God Bless Suburbia

Based upon a true story or not, you can't make a picture like THE BLIND SIDE without certain considerations. Namely, that it will automatically function as a culturally loaded film. It's preceded by historical memory, which takes many forms, such as advertising and the arts. One can't exempt THE BLIND SIDE from the scrutiny of a critical eye merely because it originates from events that actually transpired. Any commercial venture is worthy of discussion and analysis (even if it is as syrupy and "inspiring" as THE BLIND SIDE). I'm not here to crucify a film because it is offensive to me and my liberal arts education. But one has little trouble finding major qualms with a story – put to the screen, in the spring of the twenty-first century – about the regeneration of an anonymous, urban black male youth through the sanctifying intervention and embrace of white, affluent, and overtly Christian America. I don't mind pointing out that the film ends with a montage of news clippings – a catalog of the damned, if you will: casualties of the alternative lifestyle, supposing one does not have Sandra Bullock to guide one out of the slums and into blessed suburbia! And she does it with such style and grace! – and fierce determination! Bullock plays an interior designer, a mother, a wife, an NRA member, and a saint! Quite a tall order for any woman, but she sashays from one obstacle to another in designer shades and a luminous head of bleach-blonde hair! Her features are as chiseled and polished as the castle she lives in – and it is a castle. When Michael (aforementioned urban black male youth) is taken into the captivity of Bullock (rather aggressively, I might add), his eyes are wide with wonderment as he beholds the towering fortress he's meant to stay in – Might this be Tara?! More troublesome still is Bullock's youngest progeny, a precocious squirt called S.J. – I half expected this character to put on a wig, don a frilly dress, and engage Michael in some cute and heavily choreographed tap dancing. There is no such dancing (too bad), but S.J. is a willful and consummate commander, second only to his mama. In one delightful montage, he whips a helpless and blundering Michael into the adroit football hero he's to become; in another, S.J. is seen negotiating with college football recruiters, while Michael sits quietly, passively, mute. I realize these amusing segments are meant to be just that; on the other hand, so was Shirley Temple in black face. Bullock and her family don't just serve as a bastion of moral authority; they're guardians of opportunity and advancement. The film itself is, admittedly, more tolerable and easier to digest than the dumb, loud, and grating promotional material you've been unable to avoid for the last three months. Bullock is one of the most charming actresses working in Hollywood today. But her movies tend to be rather unsavory affairs that audiences consume with voracious passion (as the indiscriminate masses often do). Once upon a time, in the late 1950s, a similar narrative emerged – it starred Lana Turner and Juanita Moore, exquisitely rendered in brilliant Technicolor with direction by the master filmmaker Douglas Sirk. And this was a remake of the 1930s Claudette Colbert vehicle costarring Louise Beavers. Both films were well-meaning in their respective eras, though we may simultaneously cringe and laugh at their overtly racist content today. But these classics have the penitently absolving element of time on their side. Not so with THE BLIND SIDE. Besides being a fairly shrewd exploitation film (with allusions to Uncle Tom and all!), it also fails to be a very good one. At least Sirk gave us a masterpiece.