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For the burgeoning black middle class (often
ineptly dubbed the "talented tenth")
whose aesthetic tastes and respective lifestyles
have expanded far beyond the parameters of conventional
blackness, as it has been malignantly defined
by every negative stereotype spawned since our
American enslavement, there clearly is a desperate
need for voices (besides Kanye West's) that represent
the perspectives of the quasi-street savvy collegiate-esque
crowd of the occasionally grown and sexy ilk.
I mean how much more Viacom sponsored debauchery
brought to you via BET or UPN ("U Pick a
Nigga" as my man Paul Mooney calls it) will
we collectively withstand as a people before all
our genius Chapelles and McGruders are driven
into maddened exile and all our pre-adolescents
transmogrified into embryonic drug dealers, pimps
and whores before they even learn that there are
other career options. Throughout the history of
our tenure on this terror laden terrain, black
people in America have innovated, danced, tapped,
joke cracked and jaw smacked our way above and
beyond the reigns of the inherent oppression into
which we are born here in the nest of the Western
eagle. And while we've apparently honed our comic
genius and subversive wit to a razor sharp edge
in our attempts to clown to keep from crying,
and laugh to offset dying, (as in the case of
the torch bearing McGrudder and Chapelle…
and Mooney as well), the honest representation
of the multi-layered complexities of the black
psyche have been perpetually shoveled under the
rug of conformist societal oblivion. So when you
meet me, I'm some spin off of a vaudevillian minstrel
caricature whose seedlings of origin trace further
back into the Trans-Atlantic slave trade and beyond
the shores of this young nation into the decrepit
vaults of collective Caucasian terror and fear.
I'm a sambo rambo nigga perpetually bound to be
on that proverbial pathos euphemistically donned
as "gangsta shit" by contemporary society,
as I have been crafted by the hands of the original
gangsters whose inherent fear of all of humanity
(but most specifically of my black ass) is reflected
in the face and very being of the monster they
have created-me. I am a voluptuous sex starved
vixen, of the Hottentot Venus mold, completely
incapable of controlling my lustful cravings,
as I have been this wanton way (but of course)
since my days in the heat of the African desert,
frolicking naked and savage in the bush. I can't
keep my panties up, or my gun from bustin', or
the babies from droppin', nor the bottles from
poppin'. But I digress, you get where I'm coming
from.
The question is, in the words of my man Marvin,
"Wheeeeeeeeere are we goooing?" with
all this. "Whaaaaaat's the future holding?"
Just when the stereotypes seemed like they couldn't
get any more played out, it's like our corporate
sponsors turned up the volume on the fear so loud
that the burgeoning truth of this age, quickly
and quietly got muffled like a Third Reich Gestapo
raid hit it or something. Stuck somewhere beneath
the resultant landslide of this onslaught of psychological
warfare is the gem of our essence; smothered like
the pea beneath the princess' mattress. The tracks
to our ancestry and the threads of its offspring
are deceptively interwoven into the diluted tapestry
of mainstream society like stubborn wooly kinks
placated and bound by blond hair weave. Yet there,
in that suppressed nappy forest breathes…
the root of change. Once these roots get restless
and that pea's essence permeates the layered mattresses
of time, a sensate soul catches wind of the beckoning
of the call. A waft of muffled meanings matriculates
through mounds of cultural miscegenation and miasma
not without the inevitable mutation of said original
truth. Hence, today's social activist black artist
dons a new wardrobe; handcrafted by all the convergent
forces that combined to comprise the 20th century
and have exploded into the 21st. We children of
the new world; Jimi's kids (as in Baldwin and
Hendrix), a bastion of colorful Basquiats, wielding
our words thru wonderlands bearing Alice Walker's
imprint, fashionistas of a new consciousness crafting
elaborate tapestries bearing the strands of our
American odyssey into Western integration interwoven
with the inherent threads of our ancestry. Change
walks in the door wearing an eclectic outfit to
say the least. Enter: Lamont Carswell.
I'm sitting in All Saints café', Tallahassee's
primary locale of quasi-counterculture chic, where
I am interviewing the grassroots movie and TV
series writer/director quickly garnering critical
acclaim for his new series, "My Brother's
Keeper". It was about a month ago or so,
that I attended the debut only across the street
at the Railroad Station recreational center. He
dons a Von Dutch esque net hat atop snuggly fitting
b-boy do rag; Abercrombie and Fitch-esque hoodie
and beige camouflage shorts with the frayed edges
(you know… grunge effect). I'm donning my
own artsy get up with relaxed blue jeans and jean
shirt (you know… some throwback early 90's
flower power hip hop shit) as I sit across from
Lamont pontificating upon a topic my poet friend
Chris posed to me this summer. Where and when
do you define generation gaps and how the hell
did I become an old man? Hell I'm only 25 and
I'll be 26 by the time this article comes out.
But with all the cultural change that has hit
the fan in this post 9/11 America, it's hard for
me to gauge certain trends and uprising currents
that these youngstas be on. I can say that sitting
at the screening a month ago was a breath of fresh
air.
The black canvas was emblazoned with the white
light of writing that read, "We are one but
we are not the same. We must take care of each
other," (taken from a U2 song). I mean with
at least 5 high profile rap related shootings
(at least 4 resulting in death) to date this year,
how subversively gangsta is brotherly love? Add
that to the fact the cast was a mostly black collegiate
one highlighting a sect of society that gets virtually
slept on and unnoticed in today's media, and I
was all bell chimes of hope in my head as I sat
and looked on. A made for TV drama series, the
cast of 17 (and growing) encompasses a plethora
of angle's on today's society all reflected in
the lives of these sorted and diverse characters.
With the poignancy of the subject matter visited,
the series unfolds like a bullet list of present
hot button issues in society. Lovelorn Jezebel
aiming at any Tom, Dick and Jane in her path to
avenge her wounded soul bruised by a soured past
relationship: check (see the scandalous Tion played
by Chandia Brennan, a 21-yr old senior at FAMU.)
Angry black activist championing political cause
fill in the blank even at the expense of familial
ties: check (see the headstrong Robin Stokes played
by Ami Lavendar, 21.) Sistas getting their Sanaa
Lathan on and trying "something new"
on the other side of the fence of race: double
check (see characters "Rosemary" and
"Dorian" played by Ivy Cohen and Shelah
Marie, both 21. Gay black men adjusting to their
(to say the least) awkward place in heterosexist
society: again double check (see Aaron and Xavier
played by De'Garryan Andrews and Shamon Glaspy,
also both 21). No grounds are too taboo for coverage.
But Lamont insists that despite the latent social
urgency that seems to blare from the undercurrent
of the series, that the plot and his inspiration
behind it are mainly relationship and character
driven. The characters are merely vessels or perhaps
canvases for the various issues explored. And
conflict and controversy are apparently the brushstrokes
used to craft a kaleidoscopic panoply of human
drama.
The first episode starts up with a string of
seemingly unrelated vignettes that splash the
viewer's eyes with snapshots of the storyline
whose entire panorama we are to unravel one snippet
at a time. There's the pensive and heavy-laden
Darius played by FAMU grad Jared Lee Wofford,
25 (who also co-produced the project). His character
walks through life with the nuanced swagger of
a man who has acknowledged in advance the weight
of the world set to ensnare his shoulders and
responded in tow by poking out his chest brazenly
and preparing himself for the onslaught of any
potential conflict. Think: a subdued version of
T.I.-esque machismo bravado mixed with Denzel
like suaveness and maturity (err… the new
millennial offspring of yesteryear's Huxtabilian-as
in Theo-and b-boy/thuggish-as in 2pac-archetypes
all meshed into a nascent prototype all its own.)
The source of his visible stress is unveiled as
we learn that his father has recently died. This
centrifugal event sets the series in motion and
binds together its three main characters. Darius'
long lost brother Dallas is played by Nyjo Brennan,
a 21-yr old FAMU senior (and real life twin of
Chandia Brennan who plays Tion). Dallas emerges
into the story clouded by an aura of mystery.
Who is he? From where does he come? Why has he
randomly fallen upon Darius' father's funeral?
The key to many of the series' locked enigmas
lie in the unfolding drama of Dallas. We are to
find ultimately that Dallas is the "illegitimate"
son of Darius' father and has come to piece back
together his identity. Caught in the middle of
the tension between the two brothers is Darius'
lady Tori, played by the demure and sophisticated
Monifa Suber, a 22 year old FSU Theater major
from Charlotte, N.C. "She's a lot like me,"
says Monifa, "in that her persona is calm
and laid back and she likes to help people and
so do I." Think: in a Yoruba context, the
Yemaja to Darius' Ogun. Think: in a Western contemporary
context (ahem… African American), our generation's
potential answer to Claire Huxtable. But that
concerned maternal instinct threatens the home
front as Dallas' desires for self-reclamation
apparently conceal some latent ulterior motives
regarding Tori. Again the requisite drama surfaces;
and that's just the core plot. There's about 12
other prominent characters to choose from whose
problems range from drug abuse to selling to self
destructive promiscuity, that perpetually thicken
the broth of relationship gumbo that is MBK.
"Well there's white drama out there, we
already have the mainstream America voice coming
through Days of Our Lives, 90210 and The Real
World. And I wanted to have a black drama that
represents our voices and our experiences."
Words form Lamont himself. And as he spans the
pantheon of contemporary black experience, we
unearth a few other benchmark aspects of present
culture. Aaron and Xavier appear to be just close
friends on the surface. But just a little development
reveals that they are gay lovers attempting to
etch out their positions in society. Robin Stokes
is played by Ami and her soon to be love interest,
Zen Crawford, is portrayed by Chris Saunders,
21 (real life brother of "Shamon Glaspy",
who plays Xavier, who is, oddly enough the on-screen
brother of the other on-set sibling, Chandia's
character, Tion). Ami's character is the proverbial
politico championing her causes and taking them
to the streets. She's adamant enough in her beliefs
to disown her brother who leaves college, to her
severe chagrin, to join the Marines and go to
Iraq. There's also, forthcoming, some not so safe
engagements for Robin to encounter at the hands
of Zen. But the plans are still in development,
as is the entire script so I won't and can't divulge
what's to come. Just stay tuned…
"I call it a subconscious inspiration,"
says Lamont. The plot is like a living breathing
thing that evolves with him as the series progresses.
The cast has become a familial unit; not at all
hurt, undoubtedly, by the aforementioned connected
bloodlines within the cast (the Brennan twins
and Chris and Shamon). They employ the Meisner
method to delve deeper into their roles, which
requires their pulling from their own emotions
and memories to recreate those of their character.
Add that to the close-knit bonds between the entire
cast, Lamont himself included, and some of the
characters' roles are inadvertently reflecting
the lives of their actors. As Lamont, Chris (who
plays Zen) and I chatted, it occurred to me how
closely the lines between scripted reality and
so-called reality television shows actually come-almost
to the blurring point. In other words, what's
the point of watching other people's lives on
TV (via reality shows) supposedly stripped down
for dramatic and realistic effect if they're still
going to be edited and selectively presented in
the end anyway… just like an uh… yea,
TV drama. So much for post modernism's desperate
attempts at keeping it real; especially when the
narcissistic codes of Western values buoyed further
by our now surveillance camera society have programmed
us all subconsciously, whether we'd like to partake
or not, into thespians bound to perform in front
of someone's camera in some regard or another.
But that's neither here nor there. Simply leads
us back to the artistic drawing board from which
we create. Hence…
"When you're as much of a family as I have
become with the cast, the biggest challenge as
a writer is to remain objective." While the
plot mostly draws on the in-the-moment subconscious
inspiration of which he speaks, Lamont has also
loosely based it on family experience as well
as his initial film project "Damage"
that led him in the direction that he's taken
with "MBK". To fuel his inspiration
as he progresses upon his path, he's staying plugged
into his literary background. "I try to be
enrolled in a literature course as I'm doing a
project because it fuels my creativity."
I ask him what his literary influences are and
the list spans from Alice Walker to Gordon Parks,
Zora Neale Hurston, Jimmy Baldwin (Just Above
My Head is on his to-do list and Fire Next Time
is cited as one of his favorites), Ralph Ellison,
and Mark Twain. That's a damn good recipe right
there for a well fed fortified conscience of the
American social scene. So I suppose it just further
motivates his desire to "identify the stereotype
and go the opposite way," which is his offering
when I ask him about the impetus behind the show's
inclination towards controversy. And apparently
the accolades are pouring in along with the opening
of doors. A week after our interview, he and the
cast are in Atlanta for the Black Film Festival.
They're also in negotiations to be on TV really
soon. Now slated to do big things to an industry
that was hardly at arms length 2 years ago when
he first began writing the screenplay, he now
practically cradles endless possibilities in his
hands. Not bad for a guy who just wanted "to
bring the writing back to the screen."
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