"Ma Rainey's Black Bottom" is certainly of interest as a biopic of the "Mother of the Blues" Ma Rainey (as played by Viola Davis) and for the last great screen performance from the late Chadwick Boseman as the fictional trumpeter Levee in Ma's band. Beyond this, it's partly hindered as an extension of the stage in the same way that Denzel Washington's adaptation of another of August Wilson's Pittsburg Cycle of plays, "Fences" (2016), was, but this adaptation by Ruben Santiago-Hudson and directed by Goerge C. Wolfe, although still including Washington as a producer, largely transcends its staginess by reflexively being about the process of adapting stage performance to recorded media, from musical concert to recording session--just as the movie is a recorded adaptation from live theatre. Unlike most filmed plays, its theatricality reflects its narrative.
Moreover, it's set in 1927, which, whether or not the filmmakers intended the allusion, was also the year of the film "The Jazz Singer," the heralded first feature-length synchronized sound film and film musical. Apt for a Netflix release about recording music, and, more than that, "The Jazz Singer," among other things, is also about what today might be more-politely termed cultural appropriation, as evidenced most notoriously in the blackface sequence. That 1927 film is about the clashing and harmonizing of cultures in general, really: part silent and part talkie, Judaism and show business, the whiteness of the film's jazz singer and the origins of the music from black musicians as called attention to in the controversial blackface worn by Al Jolson. Point is, some of the same issues are brought up in "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom."
Boseman's Levee wants to play his own, jazzier, more-swinging music as opposed to performing in Ma Rainey's "jug band," while at the same time there's no denying the influence of her blues on the history of popular music, including collaborating with the likes of Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith. Ma also retains her own voice, whereas "Baby, Let Me Have It All" (which with its "jelly rolls" makes me think of Jelly Roll Morton, in addition to how raunchy these old tunes about "rolls" and the titular "bottom" are, but I digress) is coopted by a white band and studio owner. Besides this, the characters take part in a series of theatrical monologues and dialogues on racial issues, religion and other matters, and there's Ma's reported homosexual relationships, one of which was rumored to be with Smith. Again, such a connection may've not been intended--indeed, such an artifact of Jewish identity and white culture would be out of place here in a sense--but the parallels are manifold and felicitous in the sense of cinematic heritage.
Although its reflexivity, including a particular focus on the technical aspects of recording, are what raises this title above a mere filmed play, the costumes and production design also help, and there are a few different locales beyond the record studio to open the play up. Even the cinematography of the sweat on the figures' faces throughout the exhausting performances and hot-summer recording session recommends itself. The opening concert scene is a standout, and it, reportedly, includes the one bit of Davis doing her own singing. The rest said to be performed for by soul singer Maxayn Lewis. The same sources say Boseman actually learned to play the trumpet, although I would be surprised if his playing weren't also aided by modern sound-recording tricks. Regardless, Davis and Boseman headline a superb overall cast. Davis is especially imposing in looking the part of a legendary historical figure. And Boseman is surely the sentimental favorite for a posthumous Oscar this year, and his performance might just very well deserve it. There are a couple moments that are overly stagy--the more sudden outbursts of speechifying in particular, but even that may be followed by a helluva powerful monologue such as of Levee's story of his childhood. Overall, his performance transcends any fun-loving jazzcat stereotype in a similar vein to the picture overcoming its being a filmed play. The business with Levee's obsession with that "trap" door is a neat metaphor in both respects. He and his character become artists. It's a moving conclusion to a career tragically cut far too short. Yet, just as records immortalized the blues singing of Ma Rainey, or these adaptations have done for August Wilson's plays, motion pictures have done likewise for the artistry of Chadwick Boseman.
Moreover, it's set in 1927, which, whether or not the filmmakers intended the allusion, was also the year of the film "The Jazz Singer," the heralded first feature-length synchronized sound film and film musical. Apt for a Netflix release about recording music, and, more than that, "The Jazz Singer," among other things, is also about what today might be more-politely termed cultural appropriation, as evidenced most notoriously in the blackface sequence. That 1927 film is about the clashing and harmonizing of cultures in general, really: part silent and part talkie, Judaism and show business, the whiteness of the film's jazz singer and the origins of the music from black musicians as called attention to in the controversial blackface worn by Al Jolson. Point is, some of the same issues are brought up in "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom."
Boseman's Levee wants to play his own, jazzier, more-swinging music as opposed to performing in Ma Rainey's "jug band," while at the same time there's no denying the influence of her blues on the history of popular music, including collaborating with the likes of Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith. Ma also retains her own voice, whereas "Baby, Let Me Have It All" (which with its "jelly rolls" makes me think of Jelly Roll Morton, in addition to how raunchy these old tunes about "rolls" and the titular "bottom" are, but I digress) is coopted by a white band and studio owner. Besides this, the characters take part in a series of theatrical monologues and dialogues on racial issues, religion and other matters, and there's Ma's reported homosexual relationships, one of which was rumored to be with Smith. Again, such a connection may've not been intended--indeed, such an artifact of Jewish identity and white culture would be out of place here in a sense--but the parallels are manifold and felicitous in the sense of cinematic heritage.
Although its reflexivity, including a particular focus on the technical aspects of recording, are what raises this title above a mere filmed play, the costumes and production design also help, and there are a few different locales beyond the record studio to open the play up. Even the cinematography of the sweat on the figures' faces throughout the exhausting performances and hot-summer recording session recommends itself. The opening concert scene is a standout, and it, reportedly, includes the one bit of Davis doing her own singing. The rest said to be performed for by soul singer Maxayn Lewis. The same sources say Boseman actually learned to play the trumpet, although I would be surprised if his playing weren't also aided by modern sound-recording tricks. Regardless, Davis and Boseman headline a superb overall cast. Davis is especially imposing in looking the part of a legendary historical figure. And Boseman is surely the sentimental favorite for a posthumous Oscar this year, and his performance might just very well deserve it. There are a couple moments that are overly stagy--the more sudden outbursts of speechifying in particular, but even that may be followed by a helluva powerful monologue such as of Levee's story of his childhood. Overall, his performance transcends any fun-loving jazzcat stereotype in a similar vein to the picture overcoming its being a filmed play. The business with Levee's obsession with that "trap" door is a neat metaphor in both respects. He and his character become artists. It's a moving conclusion to a career tragically cut far too short. Yet, just as records immortalized the blues singing of Ma Rainey, or these adaptations have done for August Wilson's plays, motion pictures have done likewise for the artistry of Chadwick Boseman.