All the exhibits in this gallery, including the theatrical poster for Uncle Tom’s Cabin starring black actor Sam Lucas, create an intriguing circuit of gaze. Al. I was staring at Griffith, a towering and controversial figure in American film history who was conspicuously marginalized when the museum first opened. The inclusion of “Birth” here is understandably understated, but the exhibit emphasizes the impact of the film when it was first released, and includes an invitation to a screening at the White House in 1915. was the most grotesque of the display shelves.
The text accompanying the invitation characterizes “The Birth of a Nation” as propaganda and mentions black protests against it, but also about how the film also served as a recruitment tool for the Ku Klux Klan. The label also accurately claims that the film was “hailed for its technical achievements,” but for much of the 20th century, and even into the 21st, the film has been a standout. It was also hailed as a sublime film. Artistic There have also been achievements by generations of scholars and critics for the camerawork of Leni Riefenstahl’s Nazi panegyric Victory of the Will.
Griffith’s framing in Rebirth cuts into larger, more tricky issues that span the entire exhibition. Considering the twin institutional roles of serving both the general public and the academy, the museum has worked since its opening. Yes, it’s a museum, but for what, who, what? For example, most of its exhibition space showcases video clips and physical items (posters, stills, the famous Ruby shoes) rather than the actual film. This imbalance is reflected in the understatement of the show’s first film series and the brevity of the video clips. in that room. There are great snippets of Nicholas Brothers and others, but no films. These may not be rare, but they are still an important part of this history.
A more complex issue concerns consideration of how museums navigate American cinema in general, and Hollywood in particular. It’s inspiring to see walls filled with glossy, glamorous headshots of lesser-known black stars like Hawn, Paul Robson, Freddie Washington, and Clarence Mews. That gallery magnifies the ugliness faced by these and other actors, but the exhibition, like separate theater entrances for black moviegoers, has been generalized. The language tends to evoke racism as a broadly understood issue, leaving far too many details of Hollywood’s basic roles. Recreating that racism in your imagination and catalogue. I can’t wait to read it.