The Oscars' Black History Lessons

This year it means something that the only black performer nominated for an Academy Award was Djimon Hounsou. This West African-born actor has steadily presented an impressive, magnificent, sensitive and intelligent screen image, although in only a few mainstream films. "Gladiator" was a blockbuster, "Amistad" made almost $100 million and "In America," the film for which Hounsou is nominated, has only been a modest hit.

But this has not translated into stardom for Hounsou. The only black American filmmaker to use him has been Reggie Bythewood, director of "Biker Boyz." The Oscars bestow recognition on Hounsou that, so far, has not been forthcoming from African American filmmakers themselves. Now, as always, the Oscars say, take notice.

Looking at Oscar history provides a roadmap of black artists' awkward progress through the obstacles and advances of American movie culture. The Oscars are a sign of approval from the Hollywood film industry but in political and cultural terms, they are a measure of acceptance. Halle Berry's tearful hysteria in 2002 was a response to the weight of history placed on her shoulders as the first African American actress to be singled out for both approval and acceptance. It was a politically loaded version of Sally Field's famous gushing in 1985, "You like me! You really, like me!"

Field got it right. In an industry of constant competition, where there's no such thing as justice -- only box-office and lawsuits -- a display of large-scale acknowledgment is never certain. But Berry's controversial reaction was genuine, too. For black filmmakers, official certification -- that is, popularity -- can be an overwhelming surprise. Oscar history shows: It doesn't come often.

Since the Academy Awards were initiated in 1927 only 33 black performers have been nominated (in such behind-the-camera professions as directing, costume-design or screenwriting, only 15 African Americans have been nominated, most of those in the music categories). This does not indicate that black filmmakers were not present or worthy during the Oscars 76 years; merely that when Hollywood gives praise, it's more likely to look the other way.

In majority-white domains, white folks typically celebrate themselves. This is true, even while the Oscars presume to recognize the plurality in domestic and international film culture. As a result of the Oscars' long-standing, democratic, election-based tradition, fans and professionals alike pay attention. They have to. Whether they agree or not, the Academy's choices are meaningful -- though not always credible. The Academy's roster of nominated black performers provides an instructive guide to Hollywood race consciousness. Looking at Oscar history provides a roadmap of black artists' awkward progress through the obstacles and advances of American movie culture.

Hounsou's singular status this year reflects on the first black actor to be honored by the Academy. It wasn't Sidney Poitier or Denzel Washington but James Baskett who, in 1947, was awarded a special Oscar for his portrayal of Uncle Remus in the Walt Disney film, "Song of the South." Despite the movie's still-contentious reputation, the Academy saw fit to honor Baskett's dignified embodiment of the black oral tradition. Seen today (in one of the "Song of the South" underground bootleg tapes, or on an imported Japanese DVD as Disney has withheld the movie in the U.S. ever since its last theatrical re-release in 1986), Baskett presents a loving yet grave paternal figure. His Uncle Remus contrasts Juano Hernandez's magisterial portrayal of William Faulkner's Lucas Beauchamp in the 1947 "Intruder in the Dust." That Clarence Brown film demonstrated the era's most humane and progressive instincts (Hernandez won several international film festival awards) yet it seems to have been too much to receive Hollywood's official Oscar stamp.