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Seven women living in the ghetto and struggling to survive, that’s the basic thrust of this four-part mini-series. It details the tribulations thrust upon them by a patriarchal society – racism, sexism, homophobia, poverty and the wrongs done to them by various men, in simpler terms. Of course it comes courtesy of Oprah Winfrey and Harpo Studios seeing as how it testifies to the strength of the spirit to overcome, feminine identity and many of the other issues that she used her talk show to elevate to a national discussion.
Those are observations, not criticisms. While the show could have done more and gone further into presenting more favorable and sympathetic portrayals of black male characters, the female side of the equation are given a full range of personas to tackle. It’s a heavily flawed work, but for the way it highlights a group of working class black women, it has its merits.
Oprah Winfrey plays the main character, and I was reminded of how good of an actress she can be. She must age from teenager to old woman throughout the run of the show, and she does exceptionally well. She does look a little too old in the earliest scenes, but she plays the hurt and internal suffering in remarkably minimalist ways as her character ages. By the time her son has abandoned her, and she has become the matriarch of Brewster Place, her nurturing and caring nature becomes an obvious symbolic means of correcting perceived wrongs that she did with her son. Winfrey’s performance needed to anchor the film, and despite its faults, her leading turn is not one of them.
It’s a pity that so many of the other characters don’t get the same fully-realized treatment that she does. Phyllis Yvonne Stickney and Robin Givens are eternally regulated to the supporting faction despite having characters and stories that are meatier than some of the leads. Givens in particular is given a strong scene with Cicely Tyson as her mother in which Tyson lays bare the verbal and emotional hurts her daughter has given her by rejecting her Christian name and slumming. When Tyson details the origins of her name, her daughter’s accusations of perceived “blackness” and authenticity, it’s a standout, monumental moment. We never see or hear from Tyson again in the series, even though she gets second billing.
And Stickney’s young mother of seven may look like a gross stereotype on the surface, and perhaps that argument holds some valid criticism, but she’s allowed to briefly dig deeper in a few scenes where she discloses that she has so many children because she thinks of them as eternally loving and caring playthings, interactive dolls that she can dress up and take care of. Once they reach a certain age, she doesn’t stop loving them, but she can’t connect with them anymore. It is fertile ground for a dramatist to take on, but the series doesn’t do enough with it.
The same thing could be said of the lesbian couple that appears late in the film and don’t get much screen presence until the final episode. A nosy, rude neighbor that squawks about their lesbianism is a crude caricature and their main entrance into the story. The insistence on focusing on the gossipy neighbor’s gut-level disturbance to the happy couple is a solipsistic way to handle homophobia. But this being 1989, any depiction of reactionary emotions to homosexuality was progress, I guess. And, at least, the gorgon-lady is called out for mistaking herself and her own beliefs for everyone else.
These problems can probably be translated back to the source novel, which I haven’t read. As a series about a group of women overcoming personal obstacles and (re)learning to survive, it is quite satisfying. Yet it never reaches the level of greatness that it could. Too many characters fade into the background or are side-lined for much of the action before 11th hour prominence. And there’s not one redeemable or sympathetic male character in the whole thing. Yet as a showcase for an ensemble of talented, underutilized black actresses it’s a minor miracle.
