“I ain’t singing nothing without my Coca-Cola!” Ma Rainey tells her white producers in the recording studio. Viola Davis’ strong voice lends the line the power it needs for the audience to understand what is being said: If you want me to sing, treat me how I deserve to be treated. Looking at them through creased grease paint and sweat, Ma Rainey tells them that before she sings a note, she is to be given an ice-cold Coca-Cola on this sweltering Chicago day in the summer of 1927.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, George C. Wolfe’s film adaption of August Wilson’s play of the same name, has many such moments. The white men who run the studio and manage her - Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne) and Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) - have to bend over backwards just to get Ma Rainey to do what they want; sing. This is purposeful. While some would look at Ma and designate her a “Diva,” this is a shallow understanding. She’s just getting he rightful due after decades of shouldering the maltreatment of white people, both in Chicago, her home state of Georgia and throughout the American south. The studio is the one place where Ma can be in control; she calls the shots, she cultivates her image, and she has the power.

Viola Davis steps into the role of Ma Rainey (the queer, Black “mother of the blues”) like it was made for her. She walks like she’s carrying a weight greater than herself (and I don’t mean the weight gain & the padding she endured for the role). In the blistering heat, we Davis’ eyes fill with the exasperation and sheer tiredness of Ma as she carries the dual burdens. Ma knows she is commodified, saying “…they [Sturdyvant and Irvin] don’t care nothing about me. All they want is my voice.” She has always been aware of the fact that Black women in America can be praised for their talent, while their humanity is denied in the same breath. Davis brings Ma to life with her sultry, soulful, and stony performance, bearing the load of generational trauma that Black women both then & now must shoulder and cope with. In this role, we see her look for & create joy through love, music, and everyday life. The audience is given a look inside this painful experience and the art that is created both because & in spite of it. Davis shines in this role, giving justice to a woman often overlooked in history.

(Warning: The following paragraph contains spoilers)

But Davis is far from the only one that shines. Chadwick Boseman delivers a powerful performance both entertaining and tragic. In the role of Levee Green, a charming trumpet player in Ma’s band and an aspiring recording artist himself, Boseman ropes us in with funny quips and charisma. Yet just as we laugh with Levee, our hearts break alongside him as we watch his dreams slip away. When Levee stabs Toledo (Glynn Turman), the audience reels. We watch as his face tell us everything running through his mind - desperation, anger, sadness, shock - while he repeats the same line over and over: “He stepped on my shoe.” Toledo’s gaze meets Levee’s in a moment pregnant with trauma and dashed hope. A bright future is lost (an allegory for the historic struggle endured by Black men in America).

The role is made all the more tragic by the unexpected, real-life death of Chadwick Boseman in 2020. He delivers an unforgettable performance; a true theatrical triumph that will likely go down among the best of its time. We cannot help but wonder what else he was capable of or how much higher he could have soared. It’s an incredible final role. Boseman’s performance shows us what he’s made of and as moviegoers we are left knowing that we existed at the same time as one of the true greats. Thankfully, his life’s work on screen will still be enjoyed for years to come.

Colman Domingo and Michael Potts also stun in their respective performances as Cutler, the level-headed unofficial leader of the band, and Slow Drag, the straight-shooting bassist. Together with Levee & Toledo, the foursome create a vivid picture of the experience shared by Black men in 1920s America. They philosophize, muse, share painful stories and shoot-the-shit giving the audience a full spectrum look into their perceptions of past, present, and future.

Although these men are fictional (Ma Rainey is the only character to exist in history), their pain is not. Sturdyvant buys Levee’s songs for $5.00 each to “take them off his hands” since they “aren’t the types of songs he’s looking for” - a clear moment exploitation oft repeated throughout history. His dreams dashed, Levee commits an act of desperation and violence against his friend. In the end, Levee’s song “Jelly Roll” is sung not by him and his band. It is instead appropriated by white musicians who make it stale, consumable and forgettable. While it has the same fun, playful lyrics, there is no real joy - boring at first, and ultimately sickening. It feels like a slap on the face, since we understand the underlying current of exploitation, hurt, and violence. The life is sucked out of the song by the white establishment, as fate which befalls not only Levee and Toledo but scores of other Black men whose names we will never know.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom is an astounding film that forces us to confront our racist past and present and the very real pain born from it. The script, production, and direction were fantastically done, with Wolfe masterfully adapting Wilson’s play for the screen. The set, wardrobe, and sound design are also excellent. The performances are simply awe-inspiring and since it’s available to stream on Netflix, the movie is far more accessible - especially during COVID - than a film shown in theaters. This will allow a greater multitude of folks out there to enjoy a modern-day masterpiece & clear Oscar winner.

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The Tragic Reality and Beauty of ‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom’