get these nets
Veteran
Netflix’s ‘Self Made’ suffers from self-inflicted wounds
The series about hair care mogul Madam C.J. Walker opted for made-up melodrama rather than the dramatic truth
By A’Lelia Bundles May 12, 2020
Finally, after decades of writing about my great-great-grandmother, Madam C.J. Walker, I was about to see her story come alive on Netflix. And what timing! America was ending the first full week of COVID-19 lockdown in March. What could be a better distraction than Self Made, the limited series starring Oscar winner Octavia Spencer? Having LeBron James’ Springhill Entertainment with executive producer credit added cachet. By that Monday, enough people had binge-watched all four episodes that Self Made was Netflix’s No. 1 show.
Friends who’d read my books and heard my speeches about Walker were excited for me. Aspiring entrepreneurs — stuck at home and worried about being laid off — were so pumped that they vowed to reactivate their side hustles. My Instagram account overflowed with messages in Portuguese from Brazilian fans.
They were as mesmerized as I had been when the camera zoomed in on Spencer kneeling over a washtub and scrubbing laundry. “Seems like I was born to struggle,” she sighed. Just as I’d hoped, Spencer captured the spirit of Sarah Breedlove, the poor laundress who was to become Madam Walker, the philanthropic millionaire and founder of an international hair care empire. She’d given flesh and feeling to the paragraphs I’d written 20 years earlier for On Her Own Ground: The Life and Times of Madam C.J. Walker.
Among other things, I loved the wigs and the visual evolution of Breedlove’s hairstyles from tattered and patchy to healthy and full, especially because I’d seen so many wack Afros and raggedy weaves in other movies. I smiled when the screen filled with prosperous, beautifully dressed African Americans in fancy mansions and at business conventions, because so few people had any idea that wealthy black people even existed during the early 1900s.
During my one day on set in Toronto last September, I’d seen DeMane Davis direct Spencer in two emotionally exacting scenes. Kevin Carroll brought dignity and depth to the role of Freeman B. Ransom, attorney and general manager for the Madam C.J. Walker Manufacturing Company. I knew many women shared my delight that Blair Underwood played Spencer’s love interest, Charles Joseph Walker. Just as important, I’d appreciated it when he reached out to me by phone a few weeks earlier for extra insight into C.J. Walker.
At a private screening in Los Angeles in January, I was reminded of how hard the actors and production staff had worked. I knew it was rare to have all black women as showrunners, directors, director of cinematography, production manager and head writer. I understood that it was a minor miracle when any project made it from book to script to screen, and all the more so when the main character and most of the cast are black.
As the March premiere date approached, the coronavirus pandemic loomed. The much-anticipated screenings at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington and at the Egyptian Theatre in Los Angeles were canceled. On March 12, a few hours after Spencer, Underwood and I had wrapped up interviews with Entertainment Tonight, The Root, BlackFilm.com and O, The Oprah Magazine, plus a dozen other media outlets, Broadway went dark. We’d squeaked in our promotion day marathon with minutes to spare.
After 30 years as a network television news producer, I understood the importance of those interviews and of doing my part to help launch the series in the most favorable way. I was sincere and intentional in my desire to honor the efforts of the cast and crew who’d been so devoted to lifting up Walker’s legacy.
But as I responded to the reporters’ questions, I also was having moments of cognitive dissonance. I knew they wanted to know what I thought. Did I love it? Was I excited?
As I measured my words, I thought about the Madam Walker fans I’d come to know during five decades of researching and writing about her. The junior high school students who’d created award-winning National History Day projects. The cosmetologists who’d collected thousands of signatures for our successful Walker postage stamp campaign in 1998. The scholars whose doctoral dissertations had become books. I knew they were expecting an authentic and inspirational story. Although it was a fictional Hollywood dramatization and not a documentary, I knew they expected some fidelity to the broad strokes of history. And I knew that was not what they were going to get.
I also knew that my discomfort, if I voiced it at that moment, might have turned into a headline that harmed the premiere. The wiser course of action, it seemed to me, was to let viewers draw their own conclusions before I offered my public critique.
All the while, I was bracing myself.
For more than three years, I’d been part of a complex and frustrating dance as my nonfiction, fact-based material was translated from book to movie by scriptwriters whose visions, goals and sensibilities often were quite different from mine.
That first weekend, as heart and flame emojis cascaded across Instagram, I was glad that Walker’s story was greeted with such enthusiasm. The amazing woman who’d been relegated to footnote status in American history books — when she was even mentioned — was being introduced to millions of people around the world.
From left to right: Blair Underwood, Octavia Spencer and Kevin Carroll share a scene in Self Made.
But by midweek, there were rumblings on Black Twitter and rants on black YouTube that drew tens of thousands of likes. Seasoned entertainment critics were weighing in. Why, many of them asked, had the script strayed so far from the truth and turned Walker’s story into a telenovela?
“I was one of many viewers both entertained by Netflix’s highly fictionalized portrayal of Walker and disappointed by the distortion of crucial facts in her life and rise,” wrote Maiysha Kai, managing editor for The Root’s The Glow Up. “The series’ creators really should have stuck to Walker’s real-life story,” Tambay Obenson wrote on IndieWire.com. In The New York Times, Mike Hale wrote, “The plot lines have been … entirely cooked up, for the sake of juicing the drama
The series about hair care mogul Madam C.J. Walker opted for made-up melodrama rather than the dramatic truth
By A’Lelia Bundles May 12, 2020
Finally, after decades of writing about my great-great-grandmother, Madam C.J. Walker, I was about to see her story come alive on Netflix. And what timing! America was ending the first full week of COVID-19 lockdown in March. What could be a better distraction than Self Made, the limited series starring Oscar winner Octavia Spencer? Having LeBron James’ Springhill Entertainment with executive producer credit added cachet. By that Monday, enough people had binge-watched all four episodes that Self Made was Netflix’s No. 1 show.
Friends who’d read my books and heard my speeches about Walker were excited for me. Aspiring entrepreneurs — stuck at home and worried about being laid off — were so pumped that they vowed to reactivate their side hustles. My Instagram account overflowed with messages in Portuguese from Brazilian fans.
They were as mesmerized as I had been when the camera zoomed in on Spencer kneeling over a washtub and scrubbing laundry. “Seems like I was born to struggle,” she sighed. Just as I’d hoped, Spencer captured the spirit of Sarah Breedlove, the poor laundress who was to become Madam Walker, the philanthropic millionaire and founder of an international hair care empire. She’d given flesh and feeling to the paragraphs I’d written 20 years earlier for On Her Own Ground: The Life and Times of Madam C.J. Walker.
Among other things, I loved the wigs and the visual evolution of Breedlove’s hairstyles from tattered and patchy to healthy and full, especially because I’d seen so many wack Afros and raggedy weaves in other movies. I smiled when the screen filled with prosperous, beautifully dressed African Americans in fancy mansions and at business conventions, because so few people had any idea that wealthy black people even existed during the early 1900s.
During my one day on set in Toronto last September, I’d seen DeMane Davis direct Spencer in two emotionally exacting scenes. Kevin Carroll brought dignity and depth to the role of Freeman B. Ransom, attorney and general manager for the Madam C.J. Walker Manufacturing Company. I knew many women shared my delight that Blair Underwood played Spencer’s love interest, Charles Joseph Walker. Just as important, I’d appreciated it when he reached out to me by phone a few weeks earlier for extra insight into C.J. Walker.
At a private screening in Los Angeles in January, I was reminded of how hard the actors and production staff had worked. I knew it was rare to have all black women as showrunners, directors, director of cinematography, production manager and head writer. I understood that it was a minor miracle when any project made it from book to script to screen, and all the more so when the main character and most of the cast are black.
As the March premiere date approached, the coronavirus pandemic loomed. The much-anticipated screenings at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington and at the Egyptian Theatre in Los Angeles were canceled. On March 12, a few hours after Spencer, Underwood and I had wrapped up interviews with Entertainment Tonight, The Root, BlackFilm.com and O, The Oprah Magazine, plus a dozen other media outlets, Broadway went dark. We’d squeaked in our promotion day marathon with minutes to spare.
After 30 years as a network television news producer, I understood the importance of those interviews and of doing my part to help launch the series in the most favorable way. I was sincere and intentional in my desire to honor the efforts of the cast and crew who’d been so devoted to lifting up Walker’s legacy.
But as I responded to the reporters’ questions, I also was having moments of cognitive dissonance. I knew they wanted to know what I thought. Did I love it? Was I excited?
As I measured my words, I thought about the Madam Walker fans I’d come to know during five decades of researching and writing about her. The junior high school students who’d created award-winning National History Day projects. The cosmetologists who’d collected thousands of signatures for our successful Walker postage stamp campaign in 1998. The scholars whose doctoral dissertations had become books. I knew they were expecting an authentic and inspirational story. Although it was a fictional Hollywood dramatization and not a documentary, I knew they expected some fidelity to the broad strokes of history. And I knew that was not what they were going to get.
I also knew that my discomfort, if I voiced it at that moment, might have turned into a headline that harmed the premiere. The wiser course of action, it seemed to me, was to let viewers draw their own conclusions before I offered my public critique.
All the while, I was bracing myself.
For more than three years, I’d been part of a complex and frustrating dance as my nonfiction, fact-based material was translated from book to movie by scriptwriters whose visions, goals and sensibilities often were quite different from mine.
That first weekend, as heart and flame emojis cascaded across Instagram, I was glad that Walker’s story was greeted with such enthusiasm. The amazing woman who’d been relegated to footnote status in American history books — when she was even mentioned — was being introduced to millions of people around the world.
From left to right: Blair Underwood, Octavia Spencer and Kevin Carroll share a scene in Self Made.
But by midweek, there were rumblings on Black Twitter and rants on black YouTube that drew tens of thousands of likes. Seasoned entertainment critics were weighing in. Why, many of them asked, had the script strayed so far from the truth and turned Walker’s story into a telenovela?
“I was one of many viewers both entertained by Netflix’s highly fictionalized portrayal of Walker and disappointed by the distortion of crucial facts in her life and rise,” wrote Maiysha Kai, managing editor for The Root’s The Glow Up. “The series’ creators really should have stuck to Walker’s real-life story,” Tambay Obenson wrote on IndieWire.com. In The New York Times, Mike Hale wrote, “The plot lines have been … entirely cooked up, for the sake of juicing the drama