s a m Threld Wording o Acc to
Samuel L. Jackson is a bad mother—and he will never shut his mouth. The multibilliondollar man takes aim at President Obama and Hollywood, and dares you to say something. By
Kevin Powell
Photographs by
Jake Chessum
*Although EBONY
does not condone use of the “N-word,” we’ve left the word intact in the interest of maintaining the integrity of the story. ... That, and the fact that it’s m$&*#!f%@+ing Sam Jackson!
00
e b o n y. c o m / m a r c h 2 0 1 2
111
“Say, man, my wife said you called her! What’s up with that?” Samuel L. Jackson barks at me, sternly, his almond-colored, deepset eyes weighted with history, mythology and Black folktales, scanning me quickly, methodically, as I respond, feebly, “Uh, my friend, the visual artist Radcliffe Bailey, said to call …” Before I could finish, Jackson strips the tension with a devilish smile, shakes my hand and returns to posing for the photo shoot. As Pandora spits a soul medley of James Brown, Curtis Mayfield, The Isley Brothers and Sly and The Family Stone, there is Sam, forever in his beloved Armani, firing up smoke, flames dancing from the cigar and the match thisclose to burning his finger. There is Sam tossing hats at the photographer’s lens, his bald head bobbing and weaving with each flick. There is Sam, much taller than I expected—about 6-feet-2—so at home in his 64-year-old lean and battle-tested body that he nonchalantly peels off one set of clothes,
112
e b o n y. c o m / m a r c h 2 0 1 2
down to his white boxers, before changing into a new outfit. With no one batting an eye because this is Sam’s world. And now there is Samuel L. Jackson playing golf, his passion of the past 12 years: suit jacket off, sleeves cuffed up to his elbows, masterfully engineering one little white ball after another off the wall just above the head of the photographer and others in the Midtown Manhattan studio. Yes, it is mad corny, at this stage, to call Jackson ”cool.” He is way past cool. He is chill, like the chilled ice in sweet tea on that steamy Chattanooga, Tenn., porch where he inhaled the words and wisdom of his mama, his auntie, his grandmama, his granddaddy, his uncles, the men of his ’hood. So chill, in fact, that even Sam’s being proclaimed by The Guinness World Records the top-grossing movie actor of all time, with nearly $7.5 billion in ticket sales, leads to a
yawning response: “Yeah, I’ve done a couple of popular movies.” An understatement, clearly, and a box office total that will balloon with his and Robert Downey Jr.’s star turns this May in the Marvel Studios-produced The Avengers. But Samuel L. is not just in this game for money or fame, although he readily admits, “The coolest thing about being famous is the free shit.” This is Samuel L. Jackson’s version of The American Dream, remixed to include everything from his current role as Martin Luther King Jr. on Broadway (with Angela Bassett) in Katori Hall’s play The Mountaintop; to his (crack) smoking away his first shot at Broadway in August Wilson’s masterpiece The Piano Lesson (Charles S. Dutton got the part instead, and Jackson was relegated to understudy); to his boyhood Saturday morning trips to the movies and roles in the plays of his schoolteacher auntie; to his lifelong love affair with books that led him, initially, to oceanography, then to the revolutionary politics of the Black Power era, then to street theater and the power of the spoken word. No doubt Jackson is the kind of man, the kind of Black man, who is relishing all he has witnessed since the days of Dr. King and the Civil Rights Movement. As a student at Atlanta’s famed Morehouse College, Sam was an usher at Dr. King’s funeral. Today he gets to freely portray King, very human faults and all, in a play at the same time a Black president is sitting in the White House, no less. If there is one American actor who embodies the seismic changes in American politics and popular culture in the years between Dr. King’s death and Barack Obama’s election and has also been a full participant along the way in the best and worst of who we have been— and are— it is Samuel L. Jackson.
“Life is,” he says inside his tiny Mountaintop dressing room during a quieter moment, “longer than I thought it would be.” Especially when, in one lifetime, you’ve survived a ghetto filled with alcohol, drugs, violence and houses of prostitution on both corners of your block; the Vietnam War and an extended Black militant period with friends named Stokely Carmichael and H. Rap Brown; getting suspended from college for holding the White trustees of Morehouse College hostage (along with Black advisors including Dr. King’s father) a year after King’s assassination; and a massive addiction to crack cocaine that not only nearly killed you, but also became the source of your role as Gator in Spike Lee’s Jungle Fever (he remains the only performer ever given a special supporting actor award at the Cannes Film Festival for that portrayal). Jackson smiles a mischievous grin as he reflects upon Jungle Fever and his sudden fame after years of watching peers such as Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman, Alfre Woodard and Wesley Snipes achieve success: “People in Hollywood were suddenly like, ‘Hmmm, whoa! Oh, who’s that nigga?’” Perhaps that is why Jackson speaks his mind so freely and could give an ish what you Jackson, aka the think. Like many Black males conditioned by man of many faces, the harshness of American racism and povexplains it all in a shirt by Giorgio erty, there was nothing, except for his vivid Armani available at imagination, that told Jackson who he has beBloomingdale’s and come was remotely possible. Or that a Barack a hat by Kangol. Attitude, his own. Obama could be president. Previous spread, Yes, like much of Hollywood’s A-list, Jacktrench coat by Giorgio Armani. son supported Obama for president in 2008,
march 2011
/ e b o n y. c o m
113
but don’t expect any over-intellectualized rationale about his decision: “I voted for Barack because he was Black. ’Cuz that’s why other folks vote for other people—because they look like them. That’s American politics, pure and simple. His message didn’t mean shit to me. In the end, he’s a politician. I just hoped he would do some of what he said he was gonna do. I know politicians say shit; they lie. ’Cuz they want to get elected.” But what does Samuel L. Jackson think about the president now? Jackson blinks off into space, to the photos on his dressing room wall of different periods of his acting journey. Yup, he is just getting warmed up—and very clear about what he wants to say on the record: “When it comes down to it, they wouldn’t have elected a nigga. Because, what’s a nigga? A nigga is scary. Obama ain’t scary at all. Niggas don’t have beers at the White House. Niggas don’t let some White dude, while you in the middle of a speech, call [him] a liar. A nigga would have stopped the meeting right there and said, ‘Who the f*#! said that?’ I hope Obama gets scary in the next four years, ’cuz he ain’t gotta worry about getting re-elected.”
“I’ve said to White Hollywood folks . . . ‘I am a nigga. I’m a nice guy, but there are things that go ‘click,’ and I become that
guy y’all really worry about at night.’”
114
e b o n y. c o m / m a r c h 2 0 1 2
Thinking it over in a coat, suit, shirt and tie all by Giorgio Armani and available at Bloomingdale’s; watch by Rolex
G R O O M I N G , A N N A B E R N A B E W I T H E A M G M T F O R L I Z E A R L E S K I N C A R E ; P R O P S T Y L I S T, Z O E ; FA S H I O N E D I TO R , M A R I O W I L S O N W I T H K B A N YC ; TA I L O R , J O H N N I E L E W T E R W I T H K B A N YC ; FA S H I O N A S S I S TA N T, K E E H U G H E S
In many ways, Samuel L. Jackson is in Hollywood but not of Hollywood. He is really of the older Black men who sit on milk crates on America’s street corners, unfiltered observers and commentators of their world, their anger muted by a natural-born comedic timing that frames a history of pain and suffering. “I’ve said to White Hollywood folks, ‘First thing you need to understand is, I am a nigga. I’m a nice guy, but there are certain things that go ‘click,’ and I become that guy y’all really worry about at night. ’Cuz that’s really who I am.’ I learned how to live in two worlds. That’s my whole life. That’s why y’all hire me. I am genuine. I bring something genuine about that type of guy who scares White people they can safely watch on-screen.” Those two worlds, for Jackson, mean we know him as a bad dude, but he acknowledges he was a bookworm as a kid, one who played trumpet and flute in his high school band, was an A student and, by his college years, equally digested the sounds of Motown and the rock ’n’ roll rumblings of Cream and Jimi Hendrix. Jackson has been everything from a nerd to a hippie to a radical to a beloved pop-culture icon who everyone wants to get next to. It was that kind of cultural diversity and real Black man poise that won him the role of Jules Winnfield in Quentin Tarantino’s now-classic 1994 film Pulp Fiction. It is Sam’s signature role on-screen, and it redefined what a bad Black man was in the tradition of Stagger Lee and Bad Leroy Brown. In the Jules character, Jackson was swashbuckler, hero, villain and all the personas he pretended to be as that only child in love with motion pictures in Tennessee. And he hasn’t slowed since. But I do need him to slow enough to explain his excessive use of the word “nigga”: “Nigga became a part of my vocabulary when I was born. How so? Because it was used on me in my house, often, ‘Nigga, you crazy?’ My mom, my grandmom, my granddad, my relatives, my neighbors. I know the word nigga as an admonishment, an endearment, a criticism and an invective. So I use it; I don’t run from it. I don’t have an issue with it or who says it. I always put it in the context of how it was used on me.” An aside: I was hesitant to bring up his father because, when mentioned at the beginning of the interview, Jackson looked a bit uncomfortable. Like far too many Black boys, Sam had no real relationship with his dad. Saw him once, briefly, as a child, then not again until he was a grown man and a father himself while with his little girl, Zoe, in the early 1980s. He was on the road doing a theater piece and happened to be in the Kansas-Missouri area where his dad was living. “And there was my father, back home living with his mother. Told me about all these brothers and sisters [Cont. on page 148] Picky, picky. Jackson, a self-proclaimed former bookworm, learned to navigate two worlds and knows exactly which qualities keep him working nonstop in Hollywood.
aPrIL 2011
/ e b o n y. c o m
00
An Ebony An Ebony REtRospEctivE REtRospEctivE
Boomerang Boomerang 2 0 2 Y0 e Ya er as r Ls a Lt ae tr e r
Success Success Comes Comes Full Full Circle Circle for the forRomantic the Romantic Comedy Comedy ThatThat Defied Defied Racial Racial Stereotypes Stereotypes and Shattered and Shattered Music Music History History B Y m a rBgYe nm aa rag. eCnhar ias. tCi ah nr i s t i a n P h o t o gP rhaoPt ho sg rBaYP Bhrs uBCYe BWr. uta C eL aWm. otan L/ Pa a mroanm/ Pa o u rn at mPoi Cu tn ut rPeisC t u r e s Hollywood Hollywood has a way hasofacounting way of counting out an actor out an when actorhe’s when he’s flown under flownthe under radar thefor radar a fewfor years. a fewEddie years.Murphy Eddie Murphy was was no exception. no exception. From his From outrageous his outrageous run on Saturday run on Saturday Night Night Live during Live the during early the ’80s, early through ’80s, through a stringaofstring hit movof hit movies including ies including Beverly Beverly Hills Cop Hills (I and CopII), (I and Coming II), Coming to to AmericaAmerica and Harlem and Harlem Nights, Murphy Nights, Murphy was on fire. was on fire. But as winning But as winning streaks streaks tend to tend go, following to go, following 1990’s Another 1990’s Another 48 HRS., 48his HRS., firestorm his firestorm career career cooled considerably. cooled considerably. Two very Two long very years long years later, the later, big chill the big ended chillwith ended thewith release the release of Boomerang. of Boomerang. Hailed as Hailed his “comeback” as his “comeback” movie, Murphy’s movie, Murphy’s performance performance as as MarcusMarcus Graham, Graham, the high-powered the high-powered advertising advertising executive executive with a penwith a penchant for chant loving forand loving leaving and leaving the the ladies, showed ladies, showed that he that ain’t he ain’t no joke no when jokeit when comesitto comes to bringingbringing the funny—and the funny—and the sex appeal. the sex appeal. His His character character was so was so charming charming that Holthat Hollywood lywood dubbeddubbed him “the him “the Black Clark Black Clark Gable.”Gable.” Eddie Murphy Eddie is Murphy is surroundedsurrounded by by (left to right)(left Robin to right) Robin Givens, Halle Givens, Berry,Halle Berry, Eartha Kitt and Eartha Kitt and Grace Jones. Grace Jones.
14 5
14 5
Samuel L. Jackson
Boomerang
I had in different places. Had a baby introduced to me [who] was younger than my daughter, and my girl was only, like, 3 months old. My father was still doing the same thing. That trip was the last time I saw my dad. He died a few years later. He was an alcoholic. Died of cirrhosis.” So even when Sam hit his lowest life point with the crack addiction, he never allowed it to defeat him completely, as his father had been defeated. It probably has helped greatly that his self-admitted best friend is his wife, LaTanya Richardson, whom he met in Atlanta when he returned to college from that two-year suspension. He had changed his major from oceanography to theater and found himself taking drama courses at Spelman College, Morehouse’s sister school. Married since 1980, they’ve been together more than 40 years. There is no telling what the next acts have in store for Jackson. He mentions his desire to win an Academy Award a few times. He is still very much an activist, but quietly now, in America, in Africa, building schools, wells and working for AIDS prevention, along with his wife. He will team with Tarantino once more for Django Unchained, a sort of a Western about which Jackson says, “I’m actually playing a loyal house nigga [who will,] hopefully, become the most despised Negro in the history of cinema, ’cuz it’s a despicable role.” He is a producer, too, often looking to help an actor or director who deserves a break. And he makes sure his mom, who now has Alzheimer’s, is properly cared for at a facility in the South. When I ask Jackson what the superstar would say to that little boy who was a bookworm, his face brokers that wide grin once more. “I would tell that kid who’s sitting on the porch reading a book while other little niggas are running down the street, giving [him] shit because [he] did not want to play, that he’s doing the right thing. Continue to believe in who you are.”
It seemed as if all of Black Hollywood auditioned for a role in Boomerang. “I read for the role with a few people, Heavy D being one of them,” recalled Grier, “but I really clicked with Martin, whom I’d met years [before].” Two people who didn’t audition for roles were House Party co-stars John Witherspoon and Bebe Drake-Massey, who played the Jacksons, Gerard’s downhome parents. The film was finished and running over budget, but Murphy didn’t care. He insisted it couldn’t—and wouldn’t—be complete without a dinner scene featuring the pair. Witherspoon and Drake-Massey had everyone breaking character because they were so funny. “Our parts were unscripted. I had to put on my comedian hat with John because I wasn’t going to let him upstage me by licking his fingers and talking crazy,” laughed Drake-Massey. “Anything my man did, I backed him up. Eddie said he liked how I backed him up. That let me know I was doing the right thing. The bathroom scene was total improv. One of the hardest things [for me is to] work with comedians. They don’t ever stick to the script. You have to be ready and think fast on your feet.” The heat was especially on Witherspoon. With no script, everyone was banking on “Spoon,” as he was called, to hit a home run. “I created most of that stuff in my dressing room,” explained the comic, who’ll appear with Murphy in the upcoming A Thousand Words. “Licking my fingers came from me doing it when I’m at home eating. We were country bumpkins. I wanted to wear a walking suit. God led me to the [mushroom suit]. I had mushroom socks and a dance scene, too, but it was cut. I looked like my daddy; he dressed like that for real. I’m from Detroit and a family of 11 kids. You would get three shirts and two pairs of pants. You had to coordinate to make it
Cont. from page 114
148
Cont. from page 147
look like you had a lot of clothes. I was trying to impress.” Fifty percent of the production personnel hired were people of color. The film’s distributor, Paramount Pictures, in partnership with the Black Filmmaker Foundation (headed by Warrington) created 10 camera observer positions for young African-Americans who were assigned to different departments to gain firsthand knowledge about the production process. The program marked the first of its kind in nearly three decades for a major feature film and the first time ever that a motion picture company paid the entire cost of such an effort. The soundtrack, produced by L.A. Reid and Babyface, made music history. It introduced a then-unknown Toni Braxton singing the hit song “Love Shoulda Brought You Home,” a title inspired by the pain-filled plea from Angela to Marcus. The song, initially intended for Anita Baker, launched Braxton’s Grammy Award-winning career. Another hit from the soundtrack was Boyz II Men’s “End of the Road,” which was No. 1 for 13 weeks and broke Elvis Presley’s record on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. Completing the film exacted a heavy toll on the Hudlins as they dealt with excessive studio interference and intense creative differences. The challenges only made them stronger. Reginald, who developed the Black Panther comic book franchise for Marvel, would go on to become president of entertainment at Black Entertainment Television from 2005 to 2008. He also serves as the producer of Quentin Tarantino’s upcoming Django Unchained, co-starring Samuel L. Jackson, Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Leonardo DiCaprio and Christoph Waltz. Warrington continues to head the Black Filmmaker Foundation and has developed several Web properties. “We fought a lot while making that film, and we got our way a lot through our persuasiveness or because Eddie really backed, supported and protected us,” says Reginald. “When the movie turned out to be a box office success, it’s not like they said, ‘You know what? You were right and we were wrong.’ They were like, ‘F#@* you.’ And that’s really unfortunate. I can’t take it personally. That was the end of the Black film movement, that era. I’m grateful Eddie and Paramount gave me the opportunity. It’s hard to make a hit movie, and it’s superhard to make a movie that lasts. The fact that Boomerang still means something is what I’ll always be grateful for.”
E B O N Y. C O M / M A R C H 2 0 1 2
148 revised_Boom_2 copy.indd 148
2/6/12 2:21 PM