Django Unchained: Roots & Routes

Half a dozen black men in shackles, with festering welts on their backs, shuffling across a barren landscape, herded by two white men on horseback with guns.

A note that says we’re “somewhere in Texas,” and opening credits in tacky, red font.

Roberto Fia’s voice crooning the twangy, but Italian, theme song from the original 60’s version of Django.

The scene changes to a dark, cold night.

When the music stops, there’s nothing but the loud pulse of clinking chains.

From beginning to end, the moving images convey movement, transport, travel, journey, evolution, escape, venturing off into expansive, unknown landscapes and into unknown futures.

Sometimes the movement is solemn, ugly, and industrial. Shackled feet trudging through thick mud. A human conveyor belt with no visible beginning or end.

Then there’s the stoic odyssey through snow, across deserts, and eventually into the deep south.

Django Unchained is steeped in the symbolism of roots & routes.

Western Genre

This film was inspired by the classic, American film genre of the western, which features the classic American hero of the cowboy.

The title of Django Unchained and the plot to rescue a stolen love, are remixes of the original 1966 western, Django, by Sergio Corbucci, which has had a few sequels over the years.

The actor who played Django in 1966, Franco Nero, actually makes a significant cameo in Django Unchained in that infamous scene when Django spells his name and explains, “The D is silent.” Nero’s character simply replies, “I know.”

That scene is merely one display, I believe, of the fact that this was not just a whim for Tarantino. He grew up watching westerns the way I grew up reading Nikki Giovanni and Langston Hughes. It’s quite possible that watching those movies as a boy inspired Tarantino to make films in the first place.

Like any inspired artist, he’s not just remixing the old; he’s paying homage to the artists and the work that preceded him and keeping it alive for younger generations to appreciate.

The nod to westerns of old is the roots of this film. The remix is the routes.

Tarantino essentially says, here’s what my predecessors have done, and here’s how I can build on that, moving forward with a vision that’s all my own.

I love the intentional allusion to history in any type of work, and the will to perpetuate the evolution for a contemporary context.

Here’s how Tarantino explains the roots & routes (my term) of his own film:

Technically it’s a southern, done in the style of the western. The way we think of westerns, the characters go on a western odyssey. We start with our characters in Texas, to give everybody a sense of the familiar. And then we start moving toward where the cotton is. 

Southern Setting

Imagine pure, bright, white cotton . . .

Growing in tailored rows in a large field.

Can you see it?

The soft, billowy, fluff of a flower.

Now see it gushed with red drops of blood.

That’s one of my favorite images from Django Unchained.

And the ubiquitous presence of roads. Seems like every other scene features Django riding horseback through the streets of a town or down long stretches of country roads

Roads clearly symbolize roots & routes. They’re solely meant to facilitate transportation. On roads, we leave one place and travel to another.

With that physical movement, we occasionally experience a spiritual movement― a new start, a sense of freedom, or return for a reckoning, all aptly applied to Django Unchained.

I also feel particularly connected to this film because it was shot on an actual plantation in Louisiana. No Hollywood, replica set here.

Regardless of where they live now, many people who watch Django Unchained have Southern roots. Their ancestors routed to other regions of the American countryside, possibly experiencing their own type of real life western.

And of course, all Americans, not just southerners, share deep roots in American slavery.

Context of Slavery

How do you go all the way back to allow the ghosts of slaves or ancestors to speak through you? Jamie Foxx

Slavery sparks much debate about Django Unchained, controversy that enticed me to see it even more!

The roots & routes of slavery are parallel tracks in this film.

We get the typical slave narrative woven throughout: lowered eyes, quivering voices, the crack of whips, black mistresses, hungry hounds, lavish power and wealth, phrenology, and the overall social order of the day.

Simultaneously on the screen with those images is a former slave who looks white men in the eyes, talks assertively to them, turns the whip on them, and calls them BOY.

The route from slavery is that a time will has come when a black man doesn’t have to sit by, powerless and unable to protect his black wife while she’s captured, sold, beaten, and raped.

This is bigger than an escape route. The black man doesn’t just escape from this group of slave owners; he defeats them.

Like Django, the audience must journey into the South and into the past to confront evil and reclaim what’s ours, which I think is ultimately pride.

I say pride, because of the evolution of one, minor character, depicted solely by his facial expressions. (I’ll let you watch the film to catch that cue.)

There’s so much more to say, but my self-imposed word count has dwindled, and despite the fact that it’s become one of my new favorites, I’m simply not inclined to write more than one post on this movie.

My first attempt at writing about it approached the length of a graduate thesis. Here’s what my subheadings were for the original post:

  • audience
  • cast & crew
  • colorism
  • directors
  • genre
  • the German
  • humor
  • location
  • love
    • male & female
    • self-love
  • masculinity
  • the *N* word
  • slavery
  • soundtrack
  • violence
    • against blacks
    • against whites
  • women

Seeing as how I didn’t want to spend all of 2013 writing about this one film, I scrapped that draft and tried two more times. Even though I saw so much in the film, I had to choose the path that beckoned me the most.

I’m sure you have thoughts. Share them in the comments.

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Roots & Routes: New Orleans and the Road Home

On my way to yet another teacher’s event I had the undeniable feeling of being at home. Something about Interstate 10 does that for me. This time it was the stretch between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. The morning I left Baton Rouge, traffic flowed smoothly, lush green trees cooled the road while the sun burned gold across the sky, the waters of Lake Pontchartrain shimmered to infinity, and cypress trunks jutted to the sky. On the return trip the sky was steel gray, curtains of rain obscured the road, and lightning cracked the landscape in my rear-view mirror. That’s Louisiana.

You see, I spent the first six or so years of my conscious existence in Kenner, Louisiana, the gateway to New Orleans if you travel by plane. Our hotel was in Metairie on Veteran’s Blvd just two minutes from William’s Blvd in Kenner. My elementary school was merely a few blocks away in the Westgate subdivision. Talk about back down Memory Lane.

I felt proud of New Orleans and proud that it is still part of me, especially driving into the city and seeing the reconstruction of the Ninth Ward, and driving on streets as familiar as St. Bernard, Rampart, and Canal. I kept imagining what it would feel like to live there again, this time as an adult. What would it be like to eat at Corky’s, Tiffin Inn, or Sandro’s whenever I felt like it?

To play the jukebox at The Other Place every Wednesday afternoon? To meet tons of baby girls named Drew Bree? To see that Nigerian valet parker again?

We all have those certain cities or towns that make us smile from the inside out, that make us stand in the crux of a moment like déjà vu.

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A singular definition of home eludes us as humans. lists over thirty, and I’m sure that only cracks the dam. There could be as many working definitions of home as there are thinking/feeling organisms on the planet.

What I’ve said here suggests that good, early childhood memories help me feel at home. The idea that absence makes the heart grow fonder may also contribute to my warm feelings about Louisiana, since I hadn’t lived here in seven years. A book I started reading while in California titled House as a Mirror for the Self: Exploring the Deeper Meaning of Home by Clare Marcus says:

“If the stages of our life and psychological development are best described as a journey, this state of reconnection with the soul is best described by the metaphor coming home. People who have spoken or written about this transformative process have often likened it to … returning from exile, returning to a place they once knew, or coming back to their true home.”

Perhaps for me it’s more than a metaphor. Perhaps for me the physical road home is also the avenue through which I reconnect with my soul.

“They” say we lose the connection with our soul or begin to lose it at birth. I suppose it’s our first experience of leaving home. At birth we experience our first trauma of being thrust into an alien place, so unexpectedly, with no way of understanding what’s happening. I guess we eventually get over it. Or do we?

Sarah L. Webb

What’s in your hand?


Roots & Routes: Lafayette, Louisiana

What better place to launch an online discussion of roots & routes, than Lafayette, Louisiana???

I was in Lafayette for the past three nights and two days attending a conference sponsored by the LDOE at the Cajun Dome. Why is this significant? Well, I’ll get to the content of the conference in a later post, but for the first time my route to professional development literally took me on the familiar route to my mother’s hometown, part of my roots.

This curiosity about the relationship between where we come from and where we’re headed began when I moved to the Bay Area of California to get my masters at CCA. Able to observe Louisiana and the South from that distance, I had a different scope and saw more of the whole picture. Being so far from such a foundational piece of my identity, I fixated on place, space, connection, threshold, and path both physically and existentially. Courses on relevant topics like Sites and African Diaspora (and here) only fueled the fire, especially readings by Brent Hayes Edwards on the concept of articulation. But this is the brainy twin talking.

For the past couple of days, I just enjoyed sitting in the shade of the porch, having small talk with neighbors, and waving to the folks going by on foot, bike, or car. I liked fixing a plate of salt and spice, a good old rice and gravy dish. Humid nights with mosquito bites. The metallic music of Clifton Chenier, Beau JacqueBuckwheat, and Chris Ardoin. The brown suede of fallen magnolia petals. The aged humor of aunts and the soft cheeks of little cousins.

Still, there were what I call intellectual smiles whenever I’d see French street signs like route de Evangeline.  A route with French roots. In deed, South Louisiana is a place where the culture embodies roots and routes in every syllable. Shall I say, Louisiana articulates roots and routes and gives them a flavorful diction? I shall say that, but more like this: “Aw cher! May dat’s your people, yeah guh.”

What are your roots? What are your routes? What’s in your hand?

Sarah L. Webb