The 2010s were a renaissance for white savior movies.
Unlike the overt physical ‘saving’ of Black characters that defined many films in the 1990s (e.g., Dangerous Minds and A Time to Kill), and the more performative and paternalistic allyship that characterized films in the 2000s (e.g., The Help and The Blind Side), the films of the 2010s took a more interesting approach to exerting authority over Black people. Instead of physical control, filmmakers signaled to their white audiences that it was their prerogative to claim and shape the art forms, histories and cultures of marginalized people. This specific brand of appropriation is one I call the ‘art of culture vulturing.’
La La Land wasn’t the creator of this phenomenon — Whiplash beat them to it, unfortunately — but it arguably portrays it in the most egregious way possible. Whiplash has the decency to ignore the issue by barring Black characters from the film entirely, refusing to even include Black people in the universe at all. However, La La Land does acknowledge the existence of Black artists in the world of jazz, choosing to regulate them to the background instead.
For example, in the famous jazz club scene after Sebastian Wilder (Ryan Gosling) and Mia Dolan (Emma Stone) first meet, Sebastian is spotlighted, as the Black trumpeters and saxophonists are obscured by the shadows of the dimly lit bar. The same is done with the other Black patrons and dancers. As Mia experiences jazz for the first time, we see a crowd of entirely Black dancers around her, in awe as she fumbles through what the film frames as an endearing and slightly clumsy performance.
Through this, Damian Chazelle disrespectfully uses Black identity as a contrast for his white characters. Jazz is filtered through Mia’s discovery and mediated by Sebastian, ultimately equating the genre's value with the enjoyment of white listeners.
Beyond the turbulent romance of Sebastian and Mia, the film's main conflict is Sebastian’s internal struggle to stay loyal to the traditionalist vision of jazz while being forced to ‘sell out’ to a more modern, commercial sound. The film positions this as a regular artist's dilemma: the choice between authenticity and success. However, this conflict is far more insidious. Instead, Sebastian fights for authority over a genre that is virtually impossible for him to be authentic in. His resistance to Keith’s (John Legend) reinterpretation of the genre positions the only Black character with a speaking role as the primary threat to the music of his own culture.
I know what you might be thinking, “Music genres can’t belong to a group of people,” and I almost completely agree.
Due to the non-homogeneous nature of the United States, music has been shared and diffused so much that its ties to specific people or cultures are often obscured. An excellent example of this is rock music. Although its origins were centered around Black musical traditions like the blues, it is now more widely associated with Americana and white artists. La La Land ties jazz’s worth to its ability to stay completely unchanged. However, jazz is one of the most evolved and continuously evolving genres of music, primarily because its past, present and future are intertwined with the evolution of Black culture. Jazz is also one of the only genres that has remained dominated by Black artists, not just in origin, but in progression. Louis Armstrong changed the fundamental way jazz was performed by performing solo and incorporating improvisation into his pieces. Now, present-day artists like Kamasi Washington infuse traditional jazz sounds with other historically Black genres like hip-hop and soul.
Essentially, jazz requires the reinvention that Keith was attempting to give it, as its ability to stay relevant to current Black audiences is what cements its importance. Actually, even if the genre deserved to stay in its most traditional form, a white man would be unable to have enough cultural knowledge regarding the history of the genre to determine that. This is because the essence of jazz, and the ability to even produce the music, is often attributed to the possession of “soul.” Soul is the very mechanism that allows Black artists to create their art in the way they do. It is the culmination of years of generational trauma and resilience, coupled with the awareness of being Black and the labels that come with it.
Chazelle fundamentally doesn’t understand that merely including Black people in his films without highlighting their contributions to the music genre he is depicting is not representation, but a unique brand of appropriation.
Tami Omole is a member of the Class of 2029 in the Brooks School of Public Policy. She is a contributor for the Arts & Culture department and can be reached at ofo3@cornell.edu.
