Race Relations in "Gip"

This weekend, I went to the Indie Memphis Film Festival to see Gip, a documentary about the last remaining authentic juke joint in Alabama. The owner of Gip's Place, Henry Gipson, is a 90-something year old African American man (he's unsure about his actual age because there is no accurate record of his birth) who lives in Bessemer, Alabama. By day, he's a gravedigger, digging the 6-feet deep holes by hand. At night, he operates his juke joint. The joint sits in his backyard, chairs, tables, and fire-pit barrels strewn all over the place. The building is covered with tin and old signs, and the inside is filled with pictures and memorabilia from some of the world's greatest blues icons. Gip's Place has operated for well over 50 years. It is a cultural treasure, a place that exemplifies what the blues have meant to so many people.

The plot of this documentary follows the City's failed attempt to shut down Gip's Place for violating city codes (ultimately, the City and Gip work together to find a solution, and all is well). But this blog post will focus on another aspect of the film.

All throughout the documentary, Gip speaks about race. He says that at his juke joint, people don't see color. He reiterates this by saying that in God's eyes, we're all the same. And the visuals in the documentary seem to back up his statement. Throughout the film, black and white people can be seen dancing and smiling together in the little shack, bound together by their love for Gip and for music. Black and white musicians share the stage, supporting one another at all times. It seemed, in some ways, like a racial utopia (in terms of black-white relationships, at least). In a gravedigger's backyard, white and black people from around the world come together in fellowship, all inspired by the blues music that pours out of the building every Saturday night.

Two things struck me about this racial component of the film. For one, I asked myself, is it true? Do people at Gip's Place really not see color? All historical evidence I've studied suggests that, no matter how great a place is in terms of race relations, race is still present. A person is almost always cognizant of another's race. Do we take Gip for his word? Second, I wondered about the power of music to bring people of other races together. Professor Hughes touched on this somewhat in his talk to our class, but Gip reinforced the notion of racial harmony even more. How is it that music helps to transcend boundaries of color so effectively?

All in all, I loved the film. Gip is one of the most interesting and lovable characters I could imagine, a person who holds tightly to his faith and his commitment to compassion and equality but who also gets on stage, takes a shot of whiskey, and then plays a sweet blues lick on the guitar -- all at nearly 100 years old. But watching the film filled me with questions, which is, I guess, the point. I may not have the answers to the questions I'm asking: I may never find out if Gip's Place truly transcends boundaries of color or how it is that music helps reconcile racial tensions. But I will certainly be thinking about this movie for a while. I really wish I could go down to Bessemer myself to see this cultural gem (without ruining the authenticity by looking like a tourist, of course).