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Radicalization to Revenge: Exploring the Relationship Between Blaxploitation and the L.A. Rebellion Through Bush Mama and Coffy

Nyla Guilford

 

Coffy (Pam Grier) exacts violent revenge upon the criminals responsible for her sister’s addiction in Coffy

 

Black people and Hollywood have rarely been on the same page, but for a short period, the two reached a mutual understanding that benefited people involved in both parties. In the late 1960s, after the height of the Civil Rights movement, films fitting the label of “Blaxploitation” started to gain popularity. The genre introduced a new era of Black stardom and highlighted the power of the Black dollar in Hollywood through unprecedented attention to Black-centered films. Quoting a Black journalist in an article on Blaxploitation cinema, Quinn and Kramer write: “Perhaps for the first time in the country’s history, young blacks were searching on a large scale for alternatives to the white mainstream” (192). Even after the Blaxploitation boom declined, the L.A. Rebellion was able to fill the gap in producing Black films. The epicenter of this movement was at the University of Los Angeles led by Black independent filmmakers such as Haile Gerima, Charles Burnett, Jama Fanaka, and many more. Their works presented an alternate view of Black life compared to what had been depicted by the films of the Blaxploitation movement. 

While many generally regard the films constituting the L.A. Rebellion as distinct from those of the Blaxploitation genre, this essay will argue that these two movements are not as different as they might initially appear. Although the filmmakers of the L.A. Rebellion were influenced by the Blaxploitation movement, I propose that an ever closer connection exists between the two movements. The films Bush Mama (Gerima, 1979) and Coffy (Hill, 1973) are examples of this connection. Haile Gerima’s Bush Mama is an L.A. Rebellion film about a mother named Dorothy (Barbara O. Jones) who is gradually radicalized by various events that happen in her neighborhood, including her husband’s (Johnny Weathers) arrest for a crime he did not commit. Jack Hill’s Coffy takes this idea of radicalization further. As a Blaxploitation film, the narrative follows the superheroine Coffy (Pam Grier) as she violently confronts the people responsible for her sister’s drug addiction and her friend’s beating. The radicalization of Dorothy in Bush Mama positions the film as a prequel to Coffy and her quest for revenge. Despite belonging to disparate periods of Black cinema, the two films are aligned through their narrative and stylistic choices, uses of montage, and visions of radicalization and violence channeled through Black female protagonists. 

To navigate the relationship between Blaxploitation films and those of the L.A. Rebellion, it is crucial to understand the characteristics of each and how they manifest in Bush Mama and Coffy, respectively. Blaxploitation films began as a way for Black independent filmmakers to break into the industry but quickly became a quick get-rich scheme for Hollywood. The term “Blaxploitation” was coined by Junius Griffin, an African American Civil Rights activist based in Hollywood. The term is commonly misinterpreted as the exploitation of Black people and culture, but it more accurately refers to the exploitation of genre, specifically crime films. Most of these films were “triply exploitative,” meaning they exploited “sensational happenings for story value, notoriety for publicity value, and audiences for box office value” (Quinn and Kramer 189). These films depicted strong, Black, superhero-like protagonists that audiences loved, and at the same time, images of violence, sex, and drugs that brought concern from many critics and activists (Lawrence and Butters). In addition to sensationalist content, other elements of Blaxploitation films often included white villains, urban settings, and iconic, funky soundtracks that would almost become as famous as the films themselves. The films’ narratives were easy to follow and followed a conventional editing style, with effects added to exaggerate the violence. All these elements combined contributed to a new vision of Black life that audiences from all over came out to watch in theaters. Following pivotal Civil Rights events like the assassination of Martin Luther King and the creation of the Black Panther Party, seeing radical, gun-toting Black people onscreen was an empowering sight for many. In contradistinction to the L.A. Rebellion and its view of film as a revolutionary tool, Blaxploitation privileged the cinema as a form of escapism and an outlet for people to see Black superheroes in environments similar to their own. 

One of the most impressive elements of Blaxploitation films is their promotion of strong female protagonists that broke away from stereotypical depictions of Black women. Both Dorothy and Coffy embody motherly roles in their respective films, yet neither acquiesces to the stereotypical image of a mammy figure. Blaxploitation laid the groundwork for this new vision of Black femininity as the women in those films are sexually desirable, physically capable, and “Mother protectors,” not Mammies (Alexander). The Blaxploitation era ended abruptly, most likely due to what Quinn and Kramer describe as the “repetition and overfamiliarity with cheaply made blaxploitation formulas,” but also due to studios realizing that they could still make money from Black audiences with their normal blockbusters (191). Blaxploitation goes beyond merely showing a Black struggle — its films depict Black heroism. The successive works of the L.A. Rebellion revisit and further explore this struggle. 

The Los Angeles School of Black Filmmakers intentionally tried to find a film form that would be “unique to their historical and cultural experience” — one that Hollywood could not take and appropriate (Masilela). On this mission, the L.A. Rebellion filmmakers looked to their firsthand experiences of the anti-war movement, the feminist movement, the Civil Rights movement, and revolutionary movements in other countries as inspiration for the rebellious nature of their films. A young generation of filmmakers like Charles Burnett and Haile Gerima combined this experience of struggle with stylistic choices taken from Third Cinema to create the singular attitude of L.A. Rebellion cinema. Heavily associated with Latin American cinema of the 1960s and 1970s, Third Cinema incorporated formal elements from previous film movements, including Italian Neorealism and the French New Wave. Common characteristics of these movements include unusual editing, the casting of non-professional actors, montage, and documentary-style cinematography. L.A. Rebellion filmmaker Haile Gerima ensured that Bush Mama reflected these influences, creating a film that “consciously eschewed Hollywood genre narratives, relying instead on Third World cinema style — elliptical montages, mixing documentary with fiction, as well as multiple levels of audio with extremely fragmented editing” (Horak 124). Emerging in the 1960s, one of the ideas purported by practitioners of Third Cinema was that recent cinema was a “consumer good” meant for viewer entertainment, and that Third Cinema would be a cinema that recognizes the struggle of society through art and encourages a “decolonization of culture” (Solanas and Getino 3). Through this lens, filmmakers of the L.A. Rebellion viewed the unfolding Blaxploitation movement as an exploitative way for Hollywood to make money, not a means of showcasing Black life and talent on screen. According to them, Black filmmaking and Black life had been colonized by Hollywood and white filmmakers who used the Blaxploitation formula for profit, a culture that the L.A. Rebellion sought to decolonize. This is especially true for Bush Mama, a film essentially constructed as an “antidote” for a Blaxploitation film like Coffy (Horak 124). Thus, the influence of Blaxploitation on the L.A. Rebellion is tantamount to that of Third Cinema and other global film movements. Using Coffy and Bush Mama as case studies, we will examine how these revolutionary Black film movements exist in dialogue.

First, the depiction of Dorothy and Coffy as maternal figures is central to the narratives of Bush Mama and Coffy and is conveyed using similar editing techniques in their respective films. Pam Grier, who previously starred in the 1973 film Black Mama White Mama (Romero), is often referred to by the name “Black Mama,” referring to her role in Romero’s film. The idea of Grier as a “Black Mama” takes on a new meaning in Coffy — one that she adopts throughout the film as her character exacts violent revenge on those who harm her family. Coffy is not a mother but cares for her little sister like her child. She also goes as far as to adopt Officer Carter into her family by hunting down the people responsible for his injuries. The vengeance that Coffy seeks is sparked by the victimization of a daughter and husband figure — much like those related to Dorothy in Bush Mama. Horak admits the comparison in his writing but says that “In constructing a narrative of endless day-to-day struggle, Gerima’s Bush Mama offers a view of African American Womanhood more directly derived from everyday experience than the Blaxploitation of a gun-toting ‘Black Mama’ like Pam Grier” (140).

 Even though one film is more realistic than the other, the moments of motherhood captured through montage put both films on equal ground. In Coffy, while driving to work, Coffy is shown in a close-up using a telephoto lens, and as she drives clips of her little sister in rehab flash onto the screen. The scene takes place right after she leaves the man who’s later revealed as an enemy. The flashes of her younger sister foreshadow the connection between her motives for murder and the man she will eventually have to take down. In Bush Mama, two montages occur close to each other that speak to Dorothy’s motherhood. The first is more intense, as it occurs when she is at the abortion clinic. Images of a pregnant woman, Christ on the cross, and a photo of a Black man murdered by the police — these images reveal a lot about Dorothy’s feelings toward abortion, but they mostly point to the murder of her child being at the hand of her oppressors, not as a result of her own choice. The next montage is more similar to Coffy‘s, as it starts with a close-up of Dorothy in her home staring into space. The next clip is of the little boy who robbed her earlier in the film, followed by her inviting him inside her home, embracing him, and looking at him lovingly. This is followed by a shot of Dorothy hugging her daughter tightly. The scene of Dorothy leaving the abortion clinic, plagued with images of her with children, emphasizes her role as a literal “Black Mama” and makes her radicalization more intense and necessary, as she is actively fighting against a system that wants her to get rid of her child. The same goes for Coffy, as the images are a reminder of why she was radicalized and looking for revenge throughout the film. At different phases of their journeys, as Black mamas in a world riddled with corruption and oppression, the montages are a stylistic choice that connects both films across their genres. 

There is an interesting relationship between violence, the police, and Black women in Blaxploitation and the L.A. Rebellion projects. Similar to Coffy and other Blaxploitation films, the police violence in Bush Mama is ever-present, looming in all areas of Black urban life (Horak 140). In both films, there is a scene where violence against the protagonists is initiated by police in some way. In enduring these acts of violence, these women experienced gender-specific violations. In Coffy, Coffy is attacked along with Officer Carter after he denies the chance to go on the take. Officer Carter’s denial of the offer from his fellow officer leads to two men attacking him and Coffy at his home. Not only did the dirty cop trigger the attack, but Carter’s actions, though with good intentions, led to the violence as well. While trying to help Carter, Coffy is beaten and groped by one of the henchmen. The henchman stops paying attention to Carter, tears open her clothes, takes off his gloves, and sexually assaults her. In Bush Mama, there are two intense instances of sexual violence. First, Dorothy’s daughter is harassed by a police officer and then raped in their home. When Dorothy fights back she is taken into custody and beaten by the police so harshly that she bleeds out and loses her baby. What Dorothy and her daughter experience are radicalizing experiences that have been familiar to Black women for centuries. The events that occur are so raw and traumatizing that they could very well lead to the kind of revenge that Coffy seeks out. Looking at these two films in dialogue with each other shows that the L.A. Rebellion helps bridge the gap that left by Blaxploitation films, concerning violence from the police and its impact on Black life.

 An important difference between the two films is their narrative style. Coffy has a clear, linear narrative that is characteristic of Blaxploitation films. This contrasts with Bush Mama’s Third Cinema style, which incorporates erratic editing, montages, and disorienting audio. In Coffy, although we do not see what happens to her little sister, Coffy explains the entire situation to us through dialogue. The story is easy to follow and occurs over a few days. This style also allows for Coffy to dominate the screen in a way that ensures the story is hers, and not focused more on corruption or drug dealers. The scene after Coffy visits her sister is a perfect example of this — in the car, she tells Officer Carter about her family and her views about the police. The scene is a long take, and in it we learn more about her own radicalization without cuts or distractions. Coffy is slightly turned toward the camera, giving the viewer a full view of her face and drawing attention to her story. This film gives her a chance to be the focus of attention, above editing techniques and artistic choices.

In Bush Mama, things are not always what they seem. The disorganized nature of the film aligns with Dorothy’s drunkenness, inserting moments from imagination and memory within the film. The scene where Dorothy is visited by the social worker exemplifies this. While she talks to the worker about not drinking, the scene cuts in and out of a conversation Dorothy is having with her friends while at the bar drinking. In the scene, the social worker towers over her like the oppression from the system hangs over her constantly in the film. Dorothy is tucked back into the chair, and only the side of her face can be seen. She looks disheveled and out of place in her own home, as her dress is open in the back and there’s still alcohol on the table. After a silent moment, there is a gong-like sound that initiates a cut to an extreme close-up of Dorothy’s eyes. Her eyes are bright and focused, and one of them twitches slightly. When the shot returns to Dorothy and the social worker, Dorothy attacks her with a bottle of alcohol. The shot of Dorothy’s attack is cut jaggedly, playing over and over, quickly, as if she was stabbing the social worker repeatedly. At the sound of a gong-like bang, the scene stops and shows an image of Dorothy sitting innocently on the couch while the social worker is flailing around. The scene again cuts to an extreme close-up of Dorothy’s eyes, but this time they look downward, lacking confidence. It is then revealed that the scene is all in Dorothy’s head. The abrupt cuts, strange audio, and insertion of non-synchronous clips are all stylistic choices that illustrate how life for Dorothy is complex, heavy, and oppressive. The style reflects a normal urban life in a more realistic way, with all of its intricacies, mistakes, and suppression of anger.

 

Dorothy’s (Barbara O. Jones) subjectivity and her inner turmoil are granted primacy in Bush Mama

 

In both of these examples, the Black female protagonists are in conversation with other Black people who work under systems that systemically oppress Black people. In Coffy’s case, she is with a police officer, and yet is still able to command the scene and voice her opinions about the police. In the scene with the social worker in Black Mama, Dorothy has not yet gained the courage to speak up for herself, but through her imagination we see a radicalized nature growing within her. As the film progresses, she becomes more emboldened, moving toward that unrestricted lifestyle that Coffy embodies. Even the last scene reflects this, as Dorothy gets her own uninterrupted monologue that tells her story, similar to Coffy’s monologue in the car. Dorothy is radicalized throughout the film, and only at the end can she reach that final stage to transition into a bolder, stronger, weapon-carrying Black heroine ready to exact revenge like Coffy is.

 

Works Cited

Alexander, Camille S. “Forget mammy!: Blaxploitation’s deconstruction of the classic film trope with black feminism, Black Power, and ‘Bad’ voodoo mamas.” The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 52, no. 4, Aug. 2019, pp. 839–861, https://doi.org/10.1111/jpcu.12830. 

Horak, JAN-CHRISTOPHER, et al. “Blaxploitation and the L.A. Rebellion.” University of California Press, 2015, pp. 119–155. Creating a New Black Cinema, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/j.ctt19631zg.8. Accessed 2 Dec. 2024. 

Lawrence, Novotny, and Gerald R. Butters. “Introduction: Blaxploitation cinema.” The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 52, no. 4, Aug. 2019, pp. 745–751, https://doi.org/10.1111/jpcu.12826. 

Masilela, Ntongela. “Black American Cinema: The new realism: Manthia Diawara.” Black American Cinema, 2 Oct. 2012, pp. 11–33, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203873304-7. 

Quinn, Eithne, and Peter Kramer. “Blaxploitation .” Contemporary American Cinema, Open University Press, 2006, pp. 184–195. 

Solanas, Fernando, and Octavio Getino. “Toward a third cinema.” Cinéaste, vol. 4, no. 3, 1970, pp. 1–10, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41685716.

 

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