I know I am getting old because I am starting to see more and more remakes of movies that came out when I was a kid. And in typical old-fogy-fashion after giving a new version a chance, I instantly think, “This is nowhere as good as the original.” My favorite horror films seem to get the worst of it. In the past ten years or so I’ve managed to see updated versions of classics like Carrie, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Evil Dead and they all paled greatly in comparison to the originals. It doesn’t matter what Hollywood “It Girl” they cast, what R&B superstar they think will attract black viewers if he takes off his shirt unnecessarily in each scene, or what CGI special effects they try to throw in to make the serial killer seem like he’s seated right next to you (which, by the way, always ends up making the movie seem that much more unreal), remakes fall flat 95% of the time for me. Maybe it’s because I like my good old grainy films and corn-syrup blood, or maybe it’s just that nothing is ever as good as the first time.
When the trailer for the remake of Annie was released about a month ago, the wi-fi white supremacists expressed their outrage that the main character wouldn’t be played by a little freckle-faced redhead, but instead by Quvenzhané Wallis, the African-American actress that blew Hollywood away when she burned down her shack on the bayou in Beasts of the Southern Wild. Like most remakes 2014’s Annie won’t be exactly like the original. For example, Daddy Warbucks will be replaced by Benjamin Stacks played by Jamie Foxx. While I think the movie will be something cute to take the kids to on Christmas Day, I must admit I am not all that excited. In fact, a part of me is a little bothered.
It doesn’t really matter to me whether Annie is played by a Caucasian, Asian or Latina girl as long as the story remains a tale of how family is about more than who shares your same DNA. But I can’t help but feeling like every now and then Hollywood feels like they owe the African-American community a favor via lights, camera, and affirmative action. It’s almost as movie studios wake up and realize they forgot to incorporate African-American culture into classic film, so they take one of their own, blow off the dust and cast a black cast hoping we’ll be appeased. I remember first feeling like this while watching the Lifetime remake of Steel Magnolias. I thought the movie was decent, well-acted and entertaining but it wasn’t anything I was rushing to buy on DVD and I couldn’t help asking myself, “Why did we need the same damn movie, but with black women?” Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed growing up watching The Wiz and Polly and even as I got older I must admit a young Jaden Smith did spectacular job playing The Karate Kid. I’ll admit it’s necessary for children to look on the big screen and see characters that look like them in scenarios they can relate to.
But I don’t want to feel like for every classic movie, our community is owed a black counterpart. I don’t want to feel like we are an afterthought in American Hollywood culture. What I really want to see are classic movies that were originally intended for us, and at the very least major characters in casts where we are more than the funny sidekick. I love the fact that Princess Tiana of The Princess and the Frog is a bonafide black princess, not some second version that Disney decided to give us years later after the original like another popular princess who lost her shoe.
For me it’s not about black remakes being any kind of assault on white culture or because I think Cinderella should be white, it’s because to me these black versions send the implicit message that white film sets the standard for storytelling. Instead of making our own place in American film we’re simply settling for being the sequel. There is plenty of African-American literature being published for us to have our own Harry Potter, Twilight and Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and not remakes but stories written for us originally and for our unique point of view specifically.
No one will ever play Carrie like Sissy Spacek. It’s as almost if Stephen King wrote that story with her in mind and that wouldn’t matter if a Black or Brazilian tried to get her telekinesis in another version. Sissy Spacek is Carrie. And that’s where remakes fall flat for me. We need characters who the public identifies black actors and actresses with from the very beginning. Black remakes stigmatize African-American culture even more, separate us from the mainstream and promote the dated idea of “separate but equal”. We need more characters with us written in mind from the beginning. We need heroes and villains we can call our own, not just black versions that make Hollywood feel like they’re doing us a favor.
Toya Sharee is a community health educator and parenting education coordinator who has a passion for helping young women build their self-esteem and make well-informed choices about their sexual health. She also advocates for women’s reproductive rights and blogs about everything from beauty to love and relationships. Follow her on Twitter @TheTrueTSharee or visit her blog, Bullets and Blessings.
