Love Yourself, My Dear

I saw the best movie I’ve seen in years last night. No, it wasn’t “Jane Eyre” or “The Tree of Life.” It was “Madea’s Family Reunion.”

Flipping through channels, I got drawn in by a humorous courtroom scene of a judge ordering the loudmouth, heavyset, elderly, Black woman Madea to foster a little wise-cracking female juvenile delinquent or go to jail for some transgression.

I expected one of those insipid Black comedies in which the male star appears as various stereotypical characters in his family. But, what I got was poetry from Maya Angelou, a monologue from Cicely Tyson that made my eyes drain, an entire two hours packed with life wisdom, delivered in a Trojan horse-package of campy silliness. I forgot to say something about the smart music choices – jazz, gospel, Motown, the icing for pivotal scenes.

I see crap-movies all the time and can’t remember them a week later. I will not forget Cicely Tyson’s powerful performance.

It comes toward the end, during the family reunion, as the elderly women of the family walk across the ground, taking in the young men gambling and fighting, the young women half-naked drinking and gyrating with the men. The 96-year-old matriarch says “This is what we sacrificed for?”

They gather at a slave ancestor’s shack, and Ms. Tyson is spellbinding on the porch. I was in tears when she finished. She represented every Black person who came before the current young generation, the pool of that combined suffering and sacrifice. She roared “Young Black women, you are more than your thighs and your hips. You are beautiful, strong, powerful. I want more from you!” She has plenty to say to the young Black men, as well, demanding they take their place.

But the words for the women were the ones that pierced my heart. Ten years ago, I taught personal development at a “business” college. My students were strippers, hookers, junkies, drug dealers, and welfare moms court-ordered to get some job skills. My students came fresh from the failure of the public school system to my classroom, and it was standing room only. I quit after two years with burn-out.

They always wanted me to meet them in a dance club, to hang out with me. I relented once, and was appalled at the grinding and gyrating of these young women, prostrating themselves in public for the pleasure of men they don’t even know. They were drunk on the power of their sexuality, like a 14-year-old girl with newly sprouted breasts. This is the only value they had, the only power they had to wield, the only tool in the box.

Lord knows I tried to talk to them about self-esteem, self-pride, in a funny role-reversal in which the White woman teacher played Mammy to their Black Scarlett O’Haras. I clucked my tongue at them and scrunched up my face, “It just ain’t fittin’!”

I just wanted to help them be free. Free of the psychological shackles that tell them that they’ll never be able to do anything amazing except grind and gyrate. They had genuine affection for me and sensed my concern, but I lacked the dark skin of Cicely Tyson and her unique position of authority. “I want more from you!” she thundered.

Everything about this movie was so smart, using humor to break down the attitudinal barriers so the message has a better chance of successful delivery. One scene saw Madea beating hell out of a bully on the school bus. Another found her on the porch telling other old women how these “chid-ren” just need love and patience, then immediately snatching one flying by her and snarling in her face to hang up the phone attached to her ear.

The Big Message for the Black race is to treat themselves and each other better. And it is that simple. That’s an excellent message for the entire human race, period.

Criticism for the movie comes from all directions online – upper class Blacks offended by the corny stereotypes, lower class Blacks offended by the holier-than-thou preaching. I don’t care. I wish Tyler Perry would make a hundred more. I’ll go see them.

I applaud the scenes following one niece, with two children by two uninvolved men, who chooses to not have sex again until she’s married. Some criticize the scenes of her courtship with a new man as boring, “do-nothing” – are you kidding me? If someone isn’t getting it on, it’s boring?! Their first date was incredible – Poets and Painters night at a club. She recites an original poem at the mic while he paints a portrait of her.

We follow another niece being forced into a marriage with a well-to-do man who beats her. I rejoiced when she finally uses Madea’s tutorial on the technique of “hot grits followed up with a frying pan.”

Let the critics whine about spanking children versus beating spouses. There is wisdom in this, people. You have to stand up for yourself to make others treat you correctly. And Madea explains this to the niece, that only she can do this for herself, no one else can stand in as her.

One scene jarred me, however. The young women at the reunion tied their shirts up to show off their bodies, worn with very short, tight shorts. The old men were asking one girl to reach deep into the barrel to get them drinks while they gawked. These are family members! This was so gross. Then I realized it was yet another message Mr. Perry was sending to women – you will be treated based on how you dress and view yourself.

This movie is the most loving, love letter, written especially for Black women, but women of all races can feel the love and appreciate the sentiment.