The Jazz Singer (1927)

Babylon is grand and exhilarating. At 3 hours and 15 minutes, it’s a journey one has to brace themselves for. In fact, due to its length, I’ve avoided watching it over these past eight months because I knew it needed my full attention and focus, as well as my patience.

I like director Damian Chazelle.  Whiplash and La La Land are two excellent films.  And while I knew very little about Babylon while it was being marketed late last year aside from the fact that it took place in "old" Hollywood, I suspected something exceptionally creative and ambitious. And that is precisely what Babylon was.  While I found the third act to be somewhat underwhelming, it did not detract from the beginning parts of the film which were exciting, original, and highly entertaining.  

One thing that came up throughout the movie was my questioning of its authenticity. More specifically, its historical accuracy. There is excess and debauchery in abundance during the Silent Era which is primarily when the film takes place.  

There is also notable diversity. Babylon shows a highly successful Black male musician, a Latino film executive, and an Asian singer. They all work and party together in orgiastic fashion. Late 1920s Hollywood was many things, but ethnically diverse and equal in opportunity, I am not so sure. Babylon subtly addresses that fact. There are scenes of racism making it clear that this isn’t necessarily some idealized utopia for dreamers and ambitious types. Or is it?  

It's easy to feel there’s nothing salvageable from the past. That much of what’s preceded us, the conformity, suffocating oppression, and intolerance is best discounted and forgotten. That there is enough strife and turmoil in today’s world that outweighs any relevance or similarities a previous decade or generation may have on our current reality.

I look directly to Hollywood, specifically old Hollywood, where delineations and labels are in black and white, both literally and figuratively. Awful, demeaning stereotypes are ubiquitous in early-era films like the egregious The Jazz Singer and The Birth of a Nation. But even further down the line, I’m left with a sour taste in my mouth whenever I encounter racism or subjugation in what are known as "classic films.”  One does not have to venture too far into the old vault to see the awful portrayal of Native Americans in The Searchers or Mickey Rooney’s gross display of a Chinese landlord in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  I find it hard to compartmentalize these offensive bits when doing my own investigation into film history.  While there is great quality and originality, it will always be interwoven into these totally unacceptable trends and tendencies.  There is no escaping it.