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It’s no secret that Spike Lee is widely regarded as one of the most significant and influential filmmakers in the history of cinema, particularly in the context of African American cinematography. He’s well-known for tackling social, political, and racial issues in his work, and many of his movies, like 1989’s Do the Right Thing and 1992’s Malcolm X, have received critical acclaim. However, despite a successful and lucrative career in Hollywood, some of his movies have been underrated and misunderstood.
One of those misunderstood films is 2014’s Da Sweet Blood of Jesus, Spike Lee’s cinematic tribute to the pioneering actor, novelist, and playwright Bill Gunn. It’s well known that Lee is a student of film history and African American culture, and Da Sweet Blood of Jesus is actually a remake of 1973’s Ganja & Hess, a movie that Gunn wrote and directed nearly four decades earlier. Da Sweet Blood of Jesus is also Spike Lee’s first foray into the realm of horror, and his experimental approach to the narrative has polarized fans and critics alike.
Da Sweet Blood of Jesus follows Dr. Hess Green (Stephen Tyrone Williams), a wealthy African American art collector and anthropologist who acquires an ornate dagger originating in the ancient Ashanti Empire, whose people have become addicted to blood transfusion. After sharing a couple of drinks with his colleagues at his mansion on Martha’s Vineyard, Green ends up stabbed with the very same dagger he acquired and wakes to discover that he’s become a vampire suffering from an insatiable need for human blood. He later feeds on those same colleagues.
Soon after, the colleague’s ex-wife Ganja (Zaraah Abrahms) arrives at Hess’s house in search of her ex-husband, and Ganja and Hess quickly become lovers. Soon after, Hess turns Ganja into a vampire so that the two may share immortality.
However, after a while Green becomes tired of his vampiric life and decides to end it. Ganja, though saddened by his death, presumably continues her vampiric un-life. The narrative is basically the same as that of the 1973 original, but the subtleties are vastly different.
For example, the original Ganja & Hess had a psychedelic and dreamlike expansiveness, whereas Lee’s remake alternates between sleepy exchanges and unhinged, earthy wallows in gore and eroticism. The remake is sprinkled with the usual social, political, and racial themes Lee’s known for. Another example is the vampiric couple’s behavior towards others, which is often marked by intentional and inadvertent shows of classism and cruelty. Green goes out into the night and feeds on a prostitute, only to later discover that her blood is HIV-positive, while Ganja treats their house staff like dirt and even feeds on Green’s loyal domestic servant.
These added subtleties bring forth Lee’s usual symbolism, but much of the original narrative remains. The movie uses so much of the original dialogue that Lee actually credits Bill Gunn as a co-writer of Da Sweet Blood of Jesus. Critically, the movie received a mixed reception, with many praising Lee’s willingness to experiment with different genres and themes, while others finding the movie confusing and incoherent. Perhaps therein lies the explanation as to why Da Blood of Jesus remains one of Lee’s most misunderstood films.
A lot of that reception comes from genre and audience expectations. As stated at the beginning, Lee is known for his socially and politically charged movies, and Da Sweet Blood of Jesus most certainly doesn’t lack any of that charge. However, one must scratch a bit deeper to find all the hallmarks of a Spike Lee Joint. On the other hand, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus isn’t a typical vampire flick. In fact, neither Hess nor Ganja sprout fangs, nor do they sleep in separate or even co-joined coffins. They’re not actually afraid of or affected by sunlight.
The lack of these traditional horror elements, as well as the lack of suspense and jump scares, didn’t sit well with the horror-loving fans who might’ve expected more from a movie made by one of the greatest names in cinema. Instead, it focuses on thematic exploration and moral dilemmas, which ultimately leads to a mismatch for viewers expecting a more traditional horror experience. Finally, being a remake of the 1973 original, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus invited comparisons with its source material.
Both movies have basically the same narrative, and both Gunn and Lee have woven cultural and socio-political themes surrounding race and identity in symbolic and abstract ways. The critics, as well as the fans of the original movie, felt like Lee’s offering didn’t really capture the depth or the complexity of Ganja & Hess. Ultimately, the misunderstanding of Da Sweet Blood of Jesus seemingly stems from the fact that the movie is trying to be three things at once: a horror movie, a Bill Gunn tribute movie, and a Spike Lee Joint.
Instead, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus ended up being a mess, but a mess that can be attributed only to one of the greatest filmmakers in cinematography.
It’s no secret that Spike Lee is widely regarded as one of the most significant and influential filmmakers in the history of cinema, particularly in the context of African American cinematography. He’s well-known for tackling social, political, and racial issues in his work, and many of his movies, like 1989’s Do the Right Thing and 1992’s Malcolm X, have received critical acclaim. However, despite a successful and lucrative career in Hollywood, some of his movies have been underrated and misunderstood.
One of those misunderstood films is 2014’s Da Sweet Blood of Jesus, Spike Lee’s cinematic tribute to the pioneering actor, novelist, and playwright Bill Gunn. It’s well known that Lee is a student of film history and African American culture, and Da Sweet Blood of Jesus is actually a remake of 1973’s Ganja & Hess, a movie that Gunn wrote and directed nearly four decades earlier. Da Sweet Blood of Jesus is also Spike Lee’s first foray into the realm of horror, and his experimental approach to the narrative has polarized fans and critics alike.
Da Sweet Blood of Jesus follows Dr. Hess Green (Stephen Tyrone Williams), a wealthy African American art collector and anthropologist who acquires an ornate dagger originating in the ancient Ashanti Empire, whose people have become addicted to blood transfusion. After sharing a couple of drinks with his colleagues at his mansion on Martha’s Vineyard, Green ends up stabbed with the very same dagger he acquired and wakes to discover that he’s become a vampire suffering from an insatiable need for human blood. He later feeds on those same colleagues.
Soon after, the colleague’s ex-wife Ganja (Zaraah Abrahms) arrives at Hess’s house in search of her ex-husband, and Ganja and Hess quickly become lovers. Soon after, Hess turns Ganja into a vampire so that the two may share immortality.
However, after a while Green becomes tired of his vampiric life and decides to end it. Ganja, though saddened by his death, presumably continues her vampiric un-life. The narrative is basically the same as that of the 1973 original, but the subtleties are vastly different.
For example, the original Ganja & Hess had a psychedelic and dreamlike expansiveness, whereas Lee’s remake alternates between sleepy exchanges and unhinged, earthy wallows in gore and eroticism. The remake is sprinkled with the usual social, political, and racial themes Lee’s known for. Another example is the vampiric couple’s behavior towards others, which is often marked by intentional and inadvertent shows of classism and cruelty. Green goes out into the night and feeds on a prostitute, only to later discover that her blood is HIV-positive, while Ganja treats their house staff like dirt and even feeds on Green’s loyal domestic servant.
These added subtleties bring forth Lee’s usual symbolism, but much of the original narrative remains. The movie uses so much of the original dialogue that Lee actually credits Bill Gunn as a co-writer of Da Sweet Blood of Jesus. Critically, the movie received a mixed reception, with many praising Lee’s willingness to experiment with different genres and themes, while others finding the movie confusing and incoherent. Perhaps therein lies the explanation as to why Da Blood of Jesus remains one of Lee’s most misunderstood films.
A lot of that reception comes from genre and audience expectations. As stated at the beginning, Lee is known for his socially and politically charged movies, and Da Sweet Blood of Jesus most certainly doesn’t lack any of that charge. However, one must scratch a bit deeper to find all the hallmarks of a Spike Lee Joint. On the other hand, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus isn’t a typical vampire flick. In fact, neither Hess nor Ganja sprout fangs, nor do they sleep in separate or even co-joined coffins. They’re not actually afraid of or affected by sunlight.
The lack of these traditional horror elements, as well as the lack of suspense and jump scares, didn’t sit well with the horror-loving fans who might’ve expected more from a movie made by one of the greatest names in cinema. Instead, it focuses on thematic exploration and moral dilemmas, which ultimately leads to a mismatch for viewers expecting a more traditional horror experience. Finally, being a remake of the 1973 original, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus invited comparisons with its source material.
Both movies have basically the same narrative, and both Gunn and Lee have woven cultural and socio-political themes surrounding race and identity in symbolic and abstract ways. The critics, as well as the fans of the original movie, felt like Lee’s offering didn’t really capture the depth or the complexity of Ganja & Hess. Ultimately, the misunderstanding of Da Sweet Blood of Jesus seemingly stems from the fact that the movie is trying to be three things at once: a horror movie, a Bill Gunn tribute movie, and a Spike Lee Joint.
Instead, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus ended up being a mess, but a mess that can be attributed only to one of the greatest filmmakers in cinematography.
Speaking with a dear friend of mine recently, we both expressed our thoughts about getting older. We’ve known each other since we were kids, so our thoughts ran freely. My friend also talked about her feelings of having no partner or spouse, siblings, or children, and it dawned on her that there were no other family members to care for her once she became much older. She is one of the nearly one million Americans referred to as kinless, as well as part of the 62 percent of Black women unpartnered.
Nearly seven percent of American adults aged 55 and older have no living spouse or biological children, according to a study published in 2017 in The Journals of Gerontology. Researchers often use the term kinless, because spouses and children are the relatives most likely to serve as caregivers. Unfortunately, this overlooks the support systems single Black women build. It also perpetuates the gloom and doom narrative that single Black women are given. Why does there have to be a cost for being single?
As a Black woman, and many other Black women I know, I was raised to push past stereotypes and the status quo. There was always a focus on obtaining my education and taking care of myself. The nostalgia for a husband was not present for me growing up. I did get married, but it unfortunately ended. However, I have been in a committed relationship for quite some time, and blessed with two bonus children.
Although unmarried, I have a constant companion; someone that is here and will hopefully be here as I grow older. For my friend, rather than a constant companion, there’s a fleeting feeling like having long-term financial security; travelling more; owning a home — an absence that can be acknowledged without threatening day-to-day satisfaction. Unhappy about a life thus far unlived doesn’t displace the joy found in a life that is currently being lived. My life, or my friend’s life, might not look like the one a lot of our white counterparts have been taught from birth to strive for — a husband, a house and two kids — but it is a happy one.
Finding acceptance in singlehood almost feels like you have to give up on yourself, like you’re releasing agency over your love life, or somehow giving power to the unrelenting false narrative that Black women are undesirable. No matter how basically it’s presented, there’s nothing neutral about the statistics. It’s read as a problem Black women must fix, or worse, that Black women are a problem that must be fixed.
The pandemic only exacerbated some Black women’s uncertainty about the supposed connection between marriage and happiness. Yes, the pandemic was lonely for singles. It was hard and lonely for all of us, for that matter. Often, when discussing singleness, there is a focus on what is lacking from a life unpartnered. Rarely do we consider what must be substituted for a life lived with someone else.
I believe that Black women’s singlehood is often considered a threat. My reasoning is that if you’re able to create a full life on your own, then maybe other lives are possible. Maybe, just maybe, your world is opened up to see things you never knew possible. Black women are constantly told that being unpartnered is the worst thing that can happen to you. That narrative discounts the joy and achievement that we can bring to ourselves. That’s not to say that single Black women don’t want children or partnership. But we don’t have to settle in fear of being alone.
Our society assumes that everyone has at least some family, but it’s really not the case. Several demographic factors have fostered increased kinlessness. Baby boomers have lower marriage rates and higher divorce rates than their parents, and more have remained childless. The rise of gray divorce (divorces after age 50) also means fewer married seniors, and extended life spans can make for more years without surviving family.
Black women have always considered relationships and connections beyond biological. Our family extends to the best friend since grade school, or the college roommate that has been with us through thick and thin. However, these supportive networks do not receive legal benefits like the bonds of marriage and biological family. This is where I find myself — being in a relationship but not married. My bonus children are not my biological children. So, on paper, my siblings would need to step in to make decisions on my behalf.
In my state of California, a research and policy project called Master Plan for Aging is a framework for supporting California’s population of Black residents who are 60 years and older. The initiative stems from Governor Gavin Newsome’s executive order to develop a strategy to promote the health and well-being of older Californians. It also centers Black women addressing the unique concerns of what equity in aging needs to look like.
I am not yet 60 years old. But as I get older, I think more intently about what that will look like. I think about my friends who are closer to that age, and the thoughts and worries that are beginning to set in for them as well.
Achieving equity for Black women as they age requires policy changes to redefine standards around relationship status and worth. Everyone deserves the basics of human dignity. A Black woman’s value is not defined by marital or romantic relationship status, and our rights, benefits, and protections should not be linked to those statuses.
2024 got off to a good start, at least for stand-up comedian and actor Micah “Katt” Williams.
His recent interview on the former football tight end Shannon Sharpe’s podcast, Club Shay Shay, has sent shockwaves through the media and the comedy world. Williams spared no big names, or ammunition, and his revelations included candid anecdotes, as well as shocking and controversial statements regarding some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry, including Cedric the Entertainer, Steve Harvey, Rickey Smiley, rapper Ludacris, and Friday series creator, Ice Cube himself.
The statements about the latter were particularly interesting, as they related to Katt Williams’ role in Ice Cube’s Friday after Next movie. In the interview, Williams disclosed that the script contained a scene of sexual assault against his character, Money Mike. He added that he advocated for the scene’s removal, ultimately relying on all the credibility and all the pull he had in comedy to have the scene snipped to the cutting room floor. Reflecting on his impactful career in comedy, one might wonder: Does Katt Williams really have that much pull, and is he really among the best comedians of all time?
Before we answer that question, we have to point out that Ice Cube responded to Katt Williams’ statement regarding the scene. While he did express his respect for Williams and his contributions to Friday after Next — which started out small but quickly expanded once the filming started — Ice Cube characterized Katt’s claims regarding the alleged rape scene as “discrepancies” in how he and Katt Williams remember things.
That aside, let’s discuss Katt Williams’ place in the pantheon of great Black comedians.
It’s no secret that Katt Williams enjoys a long and fruitful career in comedy. At just 13 years old, in his re-telling, he left his family home and moved to Florida, where he supported himself with a series of odd jobs. At 19 years old, Williams began performing stand-up comedy in the Avondale neighborhood of Cincinnati, where he soon became recognized for the electric performances he’s still known for today. This early start in comedy allowed him to hone his comic delivery by performing his routines in clubs around the country. By 1999, he had become an established and well-known comedian.
However, his entry into the mainstream happened nearly a decade later, in 2008, following the release of 2007’s Katt Williams: American Hustle. The movie, co-written and starred by Williams, was an absolute success among critics and audiences alike. Paired with several successful comedy specials that Williams released around that time, the movie propelled his career into the limelight and landed him a place among some of the best comedians of our time.
Over time, Williams has released several successful comedy specials, including Katt Williams: Priceless: Afterlife (directed by the legendary Spike Lee) and his most recent release, titled World War III, on Netflix. It’s these works that reveal what exactly makes Katt Williams a great comedian. Priceless opened with two women dancing on each side of a cage with a lion inside, but when the cage opens, a different kind of Katt emerges (pun intended). In World War III, he races across the stage. All the shows in between display an incredible amount of showmanship.
And that’s precisely what makes Katt Williams so good: his understanding and adherence to the unwritten laws of comedy that state that comedy isn’t all about the jokes but is equal parts delivery. Katt Williams might be considered a comedian, but he’s a consummate performer above all. His delivery has a distinct rhythm complemented by his swagger and a high-pitched voice that can make anything funny. This, paired with his live-wire physicality and energetic performances, is what sets Katt apart. His act isn’t about carefully crafted and honed jokes; it’s about how he delivers the punchlines.
Another aspect that makes Williams great is his improvisational sense, the way he works off the audience’s response and the way in which he moves from something completely goofy to something very serious. That blend of high-signature delivery and overall energetic performance, paired with clever little insights into everyday life and culture, all comprise the maraschino cherry that sits atop the pimp red suit that crowns Katt as a recognizably raw and unfiltered comedic juggernaut.
But we’ve talked about William’s accolades and style long enough. While he is a comedic force to be reckoned with, does he really have a place on the Mt. Rushmore of comedians such as Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy, Dave Chappelle, and Chris Tucker? Well, it’s really challenging to put Katt Williams among the top five Black comedians of all time, especially when we consider the breadth and impact of people like Pryor or Martin Lawrence. And we’re not trying to diminish Williams’ talent or influence, but rather to acknowledge the extraordinary achievements of his peers, like Chappelle.
Also, we’d have to take into account all the metrics that would be considered for such rankings. Are we talking about the comedians from the current era, or are we also including those who have passed? Are we discussing comedians who are still touring or those who have their own comedy special, a movie, or a television show? There are plenty of things to consider here, and the lack of any concrete data surrounding these questions makes Katt Williams’ ranking among the top five of all time even more challenging than it already is.
Ultimately, when considering an artist’s impact, we must look at their influence and their ability to remain relevant over time. In this regard, Katt Williams has certainly made a significant impact, and his influence in comedy is undeniable, as he’s enjoying a career that spans more than three decades. So, while the answer to whether he’s one of the top five Black comedians might be subjective, his unquestionably profound influence on comedy remains an objective truth.