I watched the second half of The Birth of a Nation (1915) tonight. It is listed by the AFI as one of the top 100 American movies, and, in its day, was considered the greatest film ever. The racism of the film is shocking even to a viewer who has been warned, not just in its portrayal of blacks, but in its proposed remedies (including a lynching of a black man by the Klan, presented as a noble and heroic act). A detailed plot summary is here, but in a nutshell it is a white view from that time of the evils of equality for blacks.
And now the question: notwithstanding the racism, is this a great film? Here is Roger Ebert:
To understand "The Birth of a Nation" we must first understand the difference between what we bring to the film, and what the film brings to us. All serious moviegoers must sooner or later arrive at a point where they see a film for what it is, and not simply for what they feel about it. "The Birth of a Nation" is not a bad film because it argues for evil. Like Riefenstahl’s “The Triumph of the Will,” it is a great film that argues for evil. To understand how it does so is to learn a great deal about film, and even something about evil.
But it is possible to separate the content from the craft? Garry Wills observes that Griffith's film "raises the same questions that Leni Riefenstahl's films do, or Ezra Pound's poems. If art should serve beauty and truth, how can great art be in the thrall of hateful ideologies?"
The crucial assumption here is that art should serve beauty and truth. I would like to think it should, but there is art that serves neither, and yet provides an insight into human nature, helping us understand good and evil. In that case, "The Birth of a Nation" is worth considering, if only for the inescapable fact that it did more than any other work of art to dramatize and encourage racist attitudes in America. (The contemporary works that made the most useful statements against racism were “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and "Huckleberry Finn.")
I admire Roger Ebert a lot, and yet here I think he is avoiding the question asked by Garry Wills.
To get to the heart of the matter, let me say, first, there is no doubt that The Birth of a Nation is a high accomplishment for the time in the technique of filmmaking, in all its aspects (even the acting is better than you might expect, especially, to my mind, Lillian Gish).
Second, I agree with Ebert that there is art that serves neither truth nor beauty. Orchestral music is not about truth. A painting need not be beautiful to be great art.
I don't think either of these points is controversial.
But...if a work of art is devoted in part to conveying a political or moral idea, then the work must be judged, at least in part, on that idea. When an artist makes a choice to make "political" art (no, I don't think it is useful to say that all art is somehow political) the door is opened, and the artist has to be ready for that critique.
And so, to my mind, we cannot say that The Birth of a Nation is a great film, due to its technical achievements and narrative power, and parenthetically add "shame about the racist stuff." It is worth watching as a document in the history of film, the history of American society, and the intersection of the two. But it is bad art, and film criticism, of older films and contemporary films, suffers when it is unwilling to make these judgments.
And now the question: notwithstanding the racism, is this a great film? Here is Roger Ebert:
To understand "The Birth of a Nation" we must first understand the difference between what we bring to the film, and what the film brings to us. All serious moviegoers must sooner or later arrive at a point where they see a film for what it is, and not simply for what they feel about it. "The Birth of a Nation" is not a bad film because it argues for evil. Like Riefenstahl’s “The Triumph of the Will,” it is a great film that argues for evil. To understand how it does so is to learn a great deal about film, and even something about evil.
But it is possible to separate the content from the craft? Garry Wills observes that Griffith's film "raises the same questions that Leni Riefenstahl's films do, or Ezra Pound's poems. If art should serve beauty and truth, how can great art be in the thrall of hateful ideologies?"
The crucial assumption here is that art should serve beauty and truth. I would like to think it should, but there is art that serves neither, and yet provides an insight into human nature, helping us understand good and evil. In that case, "The Birth of a Nation" is worth considering, if only for the inescapable fact that it did more than any other work of art to dramatize and encourage racist attitudes in America. (The contemporary works that made the most useful statements against racism were “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and "Huckleberry Finn.")
I admire Roger Ebert a lot, and yet here I think he is avoiding the question asked by Garry Wills.
To get to the heart of the matter, let me say, first, there is no doubt that The Birth of a Nation is a high accomplishment for the time in the technique of filmmaking, in all its aspects (even the acting is better than you might expect, especially, to my mind, Lillian Gish).
Second, I agree with Ebert that there is art that serves neither truth nor beauty. Orchestral music is not about truth. A painting need not be beautiful to be great art.
I don't think either of these points is controversial.
But...if a work of art is devoted in part to conveying a political or moral idea, then the work must be judged, at least in part, on that idea. When an artist makes a choice to make "political" art (no, I don't think it is useful to say that all art is somehow political) the door is opened, and the artist has to be ready for that critique.
And so, to my mind, we cannot say that The Birth of a Nation is a great film, due to its technical achievements and narrative power, and parenthetically add "shame about the racist stuff." It is worth watching as a document in the history of film, the history of American society, and the intersection of the two. But it is bad art, and film criticism, of older films and contemporary films, suffers when it is unwilling to make these judgments.
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