What is the Great American Film? Citizen Kane? Ben Hur? Oppenheimer? These are movies about great men, but I would argue a Great American Film should celebrate great Americans. And by that, I don’t necessarily mean senators, warfighters, or celebrities—rather, the humble unsung people who embody the American spirit of independence and grit. These folks don’t yearn for praise. They only want to raise their families, go to church, and do honorable work. They may be heroes to the people they know. They may be heels. But every so often, they are pushed to do something revolutionary—revolution being, after all, the genesis of America.
I named October Sky as one of these films, and I will soon write my essay on Lone Star, another film about reluctant heroes just trying to get along in a Texas border town. Even though he is a towering historical figure, I count Malcolm X since it’s Malcolm’s striving for truth, not his fame or personality, that makes him great. Here’s another one: Once Upon a Time… When We Were Colored, based on the memoir by Clifton L. Taulbert and directed by Tim Reid.
This is a deceptively simple movie about ordinary people during the sea change of the Civil Rights era. The black people of Glen Allan, Mississippi are mostly decent, always hard-working, and not without their faults. Early in the film, when Poppa and Ma Pearl take unwed mother Mary to confront teen father Willie, Willie owns up to the deed. But Willie’s father shoos Mary and her grandparents away. Poppa (a marvelous performance by Al Freeman, Jr.) lets the man know what he thinks of his moral compass with a quietly seething dignity. It’s clear he won’t let poverty stand in the way of upright living.
The baby Cliff grows up, raised by Poppa and Ma Pearl. His narration makes clear his upbringing was a happy one, surrounded as he was by other poor black sharecroppers who provided love and community. But then comes his first reading lesson: distinguishing the W in White and the C in Colored so he never uses the wrong restroom. “Did I do it right?” Cliff proudly asks when he drinks from the correct fountain. Freeman’s expression when he answers is a master class in internalization. Shortly after, the Klan marches down Main Street, and Poppa refuses to be cowed by a Klansman, answering his threats with stony silence. That’s the resolve that makes America great.
Another great American: the teacher at their one-room schoolhouse who expects excellence despite her students’ low stations. She has them write essays on George Washington Carver, Mary McLeod Bethune, and Jackie Robinson. The community gathers around the radio to listen to Joe Louis fight Rocky Marciano. The women pretend to tune it out, but we see they have one ear cocked. They are just as deflated as the men when Marciano KOs the Brown Bomber.
Is this sort of racial pride harmful? Why do Filipino Americans root for Manny Pacquiao and Mexican Americans for Canelo Álvarez? For that matter, why did Italian Americans cheer when Marciano bested Louis? Why do African American kids love Chadwick Boseman as Black Panther where my Hawaiian American relatives prefer Jason Momoa as Aquaman? There’s a fun aspect to drawing tribal lines, similar to stumping for a pro sports team or a college favorite. The “looks like me” trope does seem tired, but maybe only when it becomes all-embracing. Black youngsters being taught they can achieve despite Jim Crow is a positive and necessary message—Cliff’s narration makes that clear. But if your fandom is based in grievance, it’s no longer fun or productive. It’s just angry.
And the black people of Glen Allan had every right to be angry. They don’t want to be angry, though, and it takes a lot to get them there. As we know from history, African America finally did rise up and demand what was lawfully and rightfully theirs. For Glen Allan, the pivot point is when iceman Cleve gets a competitor—a white competitor. The white-owned ice factory refuses to sell to Cleve and his teenage helper Cliff. Moreover, the powers-that-be threaten all of Glen Allan to patronize Cleve’s rival ice seller. That was enough. The quiet people of Glen Allan gather in the church to discuss the situation, and it becomes evident the center can no longer hold. Townspeople report quitting jobs rather than being told whom they can and can’t patronize. Freeman delivers a knockout homily expressing (quietly, of course) decades of repressed rage, and a collection is taken up for the NAACP. That’s Glen Allan’s resistance. Some may head down to Selma or Birmingham to join the SCLC. Others may end up in Washington by the Reflecting Pool. But for now, the decision to stoke the smoldering fire of Civil Rights is more than any of these retiring Christian folk ever thought they would have to do.
But while there is anger, this is not an angry film. It is first and foremost nostalgic. The voiceover narration was my least favorite element—I didn’t feel it was necessary, but it serves its purpose as a memoir device. The movie never shows violence or sex, although it glances off both. In addition to the Klan confrontation, there is a scene where a traveling circus comes to town. Cliff, on the cusp of puberty, is smitten with the burlesque dancer who lodges with them. The scene where he goes to watch her dance only to return home to tragedy hits harder when you realize the Christian-inflected guilt he must carry after his (very PG) sexual awakening.
While most white characters come off as bigoted or indifferent, there is a key figure in Miss Maybry, played by the legendary Polly Bergen. The young Cliff does handyman work for her, and when he expresses an interest in books, she checks out classics for him to read since he’s not allowed in the whites-only library. Some people may consider Miss Maybry no better than the Klansman, but this is probably the way most decent white people interacted with their black neighbors. They knew there was something wrong, but like the sharecroppers of Glen Allan, they wanted to just live their lives. Driving a maid amidst a bus boycott or checking out books for a young handyman may have been more “resistance” than they bargained for. Certainly Taulbert has nothing but warm thoughts for Miss Maybry and the books she borrowed for him. Something as simple as The Iliad propelled this poor parentless boy to a life of learning, entrepreneurship, and authoring.
Finally, a note about the filmmakers. Tim Reid at this point was best known as Venus Flytrap on WKRP in Cincinnati. With Once Upon a Time… he established himself as a solid and talented director. In addition to Freeman, the cast features Phylicia Rashad, Paula Kelly, Salli Richardson, and three Blaxploitation Hall of Famers: Bernie Casey, Isaac Hayes, and Richard Roundtree, quite a surprise as iceman Cleve. The original Shaft is a capable actor, and this film opened the doors to more mainstream roles.
It’s interesting to think in 1995, a movie with a mostly black cast would be marked as a “black film,” or one that only black people would pay to see. It was a shame, not just for the cast and crew that threw their all into this movie, but for any non-black moviegoer who missed this gem. Like Malcolm X and October Sky, Once Upon a Time… When We Were Colored is a movie every American should see. It’s family friendly. It has a lot of heart. It features standout performances. And it shows the power of ordinary people. In short, it’s a great American film about great Americans.
