Gabourey Sidibe at the Oscars Photo copyright: Richard Harbaugh / ©A.M.P.A.S.
When Ben Stiller painted himself blue to dress up as one of Avatar's Na'vi at the Oscars, older viewers will have been reminded of ceremonies from Hollywood's Golden Age when white actors would done black face paint to take part in comedy song and dance routines. It was a vivid symptom of a deeper malaise, wherein non-white heroes, when they made it to the screen at all, were inevitably played by slightly darkened white men. We all like to think of this as part of the past, but have things really changed that much? Or is prejudice still rampant in Tinseltown, just in a subtler form?
Avatar star Zoe Saldana didn't mind being blue - she was just pleased to be cast in a major part. In an interview with Nylon magazine she reported that she's repeatedly been sent away from auditions because "you're just not what we were looking for - your skin is a little darker". She says the current phrase used to dismiss non-white actors is 'traditional', the idea being that non-white stars are somehow such a break with convention that audiences won't accept them in stories which don't revolve around race.
Of course, there are a number of stars who have made it in mainstream roles, despite prejudice. Perhaps the most notable is Will Smith, who often plays everyman characters and who took on a role previously occupied by Charlton Heston in I Am Legend. Stars like Smith, Morgan Freeman, Samuel L Jackson and Forest Whitaker have sufficient audience pulling power for studios to welcome their involvement, but the evidence suggests that's not the case for those seeking smaller roles.
The first black actress to win an Oscar was Hattie McDaniel, in 1939, for her supporting role in Gone With The Wind - quite an achievement at a point when she wasn't allowed to vote and was required to use segregated public facilities. In 1963 the formidable Sidney Poitier won Best Actor for Lilies Of The Field, yet it took until 2001 for a black woman to win Best Actress - Halle Berry for Monster's Ball.
For much of their history, the Oscars were not the friendliest place for non-white actors. They used to be required to sit in segregated seating at the back of the auditorium (a space now reserved for a different stigmatised group: those nominated for technical awards). Though this is no longer the case, anyone watching the 2010 ceremony could note that almost all the black attendees had been seated together, the camera moving swiftly to them every time a black person won something - their reactions to the victories of white nominees were presumably considered irrelevant. It was one of those odd little things that could happen by accident and shouldn't mean anything, but that sits uneasily within that larger framework of prejudice. The latent anger in Mo'Nique and Oprah Winfrey's speeches was palpable - they know it's still an unfair competition.
What made this year's Oscars more significant was that there were major nominations for two films involving race issues: The Blind Side, which opens in British cinemas this week, and Independent Spirit award winner Precious. Both told the stories of disadvantaged young black people whose prospects are improved when they receive assistance from middle class white people, but their approaches were very different.
Lee Daniels, who would have become the first ever black winner had he taken the award for Best Director (missing out to Kathryn Bigelow as the first female winner), came from a difficult, abusive background himself and identified strongly with his young heroine (played by Best Actress nominee Gabourey Sidibe). He stresses that the film has universal relevance and notes that in London it was adapted into a play with an all-white cast. This is important because, for Daniels, the issue is not the rescue of Precious, but her own struggles against prejudice and social disadvantage. It is not about a black person depending on a white person, but about a vulnerable individual making use of the help she is offered to undertake her own journey of self-realisation.
In The Blind Side, the tone is rather different. Sandra Bullock, who won the Best Actress award, certainly gives the part of the rich white woman determined to make a difference her all, but the focus of the film is such that it seems to suggest charity is good because it makes us better people, rather than that equality of opportunity should be a goal in itself. It is, of course, based on a true story, which makes it more understandable that it should centre on Bullock's character, yet it can't help but feel unbalanced this way. As a consequence, the youth (played by the capable Quinton Aaron) is objectified, his own agency diminished, becoming simply a device in somebody else's plot. The story is like a microcosm of Hollywood's approach to inviting a few non-white actors into the fold and then patting itself on the back for its generosity.
At the start of the Oscar ceremony, the cameras and red carpet presenters adored Bullock in her glittering white and silver gown. There was far less focus on Sidibe despite her infectious enthusiasm - she was one of few people there who seemed really excited, seeing it as much more than just another industry party. Why was this, when they were both up for the same prize? Bullock, of course, provided the sort of glamour that Oscars have traditionally been all about. Sidibe, though she had a much better dress, was, well, black and overweight - so we witnessed more of the very discrimination-by-exclusion that Precious tried to tackle.
This situation is "deeply disappointing," Sydney Poitier has said. Most actors who witness discrimination simply daren't comment, fearing it could make it even harder for them to get parts. The truth, they say, is that prejudice is compounded by a sort of accidental discrimination. Most films develop as a result of collaborations between people who already know each other and have established influence - thus they are mostly upper middle class and white. This is a vicious circle; and furthermore, because there are so few non-white writers, directors and producers out there, few people are telling stories about non-white people.
What can be done to change this? There's certainly no shortage of talent out there. What really needs to change is the assumption that white viewers won't identify with non-white characters. We need Hollywood to make room for a wider variety of people and to tell a wider variety of stories. In a time when audiences frequently report that they're bored of seeing more of the same old thing, it can't hurt to give it a try.
