‘Claudine’ Reenforces My Decision To Remain Childfree

 

Claudine film poster which puts James Earl Jones’s name first as opposed to Diahann Carroll.

I watched John Berry’s Claudine for the first time. Despite starring beloved, Tony and Emmy award-winning actress Diahann Carroll as the title character—I was never keen on viewing the film prior. Claudine Price—a single (secretly working) mother raising six children: Charles, Charlene, Paul, Patrice, Lurlene, and Francis on welfare— falls for Rupert “Roop” Marshall, an ignorant garbage man who isn’t exactly reciting poetic sweet nothings. Although unclear on what dissolved Claudine’s past romances— whether due to divorce or death—the glaring reality is that Claudine’s other men left behind their seeds, left their legacies for her, lending no financial, physical, or emotional support. 

Claudine resonates deeply. 

Claudine’s six children from left to right: Francis, Patrice, Charles, Paul, Charlene, and Lurlene. DP: Gayne Rescher.

My late mommy and her five children, my siblings and me.

My own childhood memories revolve around living in a cramped environment (the projects), the lack of positive male figures, and surviving solely on government handouts. The 1990’s welfare system was not that different from the 1974 film's accurate portrayal of the constant surveillance. We too had monthly inspections, kept up a neat appearance (a façade), and answered the social worker’s questions, our mother treated like a criminal on parole. Poverty's psychological and mental weight took a vital toll, rupturing forth my inspiration to not become a part of the ongoing statistic. I pursued art and writing, graduated from two colleges, and also had my own personal struggles—continuous struggles that I could not imagine bringing a child into. I do, however, recall my ignorance regarding sex and having a relationship with an older person who didn’t believe in condoms, a risky situation still pressed onto impressionable young girls and women today. Former classmates and strangers would ask, “do you have kids?” or say “the right one will come along to change your mind.” Or worse, “I thought like you too until I had them.” 

I have a high priority preference for being alone, traveling the world, watching good cinema and television, and seeing my sweet family and friends whenever possible, providing all the valid intimacy my life needs. No other dramas needed. My body is mine. 

The women on Claudine’s bus laugh and joke, implying that Claudine needs to get laid. Sex is not the only pleasurable outlet. Yet, it’s implied as the surefire way to have fun— a stress reliever. DP: Gayne Rescher. 

Patriarchal societies often employ religion—omnipresent entities— as guiding instructions or scare tactics, pushing outdated notions that women are supposed to happily have children, that they’re “blessings from above.” Motherhood’s the intended end goal for her life regardless if she has any nurturing instincts, let alone any extra money or room in her household. After all, the current United States political regime ran on this 1950’s campaign promise that women would be at homes raising the children, not entering the workforce— cat ladies be damned. In my experience, some men deliberately lie and scheme, seeking their own pleasures. There are no dates. No outings. No romance. Just an expectation for sex— the cheapest activity known to humankind. So be it if a child comes along (or any STDs)— a disruption to a woman’s accessibility. My decision has had people calling me unnatural, weird, odd, even selfish for prioritizing peace, art, reading, writing, and seclusion over maternity. 

Claudine speaks the facts of life to Charlene way too late. DP: Gayne Rescher.

Now Claudine’s two eldest children embark on different paths, choosing to either repeat the problematic cycle or end any contributions that could be made in continuing it. The story within a story exposes Claudine’s hypocrisy, her outrageous reactions to both decisions. Unfortunately, Charlene’s destined to mirror her mother’s habits. Her mother has no goals, no real ambitions next to working and acquiring boyfriends and making children. What other options does Charlene believe to exist? First, Charlene tries to sneak out in a scandalous outfit, talking about a boy who has found Islam and renames himself. Next, she returns home drunk, having been out with the same boy and calls herself “nothing.” When Charlene’s pregnancy is revealed, Claudine goes into a wild rage, ripping the top of her daughter’s nightgown, baring her breasts— an uncomfortable moment that borders on sexual assault. A teary Charlene vows to marry the boy— a girl with low self-esteem, no job, no ambitions, limited education, and an underdeveloped brain, her plight almost reminiscent of Just Another Girl on the I.R.T.’s Chantal and Love My Mama’s Leola. Robbed Black girlhood thrusts them into adult roles before they can acquire a first apartment to fully understand themselves as individuals, having no real preparation for mental and emotional health. Chantal and Leola work harder to accomplish their goals. Charlene— a product of a worse time— doesn’t have resources to do the same. 

Charles often snaps at Claudine. DP: Gayne Rescher.

Charles post operation. DP: Gayne Rescher.

On the other hand, a passionate, resilient Charles harbors a great hatred for his mother’s lifestyle, finding an outlet in the Black Panther Party cause and Black politics. He eventually undergoes a vasectomy. Perhaps he can’t understand society’s easygoing acceptance of a mother’s suffering. Or maybe he sees an ingrained possibility that he will someday abandon a woman when she most needs him. As the oldest, he has obviously taken on his mother’s responsibilities by parenting his siblings, roleplaying as a makeshift father instead of a brother, a burden that tends to happen in huge, poor family dynamics. Charles must have felt resentment at being an unpaid babysitter, delaying his own dreams in the process, rarely even getting mothered. Still, an upset Claudine considers Charles’s sterilization a government interference, an experiment hellbent on erasing the race. She believes Black people must honor the sacred privilege of having children, speaking to him rather tenderly as opposed to demonstrating violence as she did with Charlene. Charles’s power to alter his body also shows the autonomy men are allowed to have while women had to ask husbands for permission as though they didn’t know their own minds and bodies. Although close in age, Charlene would have not be given the chance to succeed in preventing reproduction the way that Charles does. 

Roop with Claudine’s children. DP: Gayne Rescher.  

Furthermore, judgmental Roop has three children of his own, three children that he doesn’t see at all, much less look after. Roop too exhibits hypocritical tendencies, blasting Claudine for the amount she has. The reaction bears similarity to how men hate a high sexual body count— a reminder that there’s been others before him. In light of their rudeness, Roop acts kind towards Claudine’s six children and begins to earn their trust by displaying a firm, solid influence. However, the combined weight of the critical welfare system and child support docking his pay causes Roop depression. Fatherhood has become too tough to handle, inclining him to repeat past mistakes—leaving behind children who were counting on him to be different. 

Roop also reminds me of Mr. Postell, a kind-hearted older man that my mother found in the singles newspaper ad. Whenever he came over, Mr. Postell often asked my siblings and I advice regarding her likes and dislikes, even what she valued in a man. One Christmas he gave us individual bags stuffed to the max with our names attached on them. I remembered wishing that she married that generous man. Yet, an overwhelmed Roop leaving Claudine for a while showcases that sometimes instant responsibility can be difficult to handle. Fatherhood is not a one-time, side hustle where a man shows all his polite attentions, hiding away the rest of himself. Parenting is a challenging, everyday effort. Mothers and fathers are raising human beings— not just babies and toddlers. 

Claudine and her youngest daughter Lurlene. DP: Gayne Rescher.

Claudine also paints a vilifying picture on the problems that arises in close knit quarters and stair ladder age children. They’re using vulgar language, inhabiting incestuous curiosities i.e. Charlie saying, “look at Charlene’s breasts,” which a brother shouldn’t be doing or Paul sneaking into the room to uncover the blanket hiding Charlie’s post-operation results. Perhaps their flagrant introduction to sexuality is being housed together day after day, growing up alongside whirlwind hormones, no outlet to explore if not regularly attending school— a situation akin to a disturbing V. C. Andrews storyline. Claudine isn’t necessarily granting them talks and several don’t have a keen interest in education. 

Overall, the blaxploitation Claudine hits home, affirming the rightness in choosing a peaceful seclusion, a decision that my own mother was proud of. It highlights systemic oppression quite well, the dangers of cyclic behavioral patterns, the inaccessibility to healthier foundations. I contribute to the world in other avenues, sharing my legacies through painting, drawing, printmaking, and writing— penning thoughtful essays that connects with certain readers, spreading love via language and compassion. I may not ever become wealthy, but romanticizing poverty or generational trauma or promoting the “children make the life rich” philosophy will never be my cup of tea. 

The Imperative Themes In The ‘I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings’ TV Adaptation

 

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings tv film poster 1979.

The classic TV movie adaptation of Maya Angelou’s autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings may not have been directed by a woman, but this Fielder Cook helmed film delivers a poignant womanist message that would touch any Black girl’s spirit. From beginning to end, Angelou’s touches on the co-written screenplay (with Leonora Thuna) feels every inch steeped in her narrative that touches on her adolescence in the Deep South. 

Several key themes stand out— strong sibling bonding during an absolutely necessary time, the special branded Black girl’s desire to be a white girl, and blaming self for the consequences of rape and consequent murder. 

The film begins with Marguerite “Maya” and her older brother Bailey Jr. meeting their paternal grandmother at the train station in Stamps, Arkansas— with baggage tags pinned to their clothes. This unsettling scene showcases Black children as objects, not little vulnerabilities worthy of true guardianship. 

As Bailey Jr. (John Driver) recites William Ernest Henley’s Invictus poem from memory, Maya watches on with immense admiration.  

Bailey Jr. often has Maya (Constance Good) in constant awe and maybe some slight jealousy. 

Maya and Bailey Jr.’s relationship is the rigid backbone of I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. The two close siblings willingly give one another support through the dark, heavy undercurrents of racism and living with god-fearing guardians. In Bailey Jr., Maya entrusts her deepest secrets including this strange, twisted belief that she is a punished white girl sentenced to a detestable blackness. Furthermore, Maya and Bailey Jr. tease each other and play as siblings do. Unfortunately, situations arise that call pause to their childhood— whites looking to defend a white woman’s honor (by harming any adult Black man) so that means hiding their Uncle Willy, witnessing demeaning humiliation of their grandmother by the white locals, and seeing a dead Black body for the first time. Thus, Maya and Bailey Jr. have to band together, be endearingly tight in order to be able to emotionally, psychologically, and physically handle the hard cruelties of the world. 

As a pack of vicious teenage white girls approach, Momma (Esther Rolle) tells Maya (Constance Good) to head inside the store.

With Maya’s admiration of whiteness and wishing to be a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl, also enters her disdain of the white girl’s vicious behavior. Maya believes that European beauty standards defeat hers, mentally contributing to her own erasure. Maya doesn’t value what she sees in the mirror, condemning that her reflection is an error that can only be corrected through her wild imagination. Back in her time, this blatant psychological problem was partly caused by popular toys and television marketed to an audience that did not value blackness. Of course, Maya would admire what she was seeing as beautiful, as prevalent. Interestingly enough, Maya can understand the beauty in her brother Bailey Jr.— idolize every inch of his face and manner. Beneath Maya’s perceptions, colorism may have played a contributing factor. To her— Black boys and Black men are attractive in every tone, but the whitest and brightest are the most feminine, the most worthy of idolization. 

Yet once the white girls come to insult Maya’s grandmother in front of their store, Maya is faced with the darker side of those with the most prized “beauty.” 

The girls watch Maya’s flirtatious father Bailey Sr. with a female admirer. Bailey Sr. has arrived to take his children to California (with a stop in St. Louis). This makes Maya unhappy. 

In addition to leaving their grandmother, Uncle Willy, and the store, another important person to give up was Miss Flowers (Madge Sinclair)— one of the first people who saw Maya’s gifted potential as a writer. 

Bailey Jr. is more excited to see Mother and Father more than Maya. Perhaps Maya is a clairvoyant girl who knows the outcome of leaving the safety (somewhat safety) of their grandmother’s store and sweet canned pineapple in Stamps. Through the car ride to St. Louis, Bailey Jr. rides up front with their philandering father Bailey Sr. Maya stews in the back, disheartened and disinterested. This behavior intensifies once meeting their mother. Maya is naturally distrustful. After all, Bailey Sr. and Vivian had abandoned their children. In love with both parents, Bailey Jr. eventually abandons Maya, leaving her prone to the dangerous attentions of her mother’s boyfriend, Mr. Freeman.   

Grandmother Baxter (Ruby Dee) catches the children overhearing adult business.

The violent assault by the pedophile transforms Maya. She becomes further withdrawn, further internalized. It is as though she has placed a metal fork in a socket and has been shocked into oblivion. Her joy has been depleted, evaporated. How can a child truly define the violence inflicted on their body, understand the implications of such a heinous act— especially a Black girl child with little self-esteem? It is only to Bailey Jr, her sweet, beloved brother and bestest friend, that Maya releases the unbearable weight of her attacker’s name. Instead of feeling some relief at Freeman’s death, a guilt-ridden Maya refrains from speaking. She believes that her vocalized words were an accomplice to what in her young, impressionable mind is humanity’s worst crime— murder. 

Sadly, this historical silence exists today— the notion that Black women must quietly keep Black man’s crimes to heed in order to protect him from prison/death and this starts early— earlier than Maya’s young age. The “ride or die” philosophy subtly brushes into Maya’s formative beliefs. Although the all-white jury acquitted Mr. Freeman of assaulting Maya, Maya still believed that he didn’t deserve any punishment. 

Vivian (Diahann Carroll) tries to cheer Maya up, even throwing a surprise party. Maya remains quiet and a frustrated Vivian can no longer parent her.

A still silent Maya is relieved to be back in Stamps. Once more, their grandmother meets them at the train station.

The cast brings a significant time in Angelou’s story to life led by brilliant newcomers Constance Good and John Driver as Marguerite and Bailey Jr. Warm voiced, utterly beautiful Esther Rolle plays the stern, gentle grandmother (lovingly nicknamed Momma) and revolutionary shop owner bringing community to Stamps. Diahann Carroll is a gem as the gorgeous singing mother Vivian Baxter who heartbreakingly doesn’t understand how deeply traumatized Maya is by the terrible events that transpire in St. Louis. Madge Sinclair delivers valid advice as Maya’s teacher Miss Tulip Flowers. Even Ruby Dee makes a memorable appearance as the Baxter matriarch of Vivian and three overprotective sons. 

Along with the layered story and its eloquent portrayers, Peter Marx’s moving soundtrack brings sweet, sorrowful, and joyous elements to the onscreen drama captured by Ralph Woolsey’s cinematography. 

Interesting that the ending is one of key changes to Angelou’s autobiography. Angelou has her younger self reciting the valedictorian speech complete with leading into the National Negro Anthem instead of another student. Perhaps this was a dream to only be made true through film. 

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings remains one of the most harrowing literary masterpieces ever written. Although a very heavy yet achingly familiar story, this homage film wholly celebrates Angelou’s impactful bravery in a defiant, meaningful way. It can be found on various YouTube channels that commemorate vintage Black films. 

‘Livin For Love: The Natalie Cole Story’ Shadowed With Repressed Grief

Livin’ For Love: The Natalie Cole Story film poster. 

On this day, nine time Grammy winner and three time American Music Awards recipient Natalie Cole would have been turning seventy-two years old. Thus, why not celebrate by revisiting Livin’ For Love— her autobiographical film based on her memoirs? Often left off lists of actors/actresses playing themselves in biopics, this Robert Townsend directed work should definitely be included because Cole narrates and co-stars. She is a heartbreaking example of the Hollywood philosophy of lifting a celebrity up and bringing them down hard when they show flaws, human error. 

It begins with a house fire (occurring four days after her 31st birthday). A very high Cole wants to save her drugs above anything else. A privileged upbringing set her apart and should have been the means to growing up with a good head on her shoulders. Daughter of famed jazz singer and pianist Nat King Cole, her younger self lived in a predominantly white neighborhood and attended an affluent private school in New England. She mostly made friends due to her father’s status. Yet she was the apple of her father’s eye; so much a pride and joy that he puts her onto music too. Although he was in big demand—tours, record studios, television— he loved being the family man, especially for the daughter who idolized him. Once the tragedy struck of losing her father, she would later unleash her pent up sadness in a devastating delayed reaction. After all, Maria Cole continued sending her daughter to school, offering limited time to properly grieve, let alone lending an attentive shoulder to cry on. 

College introduced the impressionable, isolated Natalie Cole to darker, obscene pleasures; an ugly underground that took her years to escape. With her natural curiosity to try everything and letting peer pressure guide her into unfamiliar territory, she experiments more and more with hardcore drugs including heroin and crack cocaine. In the meantime, she finds the inclination to sing and sounds impressive, charming. Her mother forbids it, having still not completely recovered over her own grief. On campus, Cole becomes nervous— everyone has discovered she’s music royalty. Her nepotism is expected, exaggerated. Drugs lure her deeper. It becomes easier to use than to be clean. This sends her life in a serious uproar with detrimental consequences. 

Livin’ For Love lets Cole tell her perspective. The failure with a majority of biopics nowadays is an embellished story here or there going too far; made up facts as opposed to revealing the cold hard truth. Sure, the lives of celebrities are wilder than most, but audiences want to be satisfied with some measure of accuracy, especially those of us who research afterward. “Based on a true story” doesn’t cut it if the information is pure fabrication. Cole is very involved in this film as co-writer, star, and producer. 

Diahann Carroll (Maria), Natalie Cole, and Theresa Randle (teen/young adult Natalie). 

Robert Townsend—well-known for films showcasing Black excellence, music in particular— crafts Cole’s story in an engaging way, putting us into her need for love and comfort, seeking solace in addiction, and finding recovery through channeling her father’s music. Diahann Carroll was the perfect choice to portray Cole’s mother Maria, a retired singer who prioritized her husband’s career over her own. A great scene features Maria visiting a strung out Natalie at college; appalled and dismissive of her natural hair and braless attire. Beneath the insult, Carroll combines her trademark diva attitude with a soft sincerity that assures a mother’s heart— buried deep within— exists. Theresa Randle, from Townsend’s earlier classic The Five Heartbeats, stands out as the Natalie Cole in her teen and young adult years, cleverly switching between Black power radicalism to messy drug addict wife. However, Randle could have been pushed more— makeup wise— into portraying the sickness that is drug abuse. The eighties were such a bad time— crack cocaine and heroin killing great artists like Jean-Michel Basquiat. Natalie Cole herself would have been next. In her film, she was a marvelous, apologetic soul expressing regret, pain, sorrow, and joy. Endless tragedy almost killed her spirit, but she was able to turn around and triumph, especially that beautiful voice in a challenging, unforgiving industry. For playing herself, Cole won the NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Actress in a Miniseries or Special. 

Livin’ For Love may be an understated television movie that seems made for Lifetime. It is a humble cinematic treasure that adds an unforgettable piece of Natalie Cole history alongside her impressive musical catalog. When she left us on a cold New Year’s Eve, a remarkable legacy stayed behind and not because of her famous father. 

Natalie Cole was a talent, a star in her own right too.