Based upon the Steppenwolf Theater stage play
Written by Antoinette Nwandu
Directed for the stage by Danya Taymor
Produced and Directed by Spike Lee
**** (four stars)
RATED R
I am tired. So goddamn tired.
As if attempting to constantly adjust and remain somewhat sane during this time of global pandemic, months of quarantining at home was not enough, these recent weeks have become even more turbulent to endure. I have found myself becoming even more frightened, anxiety ridden and now furious with observing how the act of trying to keep people alive through maintaining social distance and wearing face masks has become politicized through the rampant ignoring of Science, logic, reason and empathy combined with the privileged desperately trying to make the act of being inconvenienced a supposed violation of one's Civil Rights. I am so, so tired of trying to explain that it is a good thing to care about people other than oneself.
And then, the video of Ahmaud Arbery's murder was released.
Yes, the open season on Black people has only continued as the killings of Arbery (Jogging While Black) plus the subsequent stories of Breonna Taylor, a 26-year-old EMT shot and murdered by police in her own home (Sleeping While Black) and the arrest of her boyfriend Kenneth Walker, for shooting at the police that he thought were intruders (Defending Oneself and Loved Ones While Black) or even Travis Miller, the Oklahoma City delivery driver who was interrogated by the White residents of a gated community (Delivering While Black) have entered the news cycles.
Of course, there was some rightful outrage but even more predictably and infuriatingly so, were all of the words, from venomous comment sections to so-called Right wing "journalists" who again question the overall characters of people of color as a means to justify the reasons for being murdered...or more truthfully, justifying the reasons why White people acted in the ways that they did because clearly, Black people are not meant to be trusted, or therefore valued or viewed as human beings...even now in the 21st century.
I am so goddamn tired of having to defend myself to those who will never view my equal humanity. I am so goddamn tired of experiencing people's micro-aggressions or feeling as if I have to somehow, someway anticipate the perceptions of others to ensure their comfort ahead of my own--and only doing so to just remain alive. I am so goddamn tired of seeing stories like the ones mentioned above, all of which make me more frightened of any possible split-second moment when someone "feels threatened" by my presence and makes me the recipient of their own misguided fear, my character then assaulted after my death.
I am so goddamn tired.
Spike Lee's "Pass Over," his filmed document of the stage play from Playwright Antionette Nwandu and Director Danya Taymor as produced for Chicago's iconic Steppenwolf Theater, spoke directly to my growing sorrow, anger and terror over this unending open season during which even our cries of "Black Lives Matter" are met with derision. It is a deceptively minimalist production whose visually stark aesthetic houses a feverish, furious narrative complete with the very same spit, grit, pain and agony that feels tailor made for Lee's filmography, which includes his occasional hybrids of the theatrical and cinematic.
On a sparsely adorned stage with only a couple of small crates and a streetlamp signifying the location of E 64th St and Dr. Martin Luther King Dr. in Chicago, "Pass Over" centers around Moses (Jon Michael Hill) and Kitch (Julian Parker), two young Black homeless men who reside upon this corner of their block, day in and day out for an indeterminate period of time.
Best friends, every day follows the same trajectory. Moses awakens from nightmares of being shot dead to find Kitch nearby, awaiting their initial conversation of the day, an "Abbot & Costello" styled play on words. Throughout the day and night, the twosome play fight, cajole, insult, argue, protect and watch over each other while constantly dreaming of being able to leave this block, the wish to pass over away from this existence into a new world, a promised land. One where they will no longer be under the persecutory presence of the Chicago police, most notably the White cop known as Ossifer (Blake DeLong), one where they will no longer hear the bullets flying in the night, signalling the death of yet one more Black man, each death marking time until the bullets inevitably reach the two of themselves.
The cyclical existence is altered by the strange arrival of a White male (Ryan Hallahan), dressed in what appears to be a white seersucker suit, with bow tie, hat and a basket filled with food and drink and supposedly meant for his Mother, whom he is going to visit but somehow found himself "turned around," appearing in this violence plagued neighborhood and block as if by magic.
Spike Lee's "Pass Over" is essentially an interpretation of Samuel Beckett's tragi-comic existential play "Waiting For Godot" (1949), yet re-designed as an exploration of the on-going Black American tragedy, speaking firmly and directly to African-Americans relegated to an impossible, oppressive reality, where institutionalized racism and the ever present wounds of slavery constrict transcendence--by circumstance and design.
It is a play and film where nothing happens, so to speak. As previously stated, this is a minimalist production. But it is within that nothingness where everything resides powerfully. It is a nothingness where dreams of a life without pain and suffering are housed. It is a nothingness where the futility of living on a patch of land where they are restricted is palpable due to the invisibility of opportunities. It is a nothingness where the White ruling class is ever present, ready to strike down upon Moses and Kitch with punishing fury at even the notion of attempting to advance beyond their pre-determined station in life. For as much as Moses and Kitch wish to leave this block, they inherently know they will never have a chance. And still, they hope, they dream, they cling to each other for each other is all they have.
It is also a nothingness that contains the bottomless sorrow of Black people in mourning of ourselves, victims of White intolerance, racism and fear masquerading as power. Between the police officer who torments them and the visitor, who appears harmless with his vocabulary filled with a barrage of "oh gosh golly gee" colloquialisms and double-tongued benevolence with his offerings of the very food, both Moses and Kitch do not possess any access to otherwise, we are witness to a nothingness filled with the pain of wanting to enact and exert control over one's own life but being trapped in a system where release is not conceivable. And even that perception is only possible via a world that possesses no humane value for all people...especially Black people, a brutal, harrowing and sobering reality as in a monologue by Kitch, quietly recounting the names of all of the Black men killed in the Chicago streets, one human life at a time.
Spike Lee films the action with exquisitely subtle precision, thoroughly blurring the lines between the language of the stage and screen. The film opens with images of residents from Chicago's South Side, flanked by Catholic Priest and activist Father Michael Pfleger, boarding a bus headed towards the Steppenwolf Theater to view the production that we will all witness together--a beautiful blend of the audience within the film and the audience in either the movie theater or (most definitely now) at home. Key lines of dialogue are met with brief reaction shots from audience members, thus blending the life experiences and thoughts of the characters with viewers--beautifully showcasing that their experience is a collective experience with us.
Beyond those touches, the barren landscape of the stage does trick your eye often as Lee will place his cameras at points where the essence of the stage feels to evaporate, giving us the illusion that we are indeed witnessing Moses and Kitch existing their corner on these seemingly endless dark Chicago nights. Much praise must be given to Lee's frequent Editor Hye Mee Na, whose work operates with surgical exactness, most notably during moments when the sound of bullets ring out in the night sky or when Ossifer arrives, signalling to Moses and Kitch to drop to the ground in submission and self-preservation. When they leap, so do you.
Both Jon Michael Hill and Julian Parker are superlative as Moses and Kitch, each complementary towards each other with performances that are symbiotic.Where Hill is more athletic and exudes a coiled intensity, Parker presents a gangly innocence that serves as a counterpoint and deftly showcases not only a friendship, but the humanity of a people that is still overlooked, ignored and incessantly targeted for execution. In their faces and fateful experiences in this artificial purgatory, we are able to view the purgatory in which we all exist as Black people in America, regardless of station: always suspect, never to be trusted, perpetually feared and rightfully disposed of.
"Pass Over" is a film as much of hopelessness as it is of the audacity of holding onto hope in a world that only wishes to crush it. To have a film this correctly angry and bleak begin and end with Lee's elegant visuals depicting the beauty of Black faces, is an audacious move indeed.
But what else would we expect from Spike Lee, one of America's most audacious, fearless filmmakers? The bookends of "Pass Over" felt to me to be Lee's sign of hope in this increasingly dark and destructive world. That, as Black people, we have not simply endured, but have survived so much tragedy, that the fact that we remain dictates to us our power, our dignity, our humanity, and our right to exist. As in one crucial sequence when Ossifer has Moses and Kitch face down upon the ground, hands behind their heads, forcing them to describe themselves as "stupid, lazy, violent, thugs," Spike Lee gets in the final words, extolling to us as passionately as he ever has that we are a beautiful, brilliant people regardless of what any detractors express towards us.
As I stated at the outset, I am tired. I am so goddamn tired. Yet, Spike Lee's "Pass Over" is a brilliant, brisk (the film's running time is a mere 75 minutes) and blistering expression of this existential fatigue...as well as the fuel to keep us moving forwards.
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