America’s Blues: A review of Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (Directed by George C. Wolfe, 2020)

When playwright August Wilson wrote the play Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, which premiered in 1984, his focus was allegorical not biographical. Aside from incorporating a few broad details about her career he was less interested in recreating “Mother of the Blues” Ma Rainey’s life than capturing the larger cultural contexts framing her life and career, and that of her generation. The play offers audiences a way to engage with the layered aspects of everyday African-American experiences that resonate beyond the 1920s.

Viola Davis and Chadwick Boseman star in a 2020 film adaptation of playwright August Wilson’s acclaimed 1984 play Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.

Born in 1886 in Columbus, Georgia Gertrude “Ma” Rainey (born Gertrude Pridgett) lacked formal education but was able to translate her gifts as a performer on the minstrel circuit initially. Gradually, she grew into a formidable performing career as a vocalist, songwriter, bandleader, actress, dancer, and comedienne which gave her more mobility than most African-Americans of her time. Rainey recorded a series of influential blues records from 1923-28 and toured for years. In the mid-1930s she retired from performing and focused on managing multiple theatres in Columbus until her death in 1939.

Through depicting a fictionalized 1927 recording session in Chicago, Rainey becomes a vehicle for unlocking central tensions of the 1920s. These include the relationships of black optimism toward Northern migration and its more complicated racial realities; the dependence of black artists on white owned businesses to gain commercial access to national audiences; the decline of the vaudevillian oriented “classic blues” style of Rainey, and her protégé Bessie Smith, and the rise of swing jazz; and the generational clash of sensibilities emboldened by the emergence of the more assertive and politicized “New Negro” movement of the mid-1920s.

The play’s staging focuses on the recording studio environment exclusively, transitioning from the tense interplay among her multigenerational male bandmates, to Ma Rainey’s disruptive arrival. Director George C. Wolfe’s 2020 film, produced and distributed by Netflix, cinematizes the play beginning with a scene of Rainey (portrayed by Viola Davis) delivering a rousing, playfully erotic tent show performance before an adoring black audience in Georgia and shifting our focus to Chicago where a generic montage of sepia toned images transmits the textures of black lives of the era. Lush forestry and gas lamps give way to montages of concrete buildings, busy streets, and, if we interpret the eyes of the black residents filmed in the still images, a sense of displacement and alienation.  

We then plunge into the banter between the elder members of Ma’s band including music director, guitarist, and trombonist Cutler (Colman Domingo), bassist Slow Drag (Michael Potts), and pianist Toledo (Glynn Turman), and the young, fiery Levee (Chadwick Boseman). Casual chit-chat escalates to a roar as Cutler reminds the ambitious Levee that their focus is supporting Ma not showcasing his individual prowess as an arranger or player.

A magnetic Boseman, whose leaner physique likely reflects his struggle with colon cancer during filming, hovers between masculine jocularity and a determined wiliness. He is wide-eyed, energetic, and constantly moving disarming his bandmates with his almost naïve assumption that his band role is a mere transition to a career as a composer and bandleader. As a viewer you wish they could embrace his hunger for something more, and gently temper his aspirations with more realism about how things work. He is trapped between the generations; able to look forward but too ungrounded to anchor his ambition in a broader context.  

When Ma arrives at the studio with her entourage—lover Dussie Mae (Taylour Paige) and nephew Sylvester (Dusan Brown)—in toe, she shifts the focus immediately.  Prior to arriving they saunter out of their hotel in a fashion that drops jaws and inspires stunned stares by the black elite clientele. It’s unclear if they’re horrified or awed by Rainey whose gold teeth and heavy makeup seem to clash with her elegant gown and haughty demeanor. Near the studio they get into a fender bender with a white driver. Rainey, seemingly unbound by defacto racial rules of the time, defends Sylvester’s driving to an increasingly ornery white male cop, but backs off as her manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) attempts to diffuse the situation and manage the cop. What could have landed Rainey in jail (unfairly) is salvaged by a white interloper who knows how to finesse the situation and has an active investment in Rainey not being arrested.

Whereas in Georgia, Rainey is royalty to her black audience her harder edge takes centerstage in “white” Chicago. She must toe the line between an instinct toward assertion and survival, which requires certain levels of acquiescence. Rainey knows the record company she’s about to record with stands to make more money from her records than she will ever realize personally and leverages her power as much as she can. She barks orders at Irvin and demands cold soda before she records a note. Her lateness and haughtiness infuriate studio owner Mel Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne) who has already complained about Ma to Irvin prior to her arrival. His harrumphing is clearly an act though; once the band begins recording his dismay turns to glee. Rainey knows what she’s worth and so does he. It’s a tricky balancing act, one that flows throughout the film.

As much as the film hits these notes correctly, often subtly, it’s a strangely unsatisfying experience. I saw a thrilling live production of the play in Memphis several years back that puts the film adaption into focus. The Rainey depicted onstage was a regal, stylish diva with a bawdy sense of humor and a more playful presence than the film’s screenplay depicts. The Ma onstage was clearly in charge but there was an element of play, a certain theatricality the film disallows.

One of the commonsense tropes about “classic blues” singers like Rainey, Smith, and others, such as Ida Cox, is that their blues are “raw” which makes them “real” and thus reflective of their lives. Such naïvely literal interpretations—which inform the way the film’s actors, co-producer Denzel Washington and director Wolfe discuss them in an earnest behind-the-scenes “making of” feature on Netflix—distorts the theatricality of the idiom. We must remember these women were performers with a strong sense of style who were constantly aware they were being watched. If you listen to Rainey’s recordings you can hear a tongue-in-cheek quality beyond the “confessional” singer-songwriter element folks like to attribute to the blues more generally. In this regard HBO’s acclaimed 2015 telefilm Bessie starring Queen Latifah as Smith and Mo’Nique as Rainey is a richer viewing experience. By showing viewers how Rainey trained Smith they can recognize blues as an art form with formal conventions not just something that comes “naturally” to black performers, or an extension of their personalities.

Gertrude “Ma” Rainey (1886-1939) was one of the pioneers of the theatrical “classic blues” performing style.

Davis conveys the sage-like wisdom of a seasoned performer who is clear eyed about how race, money, and exploitation work in the U.S., especially in a tender scene with Cutler who shares her values. Similarly, when she and Levee interact the tension is electric as the generational divide oozes from both who are as stubborn as they are talented. Within the confines of Rudolph Santiago-Hudson’s screenplay she does her job astutely—depicting decades of deeply entrenched survival and savvy efficiently.

Yet the choice to change the recording season from the play’s winter to summer and to drench Davis, and the band, in sweat literalizes her struggles and constantly draws attention to the physical transformations Davis has undergone via the body suit and period adornment. I wish Wolfe and Santiago-Hudson had trusted the original text more. We don’t need the makeup, the sweat, and the often one dimensionally angry dialogue to understand Rainey’s life. What we get in the film is Rainey the skeptical, controlling businesswoman trying to make it in a racist society who happens to sing. What’s lacking are glimpses into the funny, sexy, ironic, and self-aware artist who lured a regional audience through her charming performances and developed a national one through her recordings. The gap between these elements of Rainey’s persona makes Davis’s performance solid but incomplete.

Boseman has rightfully garnered the greatest acclaim for his performance. Early on he delivers a painful transfixing monologue about his childhood to his bandmates. The scene captures Wilson’s adept ear for dramaturgical flair and allows Boseman to showcase his chops and transcend the stoic straitjacket of most of his previous roles. Wolfe’s direction tells us this is an Important Moment, yet it still works.

Boseman’s Levee epitomizes tragedy: he is alluring and off-putting, cocky and vulnerable, hopeful and yet undone by his lack of savvy. His clashes with Ma and Cutler at the end of the recording sessions predictably leads to his firing which frees him, temporarily. But, lacking a manager, a patron, a band, a mentor, or patience, he tries to go solo and enact a distinctly American individualism. One promoted to all Americans yet unavailable to a man of his status in an unfair and unforgiving society. The result is a series of fateful decisions that go beyond his plight. The film indicts a cultural pattern of exploitative practices, symbolizing a nation that betrays its own promises, with an unforgettable sting.

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For further listening:

The digital era has restored Rainey’s original recordings which are readily available on streaming services and retailers selling CDs. Two recommended introductory collections include Yazoo’s 1990s 14-song collection Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom and Milestone Records’ 1992 Ma Rainey featuring 24 cuts. Document Records’ five volume Complete Recorded Works series, organized by year, provides a comprehensive overview of her recording career from 1923-28.

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