Books: Black Caesars and Foxy Cleopatras

In his book debut full of juicy anecdotes, film journalist Odie Henderson gives the reader a simultaneously erudite and accessible look at the history of blaxploitation cinema.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush: expect some swearing in this book,” writes film journalist Odie Henderson in the foreword to Black Caesars and Foxy Cleopatras: A History of Blaxploitation Cinema. Anyone who previously read something by Henderson, who has been writing for since 2022 The Boston Globe, knows that he uses an idiosyncratic writing style, in which he does not shy away from the use of expletives. That fearlessness fits perfectly with the subject of his book debut: an overview of the turbulent history of blaxploitation cinema.

Blaxploitation, a groundbreaking subgenre of exploitation films, emerged in the early 1970s. Early blaxploitation films like Shaft (1971) and Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Son (1971) can be described as violent and sensual. In the first chapters, Henderson outlines the prelude to this phenomenon. He describes how the major Hollywood studios got into trouble at the end of the 1960s and how the cultural revolution changed the film world. The audience longs for a different kind of stimulating cinema.

White families
Henderson cannot ignore the fact that a substantial part of that audience consists of black Americans. Black actors, filmmakers and moviegoers come to the aid of the film industry in the 1970s. Cinema attendance is declining; white families move to the suburbs and sit glued to their televisions. At that time, the large movie theaters in the inner cities of places like New York, Chicago, Detroit and Los Angeles had to rely on black moviegoers. Black directors like Melvin Van Peebles and Gordon Parks are suddenly given a chance – although Henderson emphasizes that this prosperity is only for a while.

Henderson was born in 1970 and therefore did not consciously experience this time. Yet he continually manages to find personal perspectives in his book. For example, he remembers how a cinema in New York’s Times Square that showed many blaxploitation films in the 1980s “smelled like semen”. He also explains how his mother first visits the cinema on the day she gives birth to him The Liberation of L.B. Jones (1970), a blaxploitation film avant la lettre about a black businessman who gets into trouble with a white police officer who suspects that the businessman is having an affair with his wife.

Porn collection
As a child, Henderson dreams of being John Shaft. About the actor who plays Shaft in, among others Shaft in Africa (1973), he writes: “Fans of the male form will have several opportunities to enjoy Richard Roundtree’s ass.” Henderson shrewdly describes Roundtree as “a beautiful example of one brother”.

Henderson’s passion for blaxploitation really took shape in the 1980s, when he worked at a video rental store. An establishment with a back room where saloon doors lead to a porn collection. He describes the reaction of people who brought back a blaxploitation video as “a mixture of horror and awe.”

Henderson’s juicy personal anecdotes make it tangible what it was like for a young black American to be introduced to a subgenre that was largely created by black Americans. The film journalist describes Super Fly (1972) by Gordon Parks – with that great soundtrack by Curtis Mayfield – as “the Citizen Kane (1942) of blaxploitation”. With the tall actor Ron O’Neal, decked out in a “trendy hat and jacket”, as the selfish drug dealer Youngblood from Harlem. However, this comparison between the two films should not be taken very seriously, states Henderson. Compared to their white colleagues, black filmmakers were nowhere near given the resources and time to excel. The blaxploitation film remained a B movie.

Black petty bourgeoisie
After the films do well in the cinema for a few years, things go downhill. Firstly, because black Americans are also becoming addicted to their televisions. But also because film stars such as Bill Cosby and Sidney Poitier, who first acted in genuine blaxploitation films, strive to ensure that “black characters should also have fun”. In short, films don’t necessarily have to revolve around drug dealers, why not films about normal families? The frayed edges for which the genre is known are exchanged for cringing examples of black petty bourgeoisie, according to Henderson.

While blaxploitation initially seems part of a revolution, years later it turns out that some of the revolutionaries – black Americans with a vision – want to become part of the white establishment. So main characters suddenly have to have a conscience. Henderson writes cynically about that time: “Did things suddenly look good for talents of color? Of course not.”

Blaxploitation was not the springboard dreamed of for black creators. When Spike Lee broke through in 1986 with She’s Gotta Have It he was still one of the few black filmmakers. Nevertheless, the influence of the genre is undeniable, writes Henderson. See, for example, the style of Quentin Tarantino or the superhero film BlackPanther (2018). Or even consider the concept of a super cool protagonist, like Pam Grier – the queen of blaxploitation – in Coffy (1973). Perhaps the latter is what sticks out the most Black Caesars and Foxy Cleopatras. John Shaft, Coffy and Youngblood represent possibly the coolest cinematic phenomenon in history.

Black Caesars and Foxy Cleopatras: A History of Blaxploitation Cinema Odie Henderson | 2024, Abrams, New York | 293 pages | €16.99 (Hardcover)