Not Only in New Haven

THE SETTING IS YALE, but it could be almost any Ivy-league school, possibly almost any college. The year is 1973, but the subject matter of this film is as important as it ever was. If we ignore hair length and style of clothing, we could easily believe that this 53 minutes of celluloid just left the darkroom today after being shot yesterday.

Black at Yale is billed as "a penetrating documentary account of an extraordinary young Black man who comes to Yale intent on learning philosophy, but hasn't gone through the 'right channels.'" Although the film is penetrating and the young Black man's story is extraordinary, there is much more to this film than one man's story.

It is the story of street hustlers and dudes who, according to Eugene Rivers '83, the movie's real-life protagonist, "express as much or more ingenuity in just surviving" than most Harvard students ever do-but they have no chance, forgotten by society, running "three times as fast" and still falling behind. It is the story of the frustrations faced by Blacks at Yale and of the discouragement of Black students who see themselves forgetting their brothers and sisters on the streets. It is the story of the culture shock caused when upper- and middle-class Blacks confront the differences between themselves and working-class Blacks. It is in fact a cogent study of the many complex issues suggested by the title Black at Yale.

Warrington Hudlin, a former Scholar of the House at Yale, is an internationally-known Black director and producer. He made this black-and-white film, his first effort, in 1974. In it, a Black youth, Rivers, has moved to New Haven and soon after starts to drop in on classes at Yale. "I came to New Haven because I was getting sucked down in a strange, bizarre street thing in Philadelphia, and I had to be aggressively violent just to survive," Rivers says. He has not applied to Yale. has no credentials--wants merely to learn--and, at first, is just trying to survive. Later, some Black students take him into their dorm room and he begins the routine of working as much as 50 hours a week on class assignments. Soon, the school finds out about Rivers; and, through several interviews with an administrator, we learn how the school debated about what to do with this young man, who by this time had impressed many professors. He just hadn't gone through the right channels.

The suspense is not resolved, though; we never learn what happens to Rivers in this movie. For all we know, he still could be sitting in the same Yale dormitory room in which he told his story to Hudlin's interviewer seven years ago. This is not the filmmaker's fault, for when he made the film he, too, did not know what would become of his extraordinary classmate who bureaucratically didn't exist. But the incompleteness of River's saga brings to our attention the important point that no matter what Center Screen's press releases or posters say, this film cannot be accurately characterized as simply the account of one Black man's story at Yale. Only about ten minutes of the movie center around Rivers specifically. Hudlin instead uses Rivers as a vehicle to tell a broader story, and the heart and soul of the film emerges from interviews with Rivers, Black students at Yale and Black people on the streets of New Haven; each individual gives us a different perception of Blacks at Yale.

Through these interviews, we learn of many different types of frustration. Many Black students at Yale express frustration because they feel "alone and alienated" and experience "a conflict between self and society." They must either deny their identity to fit in, "play the Joe-college-fool role," or remain isolated because "people at least on this campus refuse to deal with you," one students says. Rivers, who--in every way--is alien to the largely middle-class Black community on the Yale campus, is also frustrated with the Black students. "People weren't willing to think critically about anything," he said recently. In the film Rivers is frustrated with Black students for playing mindless roles without thinking seriously about Blacks' position in society.

And the students are not the only people frustrated with Blacks at Yale. In a brief interview, Stokely Carmichael criticizes Black students for merely "giving lip service" to the salient issues of racial inequality. Finally, Blacks on the street, the last group of people interviewed, speak out. A New Haven resident wondered how much Blacks at Yale have done to help Black people as a whole: "If they've done something, it hasn't come out yet," he says. "They could help Black people," another comments, "but would they?" Many people question whether Blacks at Yale have indeed forgeotten them.

BLACK AT YALE is not, however, a condemnation of Black students at Yale, but is instead a serious and balanced study of their role in society. While some people express dismay, others are hopeful. "These are the ones that's going to speak up for us," one Black man says. Others believe that the Black students at Yale will advance and help other Blacks. Rivers is upset, but not bitter; he wants more Blacks to wake up and he hopes they will. A student interviewed at the outset of the movie feels similarly; he has reservations but believes that what he and other Black students are doing may eventually prove helpful to all Blacks.

This film works beautifully because Hudlin is able to study all this in a relatively short time, without destroying the movie's unity. We leave the theater having seen a cogent, succinct work--not merely a series of important images and scenes. The simplicity of the production, doubtless due to both Hudlin's restraint and a low budget, adds to its strength.

Black at Yale is an extremely powerful film made by a skilled craftsman. Every person filmed is articulate in his own way; there is little wasted footage. Black at Yale deals with issues which are as important today as in 1973. Blacks may want to acknowledge their existence and others simply may not know about them. Black at Yale forces us to accept the responsibility of educating ourselves.

*******

Hudlin's second effort, Street Corner Stories (1977), a portrait of Black street corner society and a film that has received significant international attention, holds together less well than Black at Yale. It is an example of blues cinema, a visual answer to blues music, which draws the viewer into its story; because of its new approach it is worth seeing. But this documentation of a series of conversations at a street corner store between working class Blacks lacks cohesiveness. The viewer believes what he is seeing is important but is frustrated by what seems to be a lack of purpose. It is as if he is looking through a window at an unknown world which he realizes is important and real--but is unsure why he is looking at it. After ten minutes of this hour-long black-and-white film, the disjointedness becomes tedious.

This film is touted because of Hudlin's "un-compromising documentation of Black American speech," indeed an important part of the movie. Nonetheless, Street Corner Stories is an excruciatingly slow movie. After being enraptured by Black at Yale, the viewer may want to stay to see more of this very talented filmmaker's work. He may get much from this film, but only if he is somewhat indulgent.