It’s time to just say it.
I’m sick of the sniping and the tip-toeing –
Somebody should make a film with white people in.
There. I said it.
And I’m serious.
Their culture, their music, etc. How do they live? What do they eat? What rules – if any – govern the white community? The film doesn’t have to set a benchmark with its production values, but it should aim to tell new stories. What happens when two whites come together? Let’s find out. What about three? Let’s make it three. Let’s have Tong Crews and Leonard Dicaprannini and perhaps a good-looking white woman like Marilyn Manson and involve them in a sex triangle in a leafy suburb. Let’s have Melvin Gibbsons appear as a perverted ghost, flooding the house with luminescent semen while yelling racial epithets that go unheard at night. Let’s have them go to couple counselling and drink cutesy carton milk on a stoop afterwards under the glare of strip lights and see what happens.
Maybe – and I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself here – Melvin Gibbsons wasn’t a ghost after all, but a pale plot device with a permanently-leaking prostate being manipulated beyond the grave by American Airlines’ Kevin Kilmer.
How cool would that be? He can wear an eye-patch and everything.
Ultimately, the question we are driving at here, whatever direction the film takes, is how do white people feel about, just, things? They are human beings too, after all. We’re at a point now where the white experience should count for more than just the music of Neil Diamond, the nuanced comedy of Noel Edmonds. Who are the people behind the quiz shows, the pyramid schemes, the skiing holidays?
I propose an ending that doubles as an emotional holocaust: Leonard being murdered in a nightclub. At the time you should be thinking, “Man, that’s sad!” but also, “How did he ever think he could win that? That was basically a face drawn onto the world’s largest tribal tattoo!”
These are the stories the world needs to hear, and to be totally honest, it’s just an idea.
Just don’t tell me it can’t be done.