Django Unchained: How to DESTROY An Ideology – Wisecrack Edition

What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Quentin Tarantino's movies? Is Travolta making a legendary comeback with one of the most stylish wigs of all time? Or did BJ Novak quit his temp job at Dunder Mifflin to go hunt Nazis? Or is it simply an inspiring cacophony of Samuel L. Jackson shouting the "f" word? "English, you son of a bitch! Do you speak it?!" I bet whatever you imagined, it wasn't a comprehensive subversion of the logic of slavery. And that's why today we're talking about Django Unchained, a film that has all the typical Tarantino hallmarks we love while also giving us an incredibly intelligent, nuanced, and, dare we say, funny, critique of slavery.

Join us as we take down the fastest, flyingest weapon in the west in this

edition

of Wisecrack on Django Unchained: Subverting the Logic of Slavery. Alright guys, a quick summary is in order. Django Unchained follows a captured runaway slave, Django, who is rescued and taken under the wing of gentle German bounty hunter King Schultz. After teaching her his trade and making a lot of money in the process, Schultz accompanies Django on a mission to rescue his wife, Broomhilde, from one of the vilest villains in recent cinema: plantation owner Calvin. Candie. Now, one way to make an anti-slavery movie is to make revenge porn about a former slave burning down a plantation in the South.

So yeah, check it out. But behind the classic Tarantinoisms, Django offers three much more subtle comments on slavery. Part 1: You can't cover the ugly with civilization. Surprisingly, Django Unchained offers a purpose to language beyond a vehicle into which one crams as much "shit" as possible. "I don't want to hear any fucking excuses, Lewis! I'm not giving you fucking excuses, man, I'm telling you... I'm not fucking... I'm giving you a fucking reason!" This is because, from the perspective of white slavers like Big Daddy and Calvin Candie, white bodies represent culture and civilization, while black bodies are seen as uncivilized and unable to properly use language and appreciate culture. .

Enter Schultz. This eloquent German speaks English as a second language so well that he confuses the native slavers. "You need to have panache. You need to have what, what? Panache, huh. A sense of showmanship. Showmanship, yes." And, well, let's say it's not his accent: "So, I want to negotiate with you. You speak English." His mastery of English vocabulary confuses those around him several times: "Good man, I'm just trying to figure it out. He speaks English, damn it." Meanwhile, his rhetorical skills allow him to talk in circles about the fools of the American South, "but I'm willing to bet this guy was elected sheriff sometime in the last two years." Schultz disrupts the racist binary we just discussed by making these self-satisfied Southerners seem wildly uncivilized by comparison.

It is basically an emblem of the mythical European civilization upon which wealthy American men built their plantations. And he's the walking reminder that these self-proclaimed men of culture are, well, full of shit. The idea that slaves were incapable of speaking proper language dates back to Aristotle. For Aristotle, humans were differentiated from animals by “logos,” a Greek word that means both speech and reason. In contrast, my dog ​​Woody can only communicate through “phonos”: the barking and barking that can only communicate fear, disgust, and hunger, as well as other basic instincts. More importantly, Aristotle used this to justify slavery in Greece because, in his opinion, they were only capable of receiving and understanding the “logos”, but not possessing it.

In other words, the slaves were not able to speak correctly and the reason why they did so. And it is not surprising that this language-based justification of slavery and racism will never go away. Django takes this dichotomy and inverts it. Some of the cruelest slavers mutter so incoherently they make Post Malone sound articulate. He compares this to the clearly intelligible slaves: "They accompanied us from the Greenville auction and he rode in with a white man." At every opportunity, the film contrasts how Schultz treats slaves with how any other white person does. Unlike his peers, Schultz uses the honorific Fraulein when he speaks to Broomhilde, instead of the N-word.

Candie, however, he demands the French honorific "Monsieur" as a sign of respect. "And he prefers Mr. Candie to Mr. Candie. He doesn't speak French, don't speak French to him, it would embarrass him." While Schultz uses titles as a form of voluntary respect, Candie uses them as mandatory submission. Now we can see a similar dynamic with the way the film uses beer. Early in the film, Schultz buys, well, steals a beer from Django. And this seems to symbolize the transition from a free man and slave relationship to a couple of co-workers who catch a cold after a long day at work.

Later in the film we see Candie order a beer for one of his wrestlers after a victory, but this exchange doesn't have the same Cheers-style vibe. Instead, Candie is using beer as some kind of sick reward for an enslaved man forced to literally murder another man for the enjoyment of two slave owners. One beer represents shared humanity, while the other represents cold-blooded savagery. "You enjoy that boy." Now, at the same time, even the multilingual European cultural man is not so civilized. On one hand, he's a bounty hunter who literally kills people to get a job. "Just as the slave trade trades human lives for cash, a bounty hunter trades corpses." And even though he doesn't like owning people, he still buys Django out of his own interest and more or less forces him to help him. "On the one hand, I despise slavery.

On the other hand, I need your help, if you are not in a position to refuse, the better." Although unlike the others, he at least recognizes that this is not a moral act, but simply pragmatic. We see the contrast between Schultz and the faux-civilized white Southerners at their peak once we are introduced to Calvin Candie, I mean, Monsieur Candie, a title he demands even though he neither speaks nor understands French. Oh, and he's in love with his sister. Candie even tries to show his German to Schultz, but well, he doesn't quite make it. And although Schultz manages to play the part and let Candie look like an idiot, he reaches his boiling point when a woman starts playing Beethoven's harp.

After having a flashback about what he had seen before, Schultz can no longer stand truly savage people appropriating a beautiful product of his culture. "Could you stop playing Beethoven!" And while we're on the topic of some of Europe's most notable exports to the colonies, it's worth mentioning how the Christian Bible, the book that signified proper European religion, was used to justify slavery. We see this in action when Django is on his first bounty job at Big Daddy's plantation and encounters one of the Brittle brothers literally quoting the Bible as he prepares to whip a slave. "And the Lord said that the fear and dread that is in you will be upon all the animals of the earth." Not only this, he has a page of the Bible pinned to his shirt over his heart.

Which serves as a great target for Django to put the bullet through. It's as if Django's take points out the bloody hypocrisy of using Christianity to justify savagery. "I like the way you die boy." Maybe you couldn't recognize the verse Brittle is reciting, but it was Genesis 9 verse 2, when God gives humanity power over all beasts, birds, fish, etc. A perfect justification for slavery if you think slaves are less than human. . Part 2: Using the symbols of slavery to make slavery look stupid. While language and culture are the most obvious ways the film addresses slavery, we can also see how it uses everything from fashion to music to iconography to upend the logic of slavery even further. .

One way to understand what Tarantino is doing is to consider Joseph Cinque, leader of the Friendship Rebellion. Cinque led a revolt in which a group of illegally purchased slaves regained control of the Amistad from their Spanish captors. Cinque and his comrades became surprising folk heroes, even as they fought charges of mutiny and murder. Most importantly, Cinque was portrayed in the media with the style and fashion of a nobleman from the culture that enslaved him. In a newspaper, he was portrayed dressed as a buccaneer, adopting a gallant pose with the cane knife he used to murder his captors.

Historian Marcus Rediker describes this description and others as “egalitarian” and “subversive.” Meanwhile, abolitionists accused Spanish slavers of being savage pirates. We see something similar happen in the movie when Schultz gives Django a makeover and he comes out dressed as one of the Three Musketeers: "You mean you chose to dress like that?" But this isn't just the setup for a joke, Django's outfit is deliberately abrasive to anyone who would reserve that outfit for a white, civilized, cultural man. This, and Django's horseback riding, an activity historically associated with well-to-do people, provokes anger or surprise in everyone around him. "He is a god riding a horse." And of course, in one of the final scenes of the movie, Django rips off Steven's knees and leaves him in a Plantation-shaped powder keg on a horse while he wears Candie's clothes.

Django's aesthetic choices are somewhat similar to what theorist José Esteban Muñoz called “disidentification.” For Muñoz, disidentification is a strategy to act against a dominant

ideology

that does not simply attempt to escape from it or assimilate into it. Rather, you take the cultural logic of, say, slavery and

destroy

its symbols from within. Django doesn't don the garb of a Southern aristocrat to become one, but rather to abuse the very notion of a Southern gentleman. We see a similar logic in the work of artist Kehinde Wiley, who would paint the residents of Harlem in the style of classical European art.

Tarantino also plays with the soundtrack to emphasize how Django inverts the script in all kinds of cultural expectations and uses what might seem out of sync with a mid-19th century Western setting: rap music. But this choice makes a lot of sense when we consider that rap music has long been used by those in positions of racial and economic inequality to call people to, as Public Enemy so beautifully put it: “We have to fight against the powers that be! Fight the power!" This power often being the type of systemic white supremacy rooted in the history of American slavery.

Rap ​​music has often been used to fantasize about changing one's circumstances and seeking revenge for this injustice in the road. So it makes sense that the song Rick Ross and Jamie Foxx wrote for the movie, 100 Black Coffins, has lyrics like: “Our revenge is the sweetest, bitch because I'm coming / I'm going to die in my arms, so "What did you do for my mother?" So what seems like a strange juxtaposition of genre and soundtrack ends up being the perfect way to highlight Django's journey in search of power and revenge under oppressive conditions. Now, to move from rap to opera, and no, we're not talking about Hamilton, Schultz also uses music to give context to Django's journey to save his wife.

Using Richard Wagner's "Twilight of the Gods," the fourth and final opera in his "Ring of the Nibelung," Schultz interprets Django's attempt to rescue Broomhilda in a way that turns Django into the Siegfried of his own story. of revenge. "Also, when a German meets a real-life Siegfried, it is a very important thing. As a German, I am obliged to help you in your quest to rescue your beloved Broomhilda." Wagner's opera can also be read through the lens of his friend and then enemy, Friedrich Nietzsche, whose Twilight of the Idols is a nod to Wagner's Twilight of the Gods.

It is no exaggeration to say that Wagner's Siegfried can be read as a Nietzschean ubermensch, someone who responds to a nihilistic lack of values ​​by powerfully creating new ones. So if Django is the movie's Siegfried, he's also a kind of superman who responds to the nihilistic values ​​of slavery and white supremacy not with rational calls for reform and dialogue, but by burning the whole damn thing down metaphorically and literally. floor. Much like how the whole world burns to begin anew for Wagner, in Django Unchained the fiery destruction of Candyland can be seen as a metaphorical call for the destruction of the institution of slavery ingeneral.

It's also highly unlikely that the guy who made Inglourious Basterds isn't aware that Wagner's The Ring Cycle was basically the soundtrack to German nationalism. "You cannot understand National Socialism if you do not understand Wagner." So he is using a narrative once appropriated by Nazis to support white supremacy to tell a narrative of revenge against slavery that

destroy

s white supremacy. Nothing bad. And in a final act of symbolic subversion, Tarantino uses the Western to frame this slave revenge fantasy. And in case you haven't seen many Westerns, they usually consist of strong-jawed white guys like John Wayne killing villainous Native Americans while making brothel workers faint.

In Django Unchained, the white cowboy dudes are taken out by a freed slave, a theme largely ignored in the Western canon. Part 3: Acting on slavery. The last way we can consider how slavery is subverted in the film will make every theater kid's heart proud, as it is a consideration of the role of acting. And don't worry, we're not talking about how Leo should have won an Oscar. The type of performance we are talking about here is related to the agency of individuals. There is much academic debate on the question of agency in slavery. While some imagine that slaves were so completely stripped of their humanity that they completely lacked agency and autonomy, others explore the types of freedom that slaves could exercise.

There are tons of historical examples of small or large actions that slaves took in the name of resistance. Work delays, arson, direct murders, etc. But of course, the retaliation for these acts of rebellion was so horrible that many would have been justifiably deterred from these acts of freedom. In Django Unchained, performance is the primary means by which Django has agency. We see this as Schultz prepares Django for his mission to trick Candie and save Broomhilde. "You will play a character." And of course Django even has a costume for this character, as we mentioned above. We see Django's agency expressed through the decisions he makes while he plays this role.

He is in a position to berate other slaves, lash out at Candie's crew, and even sit approvingly while the dogs tear apart a runaway slave. And it's important to note here that Django's decisions are neither good nor bad, but rather the decisions he can make within the scope of the limited agency given to him. He does not choose to treat Candie's slaves poorly out of hatred, but out of the need for his own survival. This range of performance comes in handy later, when Django has to outwit a gang of Australians to regain his freedom and complete his mission.

He plays a role and even uses props. "I have the pamphlet here in my pocket, if you'll let me take it. Take it out." to deliver a performance so convincing that the Australians literally hand him a gun. But perhaps the most striking example of agency through performance is Candie's slave boss, Stephen. Now Stephen really hates Django a lot, like, "Is he going to stay in the big house?" And this is probably hatred born of envy, since while Stephen has worked his ass off to become as powerful as possible within the slavery system, Django has gained freedom by breaking out of that system entirely.

But one thing they do have in common is the shared use of the dramatic arts for personal benefit. Stephen has managed to get out of the hard work of the fields and into the relative comfort of Candie's house, and has even reached the point where he can react and disagree with his teacher. "Take her out, why?" And like a new boyfriend trying too hard to impress his partner's parents on vacation, Stephen laughs too much at Candie's stupid jokes. "Well, damn, I can't imagine two weeks in Boston. Two weeks in Boston!" But unlike an insecure boyfriend, Stephen knows exactly what he's doing, as he uses this performed laugh to gain trust and influence.

And this influence is fully manifested when it is Stephen, not Candie, who realizes that Schultz and Django have been playing them all along. "They're not here for muscle-bound Jimmy. They're here for that girl." Stephen is also a student of non-verbal acting and performs a fake limp, requiring a fake cane, to make him appear physically weak. This disarms any suspicion anyone might have about Stephen being skilled or powerful. While Stephen is definitely a villain of sorts, as even Django treats him with the same fate as white slavers, it's important to see this villainy in a broader context.

Is Stephen a bad guy who served the interests of his white master above those of his fellow slaves? Absolutely. But did he have any other way to obtain some kind of freedom under conditions of slavery? Probably not. And as far as we know, Stephen never had the luxury of a fake German dentist showing up to free him and teach him how to shoot his way to freedom. Stephen is simply trying to manifest his own power by playing the cards he was dealt, and those cards really suck. There you have it. A film that could have been dismissed as Tarantino's irreverent attempt at a Western about slavery is, in fact, one of the sharpest critiques of slavery and white supremacy in recent cinema.

And most importantly, it answers the biggest question: What would it be like to see a young Jonah Hill play a member of a pre-KKK hate group with poorly cut sheets on his head while he rides a horse?