Films for the Trump Years, Part 17: Malcolm X

               I don't know why, but for some reason a 2017 article by film critic Odie Henderson popped up on my Twitter feed on the 25^th anniversary of the release of Spike Lee's Malcolm X, his massive, three-plus-hour biopic of one of the most titanic figures in 20th-century American history. At first, I was confused as to why this article was just crossing my path now, but the time gap between now and the article's original publication is ultimately trivial; the whole gist of Henderson's piece is to point out how revisiting the film several decades later throws into painful relief how very, very little has changed in America in terms of racial inequality since, not just the release of the film itself, but the life of its subject. And if that was already undoubtedly true in 2017, it's even more obvious now.

               As it happens, while I am writing this article in late May 2020, a viral video has ended up launching the largest public reckoning with racism and our militarized police force since Ferguson. The video is- God have mercy on us all- yet another example of a police officer callously and cruelly murdering a black man named George Floyd over....what? Speeding? A parking ticket? Frankly, it doesn't matter. Events have moved extremely rapidly over the course of me writing this, so any summary I try to put here will be long out of date by the time you're reading it, so please; get active and start informing yourself.

And this is happening across the backdrop of an ongoing global pandemic, one that has, so far, hit the United States the hardest in terms of the numbers of cases and deaths. This horrific burden has been overwhelmingly born by the poorer and less-well-off among us, which, inevitably, means minorities and marginalized communities. African-Americans, Native Americans, illegal immigrants, and the inmates of federal prisons (which, again, overwhelmingly means black and brown persons) have been the most devastated communities so far, and with the Trump administration adamantly refusing to do any of the heavy lifting necessary to stave off social and economic collapse, this is not about to get better anytime soon. As always, real tragedy tears off all the masks, and an increasing number of Republicans, conservatives, and white people in general have taken to saying the quiet part very, very loudly.

               So, once again, those who want to comprehend why this sort of shit remains so deeply embedded in American DNA need to seriously grapple with our history of inequality, genocide, and discrimination of every shade and stripe imaginable. I've already recommended films on the US prison complex and other aspects of American racism, including an MLK biopic, but reading Henderson's piece made me realize any attempt to encompass the history of American racism without including Malcolm X would be incomplete at best.

               Fortunately, much like Ava DuVernay's Selma, Malcolm X is of a much different cut than your standard biopic. The genre of prestige biographical films has a rather justified reputation for usually being incredibly safe, dry, predictable, and rote on a filmmaking and storytelling level, even if a rote and formulaic approach is wholly antithetical to the person or persons the film is trying to depict (see the latest sludge bomb Bohemian Rhapsody for a primo example of this- or rather, don't).

               Spike Lee is having none of that here. The film opens with an American flag slowly burning into a giant X, intercut with shots from the Rodney King beating that took place roughly a year before the film's release. Subtle, this movie is not.

               Perhaps the first thing that struck me as the film proper started up after the opening credit sequence was just how vivid and vibrant the colors of its world are. Particularly in the first segment of the film, when a young Malcolm X (or, as he then styled himself, "Detroit Red") is not much more than a party-boy and hustler in the big city. There is so much texture and lushness to each frame, I literally felt like I'd been pulled straight through a time warp to late-1940's Harlem. While the use of color and lighting alters later on, reflecting the various mental and physical changes Malcolm X undergoes in his short life, that almost tactile sense remains throughout. This is very much of a piece with Spike Lee's other work, of course; Do The Right Thing, a movie where a heat wave plays a crucial role in the plot, nearly had me sweating buckets by the end, even though I watched it in the relative coolness of early March.

               Remarkably inventive uses of sound design, camerawork, and editing aboud throughout to jar the viewer just a little out of any complacency they might be tempted to slip into; Malcolm and his erstwhile partner-in-crime, Shorty (played by Spike Lee himself), goofing around in a park shooting finger-guns at each other, seem to cause the sound of actual gunfire to ring out, and Malcolm falls to the ground, appearing to be dead. A sequence of him in solitary confinement later on flips the camera on its head, something we don't know until the lone window to the world of light opens up, casting its white glare on the outline of Malcolm's upside-down face. And in my favorite bit of the entire film, an early scene where Malcolm is working as a train waiter and has to endure the smarmy superiority of white passengers, a flash-edit convinces you that he actually does snap and mash a lemon meringue pie into a man's face. Alas, it was just a momentary flight of fancy on Malcom's part, played out on-screen for our benefit. He knew what the price would have been if he'd actually done it.

               The central anchor of the film, of course, is Denzel Washington, and I don't think I would dare argue with anyone who contends this to be the defining performance in his career. It also ended up being one of the more infamous snubs in Oscar history; the winner that year was Al Pacino for....actually, I don't think anyone remembers what he did.

               As amazingly as Washington threads the lines between the many parts of Malcolm X over the course of nearly 20 years of his life is, I found the balance brought by his wife, played by Angela Bassett, to be just as important to allowing the film to engage with the complex disparaties between the different phases of Malcolm's spiritual and intellectual development. Next to his conversion in prison to Islam, the revelations about its founder that led him to eventually break away from the Nation of Islam was one of the most consequential moments of his life, and not just because it was what directly led to his murder. While I am a little unsure how historically accurate it is, in the film it's Bassett who forces Malcolm to reckon with this dark side of the movement he'd devoted himself heart and soul. It's the woman in his life who forces him to stop working so obsessively, to think critically for the first time about the people around him, a moment of introspection that sets up the next stage of his journey. In fact, f I had one, tiny criticism of the film, it's that, it's running time notwithstanding, it could have used even more Angela Bassett; I have never seen another movie make a simple, short phone call feel so profoundly romantic.

               Malcom X is a titanic achievement in biopic filmmaking, a gripping and incredibly challenging examination of a life every bit as layered, complex, frustrating, and inspiring as Martin Luther King Jr's. As history repeats itself once again, and America engages in another tug-of-war over whether or not we will continue to ignore the sins and legacies of our past, it is incumbent on all people of good faith to educate themselves on the struggles of those who've gone before. Otherwise, we stand absolutely zero chance of making the most of this latest opportunity for healing, condemning us to continue on our old cycle of racial prejudice, violence, and forgetfulness.

Previously on Films for the Trump Years: 

Part 1- Selma

Part 2- Good Night, and Good Luck

Part 3- 13th 

Part 4- Get Out

Part 5- Chasing Ice/Chasing Coral

Part 6- The Big Short

Part 7- Human Flow

Part 8- Moonlight/Winter's Bone

Part 9- Black Panther

Part 10- Arrested Development

Part 11- Bowling for Columbine

Part 12- [T]error

Part 13- Angels in America

Part 14- Do The Right Thing

Part 15- All The President's Men 

Part 16- Ken Burns' The Vietnam War 

Star Wars, Duel of the Fates: Chapter Two- The Inheritance

**for previous chapters, see our Table of Contents**

               Kylo Ren's world was fire and blood. Gathering the Dark Side within himself, creating a black hole of power that whipped and spun and tore apart all around him, his burning saber cut down every one of the primitive defenders that had been foolish enough to stand in his way; stabbing one through the chest, separating another's head from its shoulders with a flick of the wrist, even pulling some directly towards him through the Force to cut them completely in half. He dimly feel the other soldiers of his at the edge of his vision, fighting their own paths forward, including three of his Knights, but none of them dared to stray anywhere near him to risk being pulled into his vortex of slaughter. As always, Kylo Ren stood alone.

               It had been only two days since one of his many contacts throughout the galaxy head reached out to him. Always on the hunt for further treasures of the ancient Sith, this time the rumors were of a Sith temple on Mustafar, guarded by a local tribe. What was to be found inside, if anything, was yet unknown, but Kylo Ren was not about to pass up this chance. He couldn't afford to.

               A week had passed since the partially-thwarted raid on Kuat, where repairs were taking an aggravatingly long time. This latest annoying hurdle was yet another of the thousand and one tiny problems that kept cropping up all across the galaxy. None of them fatal to his power, but collectively the pains they caused him and his commanders could not be ignored. With the Republic's government gone and the Rebellion truly on the run, the First Order had finally established control over every major system. A new jamming technique designed by their best engineers had allowed the First Order to effectively kill all communications between systems other than their own; they had first deployed this technique to great effect at Crait, where the rebels must have wondered in agony why their calls for help in the battle went unheeded when, in fact, just about no one ever heard it, and for those few who did, it was too little, too late.

               And yet, even with no effective means to coordinate between systems, each major world was still finding its own way to hinder and harm and stifle First Order government in a myriad of ways. A local rebellion here, an ancient, entrenched bureaucracy here, a barbaric religious revival there. The First Order still possessed more firepower than any individual system, but with their fleets stretched so thin to maintain what peace they could, Kylo Ren knew more than almost anyone outside High Command (and even, to an extent, within High Command) that they were rapidly approaching their limit.

               That damned raid was the perfect example of this; it was nothing more than a hunch that had led him to assign Knight Trudgen to the planet as an added guardian, but while his presence had prevented a total disaster, the fact that the raid was not only partially successful, but that Rey managed to escape yet again proved there were clear limits to using the Knights like this. Trudgen remained on Kuat for the time being, and the remaining Knights not with him now were stationed for similar purposes on Coruscant itself, but there were simply not enough of them- nor were they as capably trained in the non-violent uses of the Force- to cover all necessary planets in either the Core or the Outer Rim.

               Kylo knew that, in the end, he could only rely on himself to find the power necessary to create his own Empire. Part of what had allowed Palpatine to hold such an ironclad grip for so long on an entire galaxy had been his particularly potent ability to sense through the Force any genuine threats to the Empire before they could fully form, allowing him time and space to plan his countermoves. Obviously, this foresight had failed him in the very end- like Vader, he never fully overcame his own weaknesses- which made Kylo all the more determined to not only discover such powers for himself, but to take them to levels no other Force-user had yet achieved. He would succeed, and the past would be left behind to die, finally. If he was lucky, whatever was inside this temple could hold the next key for his ascension.

               After a two full seconds passed without another danger presenting itself, Kylo Ren began to feel himself slowly withdrawing from the dark tunnel he'd surrounded himself with. He glanced about at the smoking ruins stretched behind and beside him. All the defenders were dead, with only himself, a dozen stormtroopers, and the Knights still standing.

Satisfied, he turned his gaze to the obsidian-black structure before him; a ziggurated behemoth that began with a large, wide base, ending with a pillar at the very top the same fireblood color of a Sith lightsaber. Age-worn steps from the base led up to a doorframe that, though clearly old, was untouched by vines or plants of any sort, nor were there any indications of insects, birds, or other animals having tried to make their homes there. Even abandoned, the Dark Side was so strong in this place it turned back any creature that tried to touch or tame it.

               Any creature, Kylo Ren though to himself, except those powerful enough to earn entrance.

               A curt nod sufficed as an order for the troopers and Knights to secure the immediate area, should other locals in the area get any ideas about trying to drive them off. Bracing himself, his now-unlit saber at the ready, Kylo Ren walked through the doorframe into a well of utter blackness.

               After a moment, though, his eyes adjusted. Red stones carved into various shapes and runes along the wall, probably from the same stone as the spire above, glowed with a gentle light that, after a short wait, gave his eyes enough light to make out the broad, cavernous chamber that filled the center of the temple. A series of doorways around the edges clearly led to side rooms and antechambers, but he could already sense that there was nothing to be found there. That which he sought was a dias at the very center of the room, right beneath the bottom of the spire above, that radiated an evil power.

               As he got closer, the outlines of a box, as black as the stone of the dias, began to appear. Wary of a possible trap set long ago for trespassers, he carefully probed the box with the Force, and with a nudge, actived the mechanisms that opened it. With an outward burst of stale air and dust, the top flew back and a small plate within the box was raised up to viewing level. Upon on it sat a hand-sized, crystalline pyramid, filled with innumerable shards of glass within itself, appearing endlessly fragile.

               This fragility, though, was an illusion. Kylo recognized instantly what he was looking at- a Sith Holocron. Technology that had been lost for eons after the ancient Sith-Jedi wars, Holocrons allowed a Force user to leave behind an imprint of themselves, like a Force version of a computer program, that could preserve and carry on the secrets they had unearthed long after their deaths. To possess just a few Holocrons was to possess several lifetimes of knowledge that could be harnessed for one's own ends, and gathering the lost Holocrons of the Sith had been the obsession of many of the Sith Lords, but after the Clone Wars and the many wars between the Galactic Empire and the Rebellion, nearly every known or rumored Holocron was considered lost.

               Now, though, with the Force guiding him, Kylo Ren had found one of these lost treasures. All that was left was to discover from which Sith Lord this one was, and whether or not they were capable of giving him the power he needed to secure his Empire.

               Kylo reached out with the Dark Side of the Force, contemplating the shape and presence of this device, before sending out a single thought; open.

               With barely a sound, tiny pinpricks of light began to appear and run along the edges of the many crystal shards inside the pyramid. Slowly at first, then picking up speed, more and more lights appeared and rushed up to the very apex, which began to glow a deep blue. After a moment, it cast its light upward, and a holographic image appeared above the Holocron; a bent figure, with clawed hands, wearing a black robe and a hood pulled so far forward, all that was visible of the face was a wrinkled, ancient mouth set in a permanent grimace.

               Complete silence fell inside the temple, and then, the figure spoke:

               I am Darth Sidious, Empreror of the Galaxy and Lord of the Sith

               The voice, though clearly old, had depth and a malicious strength to it.

               The cowl lifted slightly, revealing the glowing yellow eyes in its depths before Sidious spoke again:

               Darth Vader was instructued to recover me after the fall of Skywalker. I feel the Dark Side within you. But are not Vader.

               There was nothing accusatory in the voice's tone, simply a matter-of-factness.

               Who are you, and where is my apprentice?

               Kylo Ren was in so much shock, he almost forgot to respond. He could not believe his luck. Not only had he found his way to a genuine Sith Holocron; he'd found one, not from some half-forgotten, wayward Sith from five millenia ago, but from Emperor Palpatine himself. It figured, he supposed, that Palpatine, who had pushed the bounds of the Dark Side further than any Sith before him, would have also managed to rediscover the lost art of the Holocron.

               He only waiting a moment, though, before responding; "Darth Vader is dead. As are you. Or rather, your original self. Vader betrayed you; he and Skywalker laid waste to your Empire."

               The figure before him turned his head slightly, and Kylo Ren, to his astonishment, felt it reaching out; the Holocron itself was, apparently, Force-sensitive. He wondered at this for a moment. I suppose it figures, he thought. A Holocron required fine and arcane Force skills to craft, and was a tool for powerful Force users, so it stood to reason that the echoes within a Holocron would retain a connection to the Force; clearly, they were more than just memories.

               After a few moments of probing, the image spoke again; It is as you say. Ah, Vader. How supremely disappointing.

               Then he turned back towards Kylo. Now answer my first question. Who are you?

               Kylo focused, using every trick he'd ever learned from Skywalker and, later, Snoke, to shield himself in the Force. No way to tell yet if his true heritage would help or hinder in convincing Sidious to teach him.

               "I am Kylo Ren. Leader of the Knights of Ren, and Supreme Leader of the First Order, the successor to your Empire, and your mantle as Lord of the Sith. My forces and I have destroyed the New Republic, ended Luke Skywalker and his new Jedi order. All I need to cement our rule is to ascend to the next level of power."

               He took a step forward, closer to the dias, "I need the power of Palpatine. Of the Emperor. And I can then complete what you and Vader started."

               To complete the picture of subservience, one he'd perfected over years under Snoke until that blessed day he threw it off, he kneeled, "Vader failed you. But I will not. Train me, that I may prove worthy of your mantle."

               Maybe a bit much, he thought, Then again, Palpatine was vain to a fault.

               A moment of silence passed. Then, Sidious laughed. A sickly, creeping sound, one more felt than heard, crawling up his spine and igniting a fire of indignant rage within him.

               After a second (or an eternity?), the laughter faded; when the voice spoke next, there was no mirth to be found in it.

               Pretty words, boy. Do you take me for a fool? I may be but a memory, but I can still see all of you. All you would wish to hide from me. I know exactly who you are. You are not Kylo Ren. You are no Sith. You are no Solo. You are a Skywalker.

               That name, Kylo thought, clenching his fist, that damned name.

               Sidious continued; Your so-called First Order playacts at recreating my Empire, but I have seen its failings. Its weakness. You are as children, grasping at a toy still too big for your own fingers. Why should I bestow my blessing upon you? Why, having been betrayed and destroyed by both your grandfather and uncle, should I grant my secrets and my powers to another Skywalker?

               For a moment, Kylo Ren was not sure how, exactly, he would respond to this. His body screamed at him to lash out, to wreck the tiny crystal structure before him, to send this last remnant of a dead and failed old man screaming into the void. He held himself back only with every ounce of willpower he possessed. However he did it- whatever he had to say or do- he needed every secret this device could provide him with. No matter the cost.

               Finally, he looked back up at the figure; "Then test me. Name any trial you wish, and I will overcome it. I have worked too hard and too long to kill off the chains of my past, of my heritage. I won't stop now. I can't."

               The figure stretched out its hand, and an immense wave of power gripped Kylo Ren and lifted him completely off the ground, holding him suspended in mid-air. The strength surrounded him was choking. He had never guessed a Holocron could command power like this. It truly felt like the Emperor himself stood before him, a presence that far outstripped Snoke's.

               The voice filled with fury; And if I refuse? You'll get angry? Lash out? Destroy my last inheritance to this galaxy? FOOL! I told you I can see all of you!

               The grip strengthened.

               You are the last of your line. So it is only befitting for me to take my revenge thus; by wiping the Skywalkers from the universe, once and for all.

               Farewell, Kylo Ren.

               Blackness began to spread from his neck throughout his body. Kylo fled further and further within himself, seeking refuge from the power surging in to crush his being. This couldn't be it. This can't be his end. His mind flashed through everything; the pain and betrayal he felt when Luke attacked him, his rage at his parents for laying their legacy on him, the murder and death he had caused to ascend to lead the Knights, to cement the power of the First Order, killing Snoke, killing his own father-

               -and the return of that image, of the burning blade in his hands tearing apart his own father's life, reignited the hot core within him, and he lashed outwards.

               "NO!" In an instance, the pressure holding him up snapped away, and he fell floor, trembling only an instanst before regaining his footing.

               Breathing like he'd just traversed all of Coruscant at a sprint's pace, he focused his gaze back on the figure before him. The fury he'd felt was gone, and in its place, a sense of genuine curiosity.

               Aaaaaah, the voice purred, there. That...that was the fury of Vader.

               Perhaps you do have potential after all. And if you have already sacrified that, you are farther along the path of the Sith than I'd assumed.

               Sidious appeared to contemplate something for a bit. Kylo waited, hoping against hope that he'd found his opening.

               I think a trial may well be in order, young Kylo Ren. Very well. Listen carefully. You are to take this Holocron and return to your ship. Arrange what affairs you must to ensure your absence, then follow careful instructions that will appear on your navigation systems to a certain planet. There, your trial will begin.

               With this, the figure faded, slipping downard back into the tip of the Holocron, which soon grew dark, as did the glowing runes along the walls, throwing the interior of the chamber back into total darkness.

               The only sound was the weight and exhaustion of Kylo Ren's breathing.