplanted by Levee, doesn’t play as dramatically as her acknowledging or confronting that…for that reason when she fires Levee it doesn’t feel like a climax and his subsequent descent is so quick (fired/doesn’t get a band/knife) that it didn’t really have time to gain steam. King Lear’s descent takes a whole play, maybe there is more stuff after he gets fired in the uncut version
Ma isn’t at the top of power pyramid, nor is she securely there.
Anyway—I don’t think too much of the blame falls on Ma, the play makes clearer that Levee isn’t as far along as he claims to be (talent or career-wise). And in the end, Levee’s not turning to her for that help, either, he’s trying to bypass her and puts his trust in Sturdyvant, instead.
I can only imagine Slow Drag’s monologue must have been cut because he didn’t get the same chance. bass player’s solo got cut? shocking!
This film reminds me of creative writing workshops, in that it evinces so strongly three of the things you hear most often.1. “Whose story is it?” It seems like, obviously, it should be Ma Rainey’s, but it is Levee’s. I wonder if this was altered after Bozeman’s death, i.e. if originally the film was more centered on Rainey. 2. “You have to earn your ending.” This is a decent film and story ultimately botched by the ridiculous, unearned, and laughable climax. It’s an exact definition of bathos. The end comes out of nowhere, it’s totally unnecessary, and it sullies what is otherwise a good-enough film about a strong subject. The “boiling point” is absolutely evitable, one of many things that could’ve happened, and one of the least likely among them. Levee didn’t lose his love; a floozie he half-fucked rode on down the road. He didn’t lose his career; on the contrary, he felt that being fired began his career. He was at a rubicon, but not one that demanded he lash out in seething rage. These kinds of soap opera melodramatics achieve the opposite they attempt to: instead of the ending being shocking, it’s a joke. It’s a textbook example of how3. “A bad ending can kill a good story.”
Thank you! Watched it this week and it’s …. not very good.