“Solidarity! Solidarity! Solidarity!”
In The Irishman, infamous union boss Jimmy Hoffa, played by Al Pacino in a towering performance, chants this slogan in front of a roaring union rally. These words represent the idealism of the union, the notion that in the union everyone works as one socialist force. But his words are corrupt; the audience knows too much about Hoffa to buy into his unwavering belief in the union. Pacino depicts Hoffa as a charming father-figure on the surface, and yet deeply cursed by ambition, flaring a megalomanic darker side. He sees too much of himself in his work, which ultimately contradicts the union and what it stands for.
Al Pacino in "The Irishman" (left) playing Jimmy Hoffa (right)
John Sayles’s Matewan offers an anthesis to Scorsese’s late work. Immersive and accurate enough to be considered “a staple in the teaching of U.S. Labor History,” this film shows the union functioning at its most idealistic before organized crime ever tainted the word, or Jimmy Hoffa ever got a chance to run away with the Teamsters. Sayles shows the possibilities of a union in action, its ability to literally make a town from scratch by overcoming any social prejudice and utilizing good ol’ fashion teamwork. Joe Kenehan embodies this purity of spirit. Chris Cooper (in his debut performance) plays Kenehan, the representative of the union sent into the small West Virginian coal town to help establish a new chapter in a local history plagued by tragedy. Kenehan, as the narrator later puts it, “couldn’t say no wrong.” People believe him because of his infallibility and genuine sense of goodness. When someone says we gotta take care of ourselves, he corrects him by saying, we gotta take care of each other. Unlike Hoffa, Kenehan never puts himself before the union or the laborers for the matter. He seeks cooperation, and equality. The selflessness Kenehan preaches never comes off as a harsh truth rather Cooper plays it with a certain easiness, a coolness he acquired from years of experience; a father to the orphans of the coal mines, a patient leader through an oncoming storm. And yet, Joe Kenehan and his non-violent strike are a fantasy. It feels like Joe Kenehan could’ve been on one of those Think Different poster from Apple if the townspeople listened to him. But by the end, Sayles makes a point of Kenehan’s too-good-to-be-true existence. Frustration boils over, and violence erupts because people often fail to see beyond their own experience, or their own struggle, and many feel a need to express their own dissatisfaction, their pent-up rage, no matter the costs, personal or otherwise.
However, Few Clothes becomes the only character to see beyond his own experience, and truly believe in the union. He can do this because he’s black. The great James Earl Jones plays Few Clothes in this film. After the controversy over the handling of his participation in the Star Wars series, Jones seems to channel a disgruntled sensibility perfectly into the role. In his first scene, he gives out a few haymakers in defense against an ambush. (White laborers defend their jobs, but also act out their anger and hate, objectifying the black laborers as human punching bags). Few Clothes proves himself as the clear leader; he shows a fearlessness in his actions he never lets go of. When he enters the union meeting, he owns his struggle tightly on his shoulders and looks every man (most of them he beat up before) dead in their eyes without flinching. Beyond the persecution, Few Clothes understands that in order to survive, he must function in the society, not just violently lash out at it. He can defend himself, but not act on impulse. He knows how important the union remains for him and for everyone he represents; they can call him a nigger, but he will not allow anyone to call him a ‘scab,’ or a man trying to replace union men on strike. The union remains his top priority, he needs rights as a worker, he needs to be protected like everyone else and he wants to be a part of that organization more than anyone. Because of his struggle as a black man, Few Clothes becomes the most loyal character in the film, almost too loyal for his own good.
Ironically, Few Clothes ends up drawing the short end of the stick, and must kill the wrongly accused Kenehan for treachery against the union. And because of his loyalty, Few Clothes doesn’t question it, even if it goes against his beliefs on violence. Sayles makes a point of Few Clothes never questioning the orders given to him by the union — he can’t make his own decisions, others must tell him what to do. He, more than anyone else, must be accepted. But now he fails to see the goodness of Kenehan, a man that stood up for him before and vouched for the blacks and the foreigners - the outcasted and the reviled. Even after Few Clothes shares laughs over stories with Kenehan (stories so genuine and heartfelt, you just root for the guy). Few Clothes believes so much in the union and the white men that run it, he loses all sense of identity and agency; he adopts the ignorance of the people around him and becomes willing to kill for the union in order to prove his loyalty, thus becoming the perfect union man. Luckily, the union men find out the error of their ways and save Kenehan from Few Clothes. Few Clothes reacts to the news of Kenehan’s innocence with laughter; he laughs a long time and loudly and Kenehan doesn’t even know what could’ve hit him. The laugh evokes not only relief, but a ridiculousness, as if saying, “how could I believe this.” The depth Jones shows to his character in this wordless action, so forceful in his repressed emotion, it makes me wonder why he lost out to Morgan Freeman at the Film Independent Spirt Awards.
James Earl Jones in "Matewan"
The last we see of Few Clothes comes after the climax of the film, the murder of Hillard Elkins. He and a fellow black man huddle together in a tent and talk of the future; “you know how white folks get when they’re all excited.” Here, Sayles reaches the pinnacle of his delicate examination of white privilege: Few Clothes identifies the situation, understands the feelings, but does not participate with the fallout. As a mistreated black man, berated and abused constantly by the system and the people around him, he understands the frustration, but keeps it within because he understand the consequences of violence and how ineffectual violence can be, how unproductive anger can be, and thus, how effective the union remains. Despite Sayles’s failure to show a multitude of black characters and limits the screen time for its main black character, he (at least) effectively shows the black struggle as a learning point without being too didactic, using empathy to bridge two worlds together. In the last image, Danny Radnor, covered with the black of coal dust (and very reminiscent of the first scene), but this time he breaks the fourth-wall and stares directly at the audience: now, he too understands the burden, and that burden is a dark one.
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