It is understandable that problematic representations of non-white communities are produced by white-dominated institutions, such as the American media. How can a believable and legitimate story of non-whites be created by a primarily white source? It is clear that non-white and unique voices of various demographics are necessary in telling the stories of the past, present and future of the United States. A cultural monopoly has developed, however, over this aspect of American life: “representations of the nation … both produce and reproduce the dominant points of view” (Turner 184). In the same way, representations of repressed or marginalized groups in America are usually portrayed in a way that supports and strengthens social (racial, gender, class) hierarchies. Media, and especially films, reflect ideologies that have implemented the “social order” that affects “all social and political formations, from class structure to gender relations” (Turner 181). The subsequent structures act as the model by which “most Americans still shape their perceptions of themselves as well as others” (Berry, Manning-Miller 25).
In other words, cinema tells stories of American life from viewpoints that present the story the way that they would like such happenings to develop, occur and be received in society. For this very reason, it is important for various voices to be heard through media representations in order for a more complete telling and representation of American life. This essay examines the film Corrina, Corrina (1994) in its representation and influence on American culture and identity in its telling of an interracial love story set in the 1950’s. A general discussion of cinema’s power will lead into a look at stereotyped and common representation of such relationships. The pattern will then be applied in the case of Corrina, Corrina, with its anti-racist themes coming into question, including the portrayal of the “Mammy” – the “saintly” black character, the “anti-racist” male protagonist, and the subsequent constructions of reality and identity for American audiences. Overall, the discussion will focus on the difficulties (or simple inabilities) that the U.S. media faces in representing romantic relationships between black and white characters in film; a critique of Corrina, Corrina reveals similar stereotypes and themes of other films that include different relationships and dynamics among characters of various races. Corrina, Corrina perpetuates the stereotype of the black individual as innocent, restricted, and on a different level than the white community – another example of “paternalistic white supremacist discourses” that try to “‘contain’ [the] legitimation crisis” that has resulted from movements for civil rights and equality by non-white demographics in America (Madison 399).
Power and Influence of Film Representations
While all forms of media offer unique weaknesses and strengths, cinematic representations produce some of the most influential and problematic stories of American culture. The film-watching experience leads us to believe that what we see on screen “duplicates our everyday experience of reality” (Snead 132). It had to happen in order for the camera to record it, so it appears as a real phenomenon. And the filmmaker must have had some real-life inspiration in order to write and direct the story to be adapted into movie format. But that filmmaker comes from a specific background and positioning within society. Thus, their stories will probably appeal to people that belong to the same group(s); different demographics will identify or recognize various stories as being more, or less real. This concept connects directly to the different viewings of race-related films by white or non-white groups in America. Indeed, cinematic representations do “more than entertain” and reflect the racial hierarchy that benefits the white demographic: films “circulate ideologies – about good and evil, order and disorder – and images of masculinity and femininity” (Finley, Finley 218).
By identifying and categorizing non-whites, the dominant (white) group is legitimized and sustained: “white identity is defined and clarified by black identity” (Burgoyne 18). Specific character traits or practices of one black individual, for example, are highlighted and applied to others that seem similar to them – the white voice constructs roles and identities for non-whites. In contrast, white individuals are usually not seen just by a few practices or traits, but as a “synthesis of all the attributes of humanity” (Burgoyne 18). This develops the white individual as a naturally-powerful being, which secures their position of dominance, and inevitably reiterates the “binary” categorization and ultimate marginalization of non-whites (Burgoyne 19; Finley, Finley 219). Their influence in this realm is just one form of their subordinating power over non-white groups, but film has a central role because: cinema, “more than any other media experience determines how blackness and black people are seen and how other groups will respond to us based on their relation to these constructed and consumed images” (hooks 5).
This phenomenon has focused mainly on defining the white and black communities, respectively, as general groups, and has given a lack of attention to different demographics within those greater categories. Indeed, non-heterosexual, female (especially those that are non-white), less-affluent individuals, and non-white communities have less of a voice in media representations of their own stories. American culture encounters difficulties and uncertainties in how they should be included in such portrayals. It is easy to assume that those who dominate media institutions ultimately choose to tell the story that seems most realistic to them, which is probably different than the story that the marginalized characters would have liked to tell. Those individuals are included in stories from the dominant viewpoint, and caricatures are formed by the patterns of representations of subordinated groups (Snead 140). Because of film’s appeal and influence, those caricatures transform into stereotypes that have the ability to escape the bounds of film and media, and infiltrate the minds of everyday American citizens.
Representations of Interracial Couples in Film
Specific dynamics result from, and are portrayed in, interracial relationships in American films. Depictions of interactions between and among race groups are products of white-dominated media representations, and other social and political institutions that still hold similar characteristics and standards that were the initial foundations of American society. The constant desire to uphold the racial hierarchy, as discussed in the last section, tends to limit the possible characterizations and roles of non-white actors; white actors tend to have larger and more visible roles that are “in charge of critical decisions and the direction of the plot” (Entman, Rojecki 184). Similarly, the relationship between the two often portrays the white individual as someone powerful on whom the non-white actor inevitably depends on for agency and strength (Madison 405). The theme of protecting white privilege and extending white benevolence in American media developed following periods of civil rights struggles which threatened the white supremacist structures in America (Madison 404). The legitimacy of the foundations for America’s social and political life were put into question, and led to endure change in accordance with modern social change. The racial hierarchy was interrogated and change was proposed, which caused a crisis in the white community, who felt that their security was threatened, and “damage to white identity and domination was minimized” (Madison 400). A “legitimation crisis” resulted from this phenomenon, with the white community attempted to regain their power and agency, while simultaneously harnessing further rebellions by the black community (Madison 405). This is evident through specific portrayals of racial identity and relationships in the cinema.
Following the civil rights era, America wanted to protect the privileged positioning of whites within supremacist institutions, but in a way that didn’t appear outwardly racist or defensive towards individuals outside of the white demographic. Racist tendencies were undesirable, but they were often fleshed out by using black individuals as a “vehicle for liberal white soul-searching and spiritual healing” (Owen, Ehrenhaus 3). And only by this process of awakening (taken on by the white individual) could the black community attain equal footing in American society. Thus, black identity is disempowered when it exists as a separate entity, but can attain agency by the benevolence of whites who become accepting and nurturing enough to help them.
This is especially true in Hollywood’s (re)production of the black/white buddy film (i.e. 48 Hours, Lethal Weapon), where the “black characters, … laden with stereotypical qualities, become helpers to the white leading man who holds them in ‘protective custody’” (Entman, Rojecki 183). Such films include black actors in leading roles, but still portray them as under the control and authoritative watch of their white counterparts (i.e. Jerry Maguire). Further, it is common for black actors or actresses in major roles to appear in the background, for comedic effect, as simple beings, as hard-working people willing to sacrifice for their greater good, or as saintly individuals who are good enough to spend their time and energy aiding the white individual in their search for spiritual and/or personal enlightenment. While the white/black “buddy film” is reproduced fairly often in American cinema, Hollywood continues to “titillate audiences with mixed couples” while still ensuring that the “old hierarchies will and should remain intact” (Gabbard 1). More specifically, romantic interracial couples are rarely represented or even discussed in films – “interracial intimacy [is] missing from most films” (Entman, Rojecki 200). When they are represented, they seem overtly asexual – “chastely [avoiding] romance” and any exchange of “I love you” – and white benevolence prevails in developing stereotypical identities for their black counterparts (Etnman, Rojecki 200). “Mainstream films still shy away from sexually mixing the races” because (white) “Americans are still extremely anxious about racial mixing,” which is evident by the low number of films representing interracial couples. The anxiousness is evident in the production of Hitch (starring Will Smith), which cast Latina Eva Mendes as the lead female role since casting a white or African- American woman would be problematic for the film: “a black couple would have put off worldwide audiences whereas a white/African American combo would have offended viewers in the U.S.” (www.mixedmediawatch.com). This pattern and undoubted taboo warrants a look at the race relations and characterizations within Corrina, Corrina (Gabbard 2).
Racial Stereotyping in the Anti-Racist Film and the Saintly Black Characterization
The stereotypical characterization of the black male or female as “saintly” applies to the discussion here about Corrina, Corrina (dir. Jessie Norman, 1994). Whoopi Goldberg plays Corrina Washington - a hip, straightforward, educated and talented woman that comes to work for Manny Singer (Ray Liota) as a housekeeper and nanny, and ends up winning the heart of his daughter, Molly (Tina Majorino). Because of her connection with Molly, as well as her charm, confidence and intelligence, Manny becomes attracted to Corrina, and the two develop an unconventional interracial relationship that is barely addressed in the film’s narrative. It becomes apparent that Corrina is the only candidate that can “enlighten the Singer home,” by bringing Molly out of her shell after the death of her mother, and keep Manny company by discussing jazz and offering religious inspiration to cope with the loss of his wife (Persall 1). Many film reviews recognized Corrina, Corrina as “joyful and hopeful,” “feel-good,” inspiring and heart-warming (Kempley 1; Andersen 1; Hartl 1); and Corrina’s relationship with Manny was interpreted to come together in a “believable …, smooth and practically painless way” (Andersen 1). The reviews viewed the film as an inspirational transcendence of racial borders and a story of a couple that could care less about criticisms concerning their relationship. Other reviews discussed the historical accuracy of the film – the true-to-life racist barriers that Corrina faces, with her only possible employment option being a nanny or maid service. Interrogation of Corrina’s characterization and relationship with Manny and Molly, especially in the 1950’s setting, is necessary to understand the American racial hierarchy as evidenced through cinema.
It is clear from the beginning that Corrina is different than any other candidate to be Molly’s nanny; she has an immediate connection with Molly, she has a college education, and is unapologetically honest with Manny about her desperate need for the job. Corrina is “glaringly overqualified for her domestic job” in the Singer home, but must take the role because it is one of few that are acceptable - according to white society (Maslin 1). Rather than become spiteful or bitter, Corrina decides to deal with the situation and take what she can get – “she needs the work” (Maslin 1). Her sister, Jevina, tries to persuade her to discontinue her work for the “white man” – an exemplary attitude during the Civil Rights struggle. But Corrina decides otherwise and continues to serve the white family, fulfilling the stereotype of the obedient black servant (Snead 146). She is portrayed as doing Manny and Molly a favor – as evidenced by her gradual tendency to work overtime and take on more roles than just a babysitter and maid (i.e. emotional support for the family, help and advice for Manny in his latest project at the office). Manny even begins to give her gifts and invites her to participate in family activities, further exemplifying his gratitude for Corrina’s saintliness and graciousness in helping the Singer family. The film portrays their pain as more important than any that Corrina might feel every day. This is a common theme in Hollywood: “white pain is more important, more interesting, more meaningful” (Entman, Rojecki 186); films “privilege a particular ‘white’ experience” over the African-Americans’ struggle for equality (Madison 405). Eventually, it seems that Corrina’s self-sacrifice and dedication to the family can reestablish the “nuclear unit that dissolved when [Molly’s] mom died,” and essentially make Manny and Molly whole again (Hoffman 1). Corrina’s intelligence is needed in the Singer home – warranting her entrance into the “white world” long before Molly or Manny experience Corrina’s “black world”. This exemplifies the black individuals’ inability to choose their roles – where and when their services are needed; and the white individuals’ privilege in deciding when and where they will go, what they will experience, and what is worthy of their presence.
Of the many ascribed roles for black men and women, it is important, here, to look at the traditional characterization of black women as the obedient “mammy” maid/servant in American films (i.e. Gone With the Wind). This stereotype emerged, like many others, during and after slavery as a Southern nostalgia – an attempt to “put the Negro in his place,” and “further dehumanize and subjugate blacks” (Noble 75; Berry, Manning-Miller 173). Black women are represented time and again as obedient, “docile, desexualized,” gracious, often matter-of-fact, and “didactic pariahs” that would never cease to serve their white masters (Berry, Manning-Miller 174). Corrina continuously offers Manny and Molly wisdom about how to cope with loss and the hardships they are facing, but still doesn’t seem to have enough wisdom or drive to “escape her own meager lot in society” (Berry, Manning-Miller 174). She understands that her hardships are less important than those of the white individuals that employ her, and that she has little chance of improving her position in society. Therefore, she is characterized as making the most of her situation, offering what she can, working hard, and showing “utter devotion to the white household” (Hall 251). Corrina does not embody the traditional visual mammy stereotype as “the big, black, bandanna-wearing maid,” but her presence in the film acts for a similar purpose – the “savvy black maid who shakes up and straightens out a family of uptight whites” (Berry, Manning-Miller 173; Andersen 1). By repeatedly representing black women as docile, subservient, and saintly, it further subordinates their position in American society (both as black individuals, and as women). Corrina does not appear to combat this repression and escape the stereotype’s barriers. Rather, she strives to fulfill her servant role to its fullest extent.
Despite the few identifiable shortcomings that Corrina, it seems that she can do no wrong. Goldberg’s character appears to be a sort of “noble” “superwoman” capable of anything and everything – the “savior nanny” (Rainer 1; Persall 1). Of particular importance is Corrina’s continuous reference to her Christian faith in her attempts to support Manny and Molly through their grieving. She makes little “attempt to ‘fit into’ the white world” and seems a “bit too self-righteous,” but her presence in the film acts as the anomaly that will “bring Manny, the grieving atheist, to his senses and get him to talk to God” (Rainer 1). Indeed, the inclusion of Christian themes “negate accusations of racist representation” (Owen, Ehrenhaus 13). It is difficult to critique racist tendencies of a film that also promotes spirituality and Christian values. The coupling of Christianity and racism in films would need to be interrogated in another critical essay, but it is clear that their presence in Corrina, Corrina develops a specific and useful formation of Goldberg’s role as the “saintly” and “innocent” black servant. She is clearly not a threat to the sanctified and pure white household, which allows her presence in their home. Corrina is characterized differently than Manny and Molly in every way, even in religious terms – a way to reify the racial division, while simultaneously forming avenues by which the two demographics can come together. Traditionally, “blacks and whites in the United States continue to live their private lives apart from one another” (Entman, Rojecki 2); surely, religion is part of that private life. By Corrina and the Singer family connecting on the religious level, we are led to see their relationship as genuine and equal. But the interracial relationship must be examined in the context of the racial tensions of the film’s 1950’s setting.
Many reviews of Corrina, Corrina recognized the film’s inability or inadequacy in confronting the racial tensions inherent in the 1950’s and 1960’s. Nelson includes a binary presentation of the Singer home with Corrina’s home that she shares with her sister’s family, and the “cross-referencing serves to keep these worlds apart rather than bring them together” – further portraying Manny and Corrina’s interracial relationship as even more unnatural (Rainer 1). The film portrays the Singer home as more calm, orderly, clean and bright than Corrina’s household, where her nieces and nephew seem to run around wildly and the adults barely have enough time to keep their eye on them; the children speak differently than Molly and other white children in the film, a common example that further divides and differentiates the two (Entman, Rojecki 196). Further, the clothing and décor of each house appear as opposites: the Singer’s large and brightly-decorated living room versus the Washington’s dark wood-paneled living room with dingier furniture. This “marks” Corrina and her family as black, or more specifically, as “not white” (Snead 145). It appears that the two live in different neighborhoods, and the people within their individual communities rarely interact with each other. It can be assumed that they only learn about each other from the media, or by what they hear from their friends and family (Entman, Rojecki 2).
Yet, the household dichotomy is the only mention of the black-white divide of the 1950’s until late in the film; it seems that Nelson was “saving these issues until late in the story and then [manipulated] them so blatantly” that the audience leaves with an “indecisive feeling” about their treatment in the film (Maslin 1). Nelson seems to fly right over the conflicts, with Manny playing off the criticism from his neighbors and family, as if his relationship with Corrina is acceptable and normal - a “dramatic oversimplification” of a society that “even worse than being a person of color…is to be a white person who dates, befriends or in any way sympathizes with blacks” (Hoffman 1; Finley, Finley 230). Indeed, Manny does experience a “form of racism vicariously through some black contact,” but it appears to be an easy criticism to deal with (Madison 405). The interaction between Molly and her new best friend (Corrina’s niece) about their different skin colors, and their exchange of racial slurs are quickly resolved by their inability to “comprehend the force of what they’re saying” and their decisive statements about their dedicated friendship (Rainer 1). The lack of attention to the characters’ experiences of racial conflict and turmoil is a deficient representation of the actual tensions of that time period. Nelson’s “wishful-thinking” seems to encourage the audience to remember the 1950’s as a “painless [time] for the races to mix and mingle” (Hoffman 1). While there are a few references to Corrina’s experiences of restriction and inequality (i.e. saying that she’s had a “block” all her life, when Manny asks if she ever has “writer’s block”), we are never really shown how she reacted or dealt with the circumstances. Any injustices that a black man or woman experiences are portrayed as more natural and normal, while the white characters must overcome racist tendencies and ultimately become an enlightened individual. This is exemplified by Manny’s personal journey in juxtaposition with Corrina’s acceptance of the roles laid out for her by white society, and her decision to bestow her intelligence and compassion on her white suitor and his daughter.
Misogyny and Racism
Inherent in a film about an interracial romance involving a man and a woman are issues concerning patriarchy, misogyny and their interaction with racism in America. Corrina, Corrina simultaneously upholds racial norms and the gender hierarchy. Corrina is employed by Manny – she works for him, and helps his household to remain stable and organized. Meanwhile, Manny leaves the home everyday, working at his office job to fulfill the American patriarchal role as the powerful “wage-earning” overseer of the household (hooks 94). We come to know Manny as a family-man with much compassion and concern for his daughter; and it is apparent that he holds great importance on maintaining the nuclear unit and dynamics of the all-American family. Indeed, it is a common narrative in American culture for the woman to stay and work at home, while the man acts as the bread-winner to support his family. This real-life phenomenon is reproduced time and again in cinematic representations of familial relations, as usually told from the viewpoint of the male protagonist – “cinema is not necessarily free of the dominant white, male, heterosexual hegemony that has succeeded, at one point or another, in colonizing us all” (Berry, Manning-Miller 26). Of interest here is the dynamics between Manny – as a man – and Corrina – as a woman. Manny holds control over Corrina – he only lets her affect him when he’s ready, while she has little choice in the realities of their relationship. His masculinity is maintained, as well as his “right to dominate women, however benevolently” (hooks 97). This hierarchy is reinforced and laid out as a model of self-identification in the “heralding of a plethora of popular, male-centered films that purport to present a black worldview” (Berry, Manning-Miller 28).
Corrina’s inaccessibility to choice and direction of her own life mirrors the pattern of restrictive, detrimental and marginalizing effects of stereotypical and obstructed representations of black women in Hollywood (Berry, Manning-Miller 25). Due to the patriarchal monopoly over representations of American culture, it seems that women (in general) hold little power or presence in films – a phenomenon enacted by the dominant demographic to uphold the gender hierarchy. Portrayals of powerless women (and of the benefits of upholding a male-dominated society) must be interrogated – not only for what they include in the representations, but what they don’t include. Women in mediated productions have little agency for self-identification or self-actualization. In fact, it is common in films for male characters to be the benevolent vehicles by which female characters attain agency. For a woman to seek agency and power on their own would be a threat to sacred and highly-regarded masculinity (hooks 101). Thus, women are repeatedly cast into acceptable roles that are almost always subordinate to those of men.
Within the black community, specific misogynistic dynamics have developed between men and women, and their power in representing themselves in American film. The fight for agency and representation in the black community, in general, has been so great that it is difficult to pay adequate attention to the struggle for the desires, rights, or needs or its specific demographics: “there is a prevailing sense within white supremacist capitalist patriarchy that black men and women cannot both be in the dominant culture’s limelight” (hooks 101). The struggle for black masculinity, which had been diminished and subordinated by white dominant culture through the ages, often trumps that of black femininity within a patriarchal and white society – and black males are perpetually positioned as having responsibility for their black female counterparts (Berry, Manning-Miller 24). This imbalance is evidenced by the emergence of black males in larger film roles, and the still-lacking inclusion of black females in the media. Black males appear more in films with a largely-white cast, while “black females receive most of their starring roles I movies with mostly black casts that cater to black audiences” (Entman, Rojecki 193). Further, those few roles that are given to black females almost always perpetuate cultural stereotypes and caricatures of that demographic: restrained, less civilized, unintelligent, and hypersexual objects (among others) (Entman, Rojecki 198). This pattern continues the “endangered [black] female species’” positioning and “negative predicament” with cultural representations (Berry, Manning-Miller 25; 24). Corrina, Corrina fails to interrogate this predicament, and only fulfills the pattern of stereotyped roles for black women in American film as subordinate to (all) men.
Historical Distanciation in Corrina, Corrina
Rather than challenge the gender and race hierarchies that overpower American culture, Corrina, Corrina allows audiences to see racist treatments and inequalities as a phenomenon of the past that does not infiltrate modern society. The film takes place in the 1950’s (surely one of the most turbulent eras of race relations), which immediately acts to distance us from its subject matter. We see racial interactions and dynamics in that time period, rather than view them playing out in modern times. This makes it difficult to relate to the plot or characters – our lives are much different now than they were then. A specific memory of that time period is created through the film’s representation of painless race relations: a version of a “‘quick fix’ approach to an often unpalatable history” (Snead 148). This “fix” acts as cultural memory (“a field of contested meanings in which Americans interact with cultural elements to produce concepts of the nation, particularly in events of trauma, where both the structures and the fractures of a culture are exposed” (Sturken 1)) created by dominant white society as a means to cope with the difficulties and threats during and after the Civil Rights era (i.e. the “legitimation crisis” discussed earlier).
By representing the 1950’s as a time of peaceful, easy and natural race relations, modern American (white) audiences can remember its events as resolved, and in the past. Further, it is easier to believe that racism does not reside in modern social and political institutions, since they are barely even visible in Corrina, Corrina. The depictions in Nelson’s film are presented as reality, so “the viewer is therefore distanced from the real problems of racism, and his or her own complicity with them” (Finley, Finley 233). They are not led to recognize their own participation in racial subordination because they can not identify with the actors on the screen, who appear in the 1950’s; it is easy to conclude that “racism is due to individuals that are not like us,” which allows us to “stop considering solutions to the race problems endemic in the U.S.” (Finley, Finley 233). Corrina, Corrina’s failure to represent racist individuals (which undoubtedly existed in the mid-twentieth century) falls into the cinematic pattern to portray that “there are some mean racists out there, but none of them are central to the story” (Hoffman 1). Therefore, the distanciation is further strengthened, and modern Americans are led to believe that racial injustices are a thing of the past, and the traumas of dealing with them are resolved.
The phenomenon of historical distanciation appears often in American cinema, among other tactics that act to “mask white supremacy in the history of global capitalist domination and in the material and cultural structure of the U.S.” (Madison 415). Specific memories and interpretations of the past are formed by cultural representations – especially by the power of film. In a way, they deny history and replace its memory with “an artificially constructed general truth about the unchanging black ‘character.’ We are being taken out of history and into the realm of myth: things which never change, which were so at the beginning, are so now, and ever shall be.” (Snead 139). Indeed, the white lens reproduces stereotypical caricatures of those that are different from them and those that could potentially threaten white hegemony. Films like Corrina, Corrina allow us to “believe that things have gotten better” (Snead 140). In reality, its representation of black and white characters in stereotyped roles allows for the maintenance of America’s “hegemonic status by … neutralizing the very movements that sought to abolish white oppression” (Madison 415). So far, this goal has been fulfilled, which seems alarming and threatening to the identities of the powerless and subordinated. Scholars must challenge this monopoly. This examination of Corrina, Corrina as a representation of an interracial couple in the ‘50s functions as an integral interrogation of the power of cinema and American social institutions in maintaining white patriarchal domination. The clear reproduction of hegemonic white supremacist ideology in American cinema warrants a serious critique of the country’s foundations and inner-workings, as “very little attention [has been] paid to the more structural aspects of racism in this country” (Finley, Finley 232).
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