Essential Logic

The all-american skin game: Can you find the African-American character in this picture?

Or, The Human Stain: Can white men play the blacks?

by Sam Adams

Considering that The Human Stain is the first big-screen adaptation of Philip Roth, an author whose novels are often referred to as "unfilmable," in nigh on 30 years, you might have expected that any controversy surrounding the film would have to do with the faithfulness of screenwriter Nicholas Meyer's adaptation, or with the politics of Roth's novel, which parallels the Clinton impeachment and a trumped-up controversy over supposedly racist language at a small Northeastern college. Judged by the response to early screenings at the Venice and Toronto film festivals, though, such matters are dwarfed by one overwhelming question: Can Anthony Hopkins play Coleman Silk?

Silk, Roth's protagonist, is a classics professor at a fictional liberal arts college, and an administrator who has rubbed quite a few of his colleagues the wrong way. When he refers to two students who have skipped every one of his classes as spooks, his enemies pounce, and manufacture a scandal that leads to his resignation. The students, it turns out, are African American, though Silk, never having seen them, could hardly be expected to know that. But there's a certain tragic appropriateness to Silk's fate, since although he possesses the perfect defense to accusations of racism, he dare not employ it. For Coleman Silk, like his phantom students, is African American, though he has been passing for most of his life as white.

The matter of whether or not it's appropriate for Hopkins to take on the role of an African American, even one whom the plot requires to appear otherwise, not surprisingly, dominates roundtable interviews in Toronto. Hopkins, who adopted only green contact lenses and a very light, mild coating of makeup for the role, was skeptical himself at first, until the producers showed him a series of photographs. Says Hopkins, with some amazement, These are people who are African American, but they're white. Indeed, Miramax has been thoughtful enough to provide an example of such in the form of one Allison Davis, a last-minute addition to the interviews. Though he's announced as a consultant, it proves impossible to pin down Davis' exact contribution to the film, apart from reading the script for his friend, producer Tom Rosenberg, and playing a wordless bit part in one scene. Nevertheless, the ruddy-skinned Davis, both of whose parents were African American, provides an incontestable answer to those who might insist that Hopkins doesn't look black.

In fact, the film, more in its existence than its substance, raises all manner of questions about what those two words might mean. On a recent visit to the dermatologist, the Welsh Hopkins was told that his skin cells contained evidence of Moroccan heritage. But of course, it's not blood that tells: It's appearance. Anna Deavere Smith, whose theatrical work often involves the nature of racial confrontations, plays the mother of the young Coleman Silk, who in a heartbreaking scene receives the news that her son has chosen to disown his race and therefore his family. I have a friend who's in genetics at Stanford, and he was telling me that in a couple of years, it would be easy to find out who all of our ancestors are. When that happens, we may find out that I'm related to a Bulgarian princess, and you're Nigerian. But despite that, she addresses her white interviewers, I think we both know that my nephew is going to have a harder time in the corporate world than your son.

Nearly all of the film's participants bring up the fact that passing no longer exists, and that race is no longer conceived in literally black-and-white terms. Davis zeroes in on the pivotal moment when the young Silk, played by Wentworth Miller, enlists in the Navy, and his pencil hesitates over the two boxes under race. Now the check boxes are ¹mixed,' or ¹Eurasian'; it's become a much fuzzier decision for people to make. But then, you were or you weren't. But such welcome fuzziness has its drawbacks as well. Part of Vin Diesel's wide action-movie appeal may rest on his perceived African-American or Latino heritage, but it also rests doubtlessly on his refusal to reveal his race (or his real last name). Is he the harbinger of a post-racial future, or just a shrewd politician fearful of offending any potential audience?

However calculated it may be, Diesel's ambiguity does mark a sea change in Hollywood attitudes. As Smith points out, the casting of a white actor in the role of Coleman Silk was almost inevitable, given the paucity of light-skinned African-American actors of his generation. Indeed, a moment's reflection shows that from Robeson to Poitier to Washington, Hollywood has preferred its African-American male leads to be dark-skinned -- that is, visibly black. (The exact opposite, of course, is true for actresses.) I suppose there's a practical issue of who's available at this point in our history, says Smith. Fifteen years from now, I hope they have a lot more options when it comes to light-skinned black men.

Though Miller, the son of mixed-race parents, isn't as cagey about his background as Diesel, he has found that the ability to play different races works to his advantage in the industry. I've spent my entire life having to define myself constantly for other people. But then, you come to Hollywood, and it's all about, ¹How do you see me? Cast me.'

Such mutability is commonplace in Hollywood: John Turturro, for one, has probably played more Jewish or Latino characters than Italian. But the distinction between black and white has a notoriously special place in American history and law. In the theater, colorblind casting is a more established tradition -- Smith, for one, has played everyone from President Clinton to Daryl Gates in her one-woman shows -- but it tends to be a one-way street: We will certainly see more black Romeos, but the chances are slim of another white Othello.

The questions raised by Hopkins' casting are in some ways more interesting than the movie itself, which eventually dissolves into a love story between the disgraced Silk and Nicole Kidman's bereaved janitor. Interestingly enough, the user comments at the IMDb seem more preoccupied with the authenticity of Kidman's performance than Hopkins': They'd sooner believe Hopkins as an African American than Kidman as a blue-collar floor sweeper. Whether or not a wide audience will buy Hopkins in the role remains to be seen, and assessed by whatever imprecise means can be mustered. (It's a cinch that if the movie flops, the blame will fall on Hopkins' casting.) In your normal life, if you've known someone for 40 years, and they [look] white, and they turn around and say, ¹Hey, I'm black,' there would be shock and disbelief, Miller says. You wouldn't be able to swallow it, just as some people are having a little trouble swallowing Hopkins in this role.

That fictional scenario was experienced many times by Davis, whose mother advised him to keep pictures of his darker-skinned family on his dresser at boarding school and college. Still, after he'd been dating his current wife for two or three months, she turned to him one day and said, I have to ask you something: Are you black? Davis answered affirmatively, of course, but as with Miller, defining himself has become a regular part of his life: In order to secure minority business enterprise funds for his Chicago business, Davis had to produce copies of both parents' death certificates, which were clearly marked Negro. Whether we ever could, or even should, live in a society without race is a subject for endless debate, but as Smith points out, we may be closer than we realize. The interesting thing is, Wentworth Miller's father looks like Anthony Hopkins. The fact that someone could look like Anthony Hopkins and be black is a reality.

The Human Stain opens Friday at Ritz Five. See Sam Adams' review on p. 50.