
Here's the deal: I've been hearing a lot about this indie film called The Visitor by Thomas McCarthy [The Station Agent]. I knew it was a story about a professor who returns to his NYC apartment only to discover a pair of illegal immigrants shacking up there and that the story was making commentary about the U.S. policy on immigration. I also knew the postmortem dad from HBO'S Six Feet Under was playing the professor.
Now things were going along fine. I was enjoying the story of the professor opening his home to a Syrian drummer and his Senegalese girlfriend. I was actually thrilled by the performances of newcomer Danai Gurira as the young Senegelese jewelry maker, Haaz Sleiman as the Syrian charmer, and Six Feet Under's Richard Jenkins as the lonely but kind-hearted professor. And look, I'm no dummy, it was clear this film was targeted to the white liberal sect. You know, the professor's boredom with academia, his slow thaw into cultural appreciation of Arab and African youth, even being taught how to play drum and appreciate the magic of Fela Kuti. Yeh, I wasn't the target, but that doesn't mean I couldn't appreciate the thoughtful journey.
But once the drummer was detained at an Immigration Center for a mishap at a subway station things got interesting. And yes, the drama increased when the worried Syrian mother showed up looking for her son. She arrived at the professor's apartment, shocked only by the fact her son didn't answer the door. But it's when she goes to meet her son's Senegalese girlfriend that I cringed. The professor pointed out the beauty in a crowd at a flea market and the first thing the mother said was, "She's black. She's very very black." And this wasn't said with reverence, it was with disappointment. Shock, even. It took five minutes before I could find a way back into the film and offer it my somewhat undivided attention.
However, later, when the Syrian mother was caught listening to a CD of the professor's deceased wife, she comments on how wonderful the music and how "very beautiful" the wife. So outloud and with complete disappointment I yelled, "You've got to be kidding me!" And yes, a few faces turned my way. Now there could be several reasons behind this reaction. One, I'm at the end of a harrowing rewrite for my film and my patience is short, or that I met Danai Gurira once and thought she was drop-dead beautiful. Maybe I was caught off guard by McCarthy's inability to hide [like a pro] such marginalizing ideals. I don't know, but it certainly bumped me.
Hey, it's likely Thomas McCarthy didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. It was a good film, endearing. [And I will always be a fan of his Station Agent.] But I have to warn you: A moviegoer like myself, one who appreciates great story and flawed characters, becomes wary when a statement like "she's black. very very black" isn't addressed in a film about "colored" people and immigration where a white woman is noted as simply beautiful. Hey, there's no doubt it's a heavy task for a filmmaker to take on Arab and African immigrants as a subject, but it becomes dangerous, I would think, when one's delusional beauty standards are put into the mouths of immigrants.