In Defense of The Help, Viola Davis & Octavia Spencer: An Open Conversation With Black Artists On Black Hollywood

Many (including me, at one point) saw these awards as an insult to the actors’ careers
and to black actors everywhere. In a world where “strong, black woman” is probably the
most redundant, overused phrase, many of us felt that Halle Berry had embarrassed us
publicly. And Denzel Washington had sold out. Because in black Hollywood, no role is
just a role and no film just a film.

“We, as the black audience, will not always agree with the choices of the black actor,
but they owe us, the black community, nothing! The actor owes
the audience a worthwhile performance.”
—Michelle Cherubin, Actress & Vocalist

According to Tavis Smiley (and me, a few years ago), the black artist does owe
something to his or her people. But is that fair? Is that art? And what, specifically, does
Halle Berry’s performance have to do with Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer? If Tavis
Smiley aligned them simply due to their gender and race, hasn’t he done to them the
very thing we fight against? Why is it considered permissible (admirable, even) for him
to lump them together? He speaks as if any black female role that does not make us
completely proud and utterly comfortable in our African-American past and present
needs be written off as un-heroic. Furthermore, he assumes that every role played by a
black actress must be heroic. This attitude, especially, seems unfair.

“Who decides what is the positive (or noble) image of blackness? And for what
purpose? And for whom does it truly benefit?” —Rickey Laurentiis, poet

Still, it feels strange to “defend” a film that made me angry and uncomfortable (and not
always “exquisitely” so). I, too, was ambivalent watching a black maid give her love to
a little white girl who would most likely grow up to loathe the very sight of her skin. I did
not want to see—and I did not want white America to see—that some of us had the
strength (or weakness, or passion, or humanity or ignorance) to love the children of a
people who had no regard for our own children. Even harder than trying to explain my

own feelings about a particular scene or image, though, is trying to imagine the feelings
of a white person watching the film. I did ask myself what writer and critic Touré asked
the public in his article, “Is The Help The Most Loathsome Movie In America?”
Did the movie—and its depictions of what Touré rightly called American Apartheid—
make white people feel kind of good? Did they enjoy seeing us with seemingly so little
agency, and do they still see us as such?

“If The Help was truly from the maids’ point of view, I don’t think the reaction
would be quite as strong. The story was told from the white female protagonist’s point
of view. This made it no different than other mainstream movies about a young white
girl who, after college, is trying to start her career and is also dealing with dating and
relationships.” —Khadija Diakite, graduate film student

“Although I really enjoyed the performance, I did not ‘feel’ anything about
the characters or the movie until I saw the two brilliantly talented women defend their
reason for portraying the characters.”
—Corene Johnson, actress

The Help was certainly not without flaws, but unlike Touré, I soon became
disinterested in the question of gaze and interpretation, and also less interested in my
own defense of and concern for the film itself. Instead, I became much more interested
in defending two women who have really already mounted formidable defenses of their
own.

Octavia Spencer has happily stated that she had no qualms about taking on the role
of Minnie Jackson. In interviews with Smiley and with Oprah, she was as forthright and
passionate as her character, explaining that there was nothing ignoble about either
being a black maid from the ’60s or playing a black maid from the ’60s. She excitedly
added that, as far as ignoble characters were concerned (serial killers and such), she
could not wait to play one.

Viola Davis, on the other hand, said that she suffered through many a sleepless night
over her decision to take the role. She knew “this” would happen (the controversy and
the need for her to prepare a defense). She pointed to the fact that Tavis Smiley’s
mentality (and that of others like him) was utterly destructive to the black artist. How
can she or any other black actor perform and execute well enough if she also has to
carry the image of the race on her shoulders? And why should she have to? (I stress
the feminine pronoun here because this is really more of an issue with black female
actresses.)

Touré did, however, manage to redeem himself at the close of his article with an appeal
to the Academy, on Davis’ behalf. He writes the following: “A vote for Streep is a vote
for the status quo. A vote for Davis is a vote for a changed future. Wouldn’t that be
something, if Davis played a maid and ended up changing the world—of Hollywood?”

And why not, when in Oscar-winning films, the two most common occupations for
women are actresses (15%) and prostitutes (12%)? Why not a maid? And why would an
Oscar win even be necessary? Can this nomination itself (and the many other awards
won by these actresses) be enough to help change perceptions of art and performance
for everyone, and especially for the black artist?

My boy, Treelore, always said we gonna have a writer in the family one day.
I guess it’s gonna be me. —Final lines from The Help, spoken by Davis, as
Aibileen Clark

Still ambivalent (especially after the whole actress/prostitute/maid thing)? Me too.
Thankfully, Octavia Spencer has some great advice for ambivalent black actors, artists,
filmmakers, producers, film reviewers and anyone else with an opinion about The
Help. Stop talking, she essentially says, and do something. Write something. Make
something. It will take much more work before we begin to see that necessary balance
in roles and representation, but it is not out of our reach.

This year, Martin Scorsese’s Hugo is nominated for eleven Oscars. It is, in part,
a history of filmmaking and an ode to cinema. Great movies, it seems, inspire great
directors to create more great movies. The Help does not have to be the final
word in this story. If certain voices or perspectives are marginalized, let other artists tell
those stories. Isn’t that why we’re all here?

I wonder whether or not those voting members of the Academy take into consideration
the question of risk. I don’t here mean artistic risk so much as social and political risk.
Can they tell when an actor has accepted a role that he is, in fact, troubled to perform?
My parents were quite fond of the phrase “racial suicide.” Does the Academy care if
someone has committed such an act? Or are such emotional considerations divorced
from the bottom line: execution of the role? Behind Aibileen Clark’s eyes, I often saw
a very real, very honest fear. And perhaps we can now say that it was real. Similarly, I
saw a blaze of fury in Minnie’s eyes—and no fear of straight talk. I think that was real,
too. One could argue that the Academy Award acknowledges a simple fact of life—
it is very difficult to be true in true life, and nearly impossible to be true on screen.
Something exquisitely dark, tragic, and beautiful rings true in the performances of
Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer in The Help. And for delivering that intangible something, I hope they each receive their industry’s highest honor.