Yesterday my friend Claire from New Orleans called after leaving an audition for the new film Chess.  She was not just livid, she was ready to throw in her acting towel and move, once again, to Europe.  The woman who was costuming the auditioning actor-dancers saw Claire and asked loudly and without scruple, "Are you black"?  Claire's reply?  "Yes, I'm from here.  New Orleans."

Now I actually had plans to blog about Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.  How I finally saw it last night and that Anika Noni Rose was amazing and Phylicia Rashad is clearly one of our country's best.  How Terence Howard looked dead in my face and said nothing when I congratulated him on a job well-done.  [He must have read one of my earlier posts when I prematurely questioned his stage ability].  But no, today's post is about Claire at her Chess audition.  It's much meatier. 

Chess is one of two films currently in production about Leonard Chess of Chess Records, the label that popularized Blues in the 50s and 60s.  The other film is Cadillac Records, written and directed by Darnell Martin [Their Eyes Were Watching God].  Now both films did casting in New Orleans.  Cadillac Records told Claire she was too light to be believable in the poor and rural world of 1950s Mississippi.  And yesterday, as I mentioned, Chess questioned her blackness.  And then the costumer commented how she looked like her "Italian" aunt.  Claire even overheard another actor-dancer being asked if he was Spanish.  His reply?  "No.  I'm from here.  New Orleans." 

Now there are few things going on.  Besides Claire having to dodge racial hoops in her profession, there appears to be an issue of cultural ignorance floating among the moviemakers.  These Hollywooders are browsing through New Orleans without any regard for its specific history.  Without any knowledge about the mammoth late 18th century exodus from Hispaniola that shaped New Orleans cultural, racial and political heritage.  Not to mention the struggle and/or privilege of the octoroon, quadroon, griffe communities.  For the Hollywooders, it appears, being authentically black in New Orleans is synonymous with darker brown skin and obvious west African features, oh, and a good dose of believable poverty in the way they move and groove. 

Claire's concern [and mine] isn't that her ethnicity or race is being questioned.  [Hey, I questioned Carol Channing's ethnicity before she revealed her black.]  The real issue here is that Claire and many of her New Orleans actor-peers are being shut out of opportunities by filmmakers of every persuasion... in their very own home.  A place that traditionally understands, nourishes and celebrates its mixed-race heritage.  Well, I guess this could be a case where Nobody Knows My Name, or should I say, Nobody Knows My Race.