One of the most memorable art museum exhibits I have seen was of the photography of Gordon Parks. It was an experience that instantaneously made me a fan of his work. He was the definition of a polymath, somehow an author, film director and musician in addition to being a photographer. As if that isn’t impressive enough, imagine having all those talents and being a Black man capable of finding outlets for those arts in the early 20th century US.
Here we have a man who wouldn’t be allowed to sit at a lunch counter at many restaurants in the South, yet was the first man of his race to direct a film for a major studio. 1969’s The Learning Tree is based on his own semi-biographical novel, which he turned into the screenplay for his own film adaptation. He also composed the score for it. Apparently feeling he wasn’t doing enough, he also produced. I wonder if he still found himself bored at times, and felt compelled to weave his own fabric and handmake the costumes, while cutting down trees in order to make furniture for the sets.
Parks was born in Fort Scott, Kansas, becoming a teenager in the late 1920’s. Not coincidentally, this is when the story here is set. Kyle Johnson is the surrogate for Parks, as we see cracks forming in his fairly idyllic rural life. A tornado in the opening sequence of the film seems an obvious reference to The Wizard of Oz—after all, we are in Kansas in this picture, too. And, like that movie, that whirlwind signals a transition from one world to another.
The most immediate change is when local prostitute (Carole Lamond) rescues him from that storm, drags him into an abandoned building and unexpectedly relieves him of his virginity. Another change to his world is courtesy of a white sheriff (Dana Elcar) who can seemingly shoot Black people with impunity. Johnson also has to fight a racist teacher to get into a college prep classes. His best friend, played by Alex Clarke, faces even worst prospects, as he doesn’t have even the strong family support which Johnson has.
Clarke is justifiably bitter, a Black youth whose only apparent relative is a drunk father (Richard Ward). A series of unfortunate choices will lead him down a path without redemption, as he first decides to steal apples from white farmer George Mitchell, and then viciously beats that old man when he tries to defend his property. Admittedly, Mitchell’s approach to the situation isn’t tactful, tasteful or wise. Still, Clarke assaults the elderly man so thoroughly it puts him in the hospital, and the young man is sent to a juvenile detention facility that looks like something from the 1800’s. Later, Ward and a fellow ne’er-do-well (Malcolm Atterbury) will each independently try to steal booze from Mitchell’s stockpile, leading to the death of the farmer at the hands of Ward without Atterbury’s involvement or knowledge. But that won’t stop the latter man from standing trial alone, knowing he didn’t commit the crime but unable to prove his innocence.
The case goes to trial before Johnson confides in his mother (Estelle Evans) he witnessed the crime and knows the identity of the real murderer. He saw the whole thing from his perch in the loft of Mitchell’s barn, where the youth had been working for free all summer, as repayment for Clarke beating the man within an inch of his life earlier. I question the nature of a friendship when one is working for months without pay as punishment for the transgression of another.
One aspect I like of this film is the subtlety and shading given the majority of the characters. I believe Causcasian viewers of the time might understand Clarke’s anger, a Black youth who never had opportunities and whose future is very bleak. Conversely, some Black viewers might have found justification in Mitchell’s outrage over the theft of his apples, even if his language and actions are inappropriate. Even the treatment of Elcar’s character is more generous than I expected (even, perhaps, warranted), as he at least seems to like Johnson. Alas, his inherent racism means there are definitely limitations to how far he is going to be accepting of somebody of another race.
The performances are good throughout this, but are very restrained for the most part. Johnson is so polite and reserved as to be nearly a cipher. Fun fact: his mother is Nichelle Nichols, Lt. Uhura from the original Star Trek. Evans, his on-screen mother, gets the lion’s share of the best lines, which is half of a performance right there. My favorite is when she comforts him after he is bothered by a dream of death: “Dead’s a long way from you son”. A different parent, Ward (as Clarke’s father), plays things a hair too broadly, but he gets probably the second-best lines in the film, as he chides one of Eclar’s deputies: “How old does a man have to be before you stop calling him ‘boy’? They’d call Jesus Christ ‘boy’ if he was Black.”
Anybody who has seen Parks’s photographic works will not be surprised by the beauty of the outdoor photography. Alas, the interiors are obvious sets, and lit in the highly artificial manner of the time. One intriguing element of the production I would love to know more about is that tornado at the start of the film, as I have no idea how such a convincing effect was done at the time.
The Learning Tree was one of the first films to be selected by the Library of Congress for preservation, a choice which is entirely warranted. One particularly interesting element of the film is how even characters who hold repellant beliefs are not portrayed as straight-up villains. Alas, the plot overall still leans too hard into melodrama, and I sometimes felt like it delivers its messages in a manner too ham-fisted and didactic. This is a very important film, maybe even a great one, but I felt it isn’t like one has to watch and like it. While not completely bereft of entertainment value, it leaves one with the impression it has to be viewed because it is good for you. In the end, this is the cinematic equivalent of eating your vegetables when we really want escapist junk food more often than not.
Dir: Gordon Parks
Starring Kyle Johnson, Alex Clarke, Estelle Evans
Watched on Criterion Collection blu-ray