“No black man has accomplished what the American mafia hasn’t in a 100 years!”
The white guy who yells this in the movie’s preview was the reason I went to see American Gangster - to learn about the black man who sold more drugs, killed more efficiently and controlled the streets of New York City better than the Italian Mafia. But why? Later I would realize that the previews sold me and I am sure countless other future viewers with the promise of learning about a glorified black drug dealer. Walking into the theater, I was excited to watch a film about one of Harlem’s sons, a black entrepreneur who lived the American Dream, rather than a film about its most notorious dope supplier. Although the film did not glorify Frank Lucas the way I had assumed it would, what drove me to pay the $11.25 for the ticket is troublesome: an urge to see a glorified black American drug dealer beat “the system”, even if it meant pumping his own community with drugs that would soon destroy it. The unsettling part is that I know I am not alone. I can imagine young inner city kids walking out of the theater idolizing Frank Lucas, crowning him “real” and maybe even wondering what it’s like to be like him. Now this does not mean that I would rather the film not have been made. I would love to see similar movies about famous black criminals and crime bosses the same way moviegoers adore the Godfather Trilogy, Casino, Goodfellas and other Italian Mafia movies. My problem is that it took far too much introspection for me to see Frank Lucas for who he really was: a ruthless killer and avaricious heroin dealer who desecrated the bodies of American soldiers killed in Vietnam by having doped shipped back in the caskets of sometimes dead men. Instead, my initial perception of him was not the drug dealer, but the black entrepreneur. Not the killer, but the upholder of justice in his community. Not a virus to America, but its living dream. He was a “real” black man simply because he beat “the system” and accomplished more than the white man, even if it compromised the health and safety of his own people. Thinking back on my initial thoughts and feelings, I learned something: that I am still somewhat brainwashed with the belief that black people will always be victims and therefore should not be held to the same moral standard as others…...this is a grave misperception.
The white guy who yells this in the movie’s preview was the reason I went to see American Gangster - to learn about the black man who sold more drugs, killed more efficiently and controlled the streets of New York City better than the Italian Mafia. But why? Later I would realize that the previews sold me and I am sure countless other future viewers with the promise of learning about a glorified black drug dealer. Walking into the theater, I was excited to watch a film about one of Harlem’s sons, a black entrepreneur who lived the American Dream, rather than a film about its most notorious dope supplier. Although the film did not glorify Frank Lucas the way I had assumed it would, what drove me to pay the $11.25 for the ticket is troublesome: an urge to see a glorified black American drug dealer beat “the system”, even if it meant pumping his own community with drugs that would soon destroy it. The unsettling part is that I know I am not alone. I can imagine young inner city kids walking out of the theater idolizing Frank Lucas, crowning him “real” and maybe even wondering what it’s like to be like him. Now this does not mean that I would rather the film not have been made. I would love to see similar movies about famous black criminals and crime bosses the same way moviegoers adore the Godfather Trilogy, Casino, Goodfellas and other Italian Mafia movies. My problem is that it took far too much introspection for me to see Frank Lucas for who he really was: a ruthless killer and avaricious heroin dealer who desecrated the bodies of American soldiers killed in Vietnam by having doped shipped back in the caskets of sometimes dead men. Instead, my initial perception of him was not the drug dealer, but the black entrepreneur. Not the killer, but the upholder of justice in his community. Not a virus to America, but its living dream. He was a “real” black man simply because he beat “the system” and accomplished more than the white man, even if it compromised the health and safety of his own people. Thinking back on my initial thoughts and feelings, I learned something: that I am still somewhat brainwashed with the belief that black people will always be victims and therefore should not be held to the same moral standard as others…...this is a grave misperception.