The 'Scottsboro' Ordeal and Its Indelible Stain
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The title may have been inspired by the historian Dan T. Carter's 1969 book,
''Scottsboro: A Tragedy of the American South.'' It was the basis for ''Judge
Horton and the Scottsboro Boys,'' the well-meaning if stolid television
docudrama of the late 1970's. Barak Goodman and Daniel Anker, who jointly
produced and directed this film, are conscious of the drama of the story, in
which nine African-American teenagers were accused of raping two young white
women on an Alabama train in 1931.
What he and the other defendants experienced was just as awful: three trials
and at least 10 years in prison (more for some, including Mr. Norris; they were
no longer boys by the time things came to a close).
Their ordeal seems the definition of cruel and unusual punishment, while
their case was the talk of the globe. ''Scottsboro'' makes clear that the case
had taken on the dimensions of a tableau from Russian literature, although the
failings that led to the trial were all too American.
The film includes trial transcripts and editorials read by actors including
Frances McDormand and Stanley Tucci. Andre Braugher delivers the narration.
''Scottsboro'' is all the more tragic because it made focal points -- and
martyrs -- of nine farm boys whose minor crime (hitching a train ride to find
work) changed the course of legal procedure in this country. Their cause
provoked a fight between the N.A.A.C.P. and the Communist Party. The glorious
note to emerge from this skirmish was, as Mr. Carter and the other experts
assembled for this documentary observe, that the Scottsboro case united black
and white efforts against sanctioned bigotry for the first time since abolition. Mr. Goodman and Mr. Anker show, in a linear and organized fashion, that the
case was a series of apparent defeats that added up to victory in the long run.
That victory culminated in Mr. Norris's successful petition for a pardon from,
of all people, Gov. George C. Wallace. That pardon came for Mr. Norris and the
others -- who had never met until they were charged with a crime they didn't
commit -- in 1976, 45 years after their arrest.
Before their release, they had suffered constant beatings from guards while
imprisoned so close to the electric chair that they could hear the executions, a
regular reminder of their potential fate.
The filmmakers know how potent the material is, and they don't hammer away at
the obvious. History makes all of their points for them, as does the most
telling summation by the historian Wayne Flynt near the end of ''Scottsboro: An
American Tragedy'': ''The courage of the Scottsboro boys is just surviving.''
The accusations by the women, who had questionable pasts, were not
challenged because they had unleashed whites' sexual fear of black men.
''Protection of white women might pivot around all of Southern culture,'' notes
the historian Robin Kelley. Even more disturbing is the description by Clarence
Norris, a surviving Scottsboro defendant, of the frothing mob: ''Not a black
person around anywhere. Everybody was white but us nine. 'Let's take these black
sons of bitches and put 'em up to a tree.' I thought I was going to die.''
SCOTTSBORO
An American Tragedy
Produced and directed by
Barak Goodman and Daniel Anker; written by Mr. Goodman; director of photography,
Buddy Squires; edited by Jean Tsien; music by Edward Bilous; released by the
Screening Room and Cowboy Booking International. At the Screening Room, 54
Varick Street, at Laight Street, TriBeCa. Running time: 84 minutes. This film is
not rated.
WITH: Andre Braugher (narrator); Frances McDormand, Stanley
Tucci, Harris Yulin, Jeffrey DeMunn and Daver Morrison (additional voices); and
Dan T. Carter, Robin Kelley, Clarence Norris and Wayne Flynt.
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