You can watch the video above or read the transcript below. Please note: I used AI to add punctuation and remove filler words to the YouTube-generated transcript, but all views and ideas are my own.

Opening

Listen, as soon as I saw that pink suit, I knew Spike was on The Money Team. Okay? And then, I got even closer and went further into the exhibit. When I saw the Kehinde Wiley, I said, “The man’s pockets are deep. They’re just deep. He got it!”

Introduction

Hey, Black Stars! Today I am reviewing Spike Lee: Creative Sources, an exhibit that was at the Brooklyn Museum. I don’t have much to show y’all except my receipt because they don’t really offer programs at museums. You get it. So, today’s episode is dedicated to the first Black movie director—the person credited as being the first. Who knows, there could’ve been someone before him, but his name was Oscar Micheaux. He was one of the few Black homesteaders who moved West during Westward Expansion, when people were going to the West to see if there was gold or to start farms. He said, “I’m going.”

Part of his reason for moving was that, in his younger years, he felt he’d been swindled out of $2, which led him to decide that he would never work for anybody again; he would only work for himself. Not only can I respect that, but the man made a ton of films. He even earned a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. When I think about all the paths and trails that Spike Lee has blazed, we have to remember that Oscar Micheaux blazed a trail before him. So, I want to give it up to Oscar Micheaux. Since we’re dedicating this episode to him, we’re going to pour out a little bit for him to thank him for his contributions to Black art, Black excellence, and Black brilliance.

Context

So, how did I hear about the show? How did anyone hear about this show? This exhibit was literally everywhere—you couldn’t escape it. It was on subway ads, buses, popups on my screen. Everybody was talking about it. Everybody knew the Spike Lee show was happening in Brooklyn. It was kind of like the same energy I felt when the Book of HOV exhibit happened at the Brooklyn Public Library. I don’t remember any promo before it came out; I just remember, all of a sudden, my social media and text messages were flooded with people asking, “Did you see Book of HOV in Brooklyn?” I honestly thought it was at the museum because I didn’t know events like that were even happening at the Brooklyn Public Library.

I can’t tell you who was the first person to mention the Spike Lee exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum, but I can tell you it didn’t take me long to get there. When I went, I actually did a two-for-one. I went to see Book of HOV at the library, which is walking distance from the museum. The Brooklyn Museum had a lot of other great shows, but that’s not what this video is about, so I won’t go into detail. I also saw Africa Fashion, which—chef’s kiss—was amazing. There were just so many great exhibits.

The Brooklyn Museum is a great place to go if you’re ever thinking, “I want to go to a museum, but I don’t know where.” I think it’s a really accessible and unique collection of items. You’re always going to see something interesting. Even if you just want to people-watch, the museum is great. Plus, they have the Judy Chicago table. I’m a member, so come hang out with me!

My Thoughts

I have this memory from early in the pandemic. I was laying in bed, scrolling through shows, trying to find something to watch. I was feeling pretty defeated because I was looking for something specific—something Black, funny, and that would make me feel like I wasn’t fighting for my life in the middle of a global pandemic. I had already finished Insecure, Harlem, and Run the World, the show with the four girls in Harlem, which was basically an alternate version of Harlem.

Then, I came across a show with a Black person on the cover. I clicked on it, and it was called Pause with Sam Jay. I had seen Sam Jay’s standup, so I thought, “Oh, this could be interesting.” The first episode felt like a house party. Sam Jay had invited a bunch of people to her house, and it just felt like what I was missing because of quarantine. It was people standing in the kitchen with red cups, a Spades table, and macaroni and cheese in a full pan. I loved those scenes in the show because, even though I wasn’t in my reality, I felt like I was there with them. They had these loud discussions where they were talking over each other, and it just felt so real.

One way it differed from my own house party experiences was that Sam Jay would have people of other ethnic backgrounds there—not all Black people—but that was fine. To each their own. It just felt so New York and so much like the “before times,” and it was very comforting. So, of course, I decided I’d binge-watch them all right then and there because I needed that connection with other people.

One of the episodes was called Coons. I’ve since gone back and figured out what year it was and what the show was called, but I still remember the red cups in my mind. In the episode titled Coons, the question being discussed at the party was, “Is Spike Lee a ‘coon’?” When I tell you, if I had been at that party, I probably would have had to leave. It had never occurred to me to ask a question like that. I’ve been a Spike Lee fan for a long time. I can’t say since birth, but it’s been a minute. I remember seeing Crooklyn as a kid and watching School Daze before heading off to college—back when Netflix would send you DVDs. I was looking for Spike Lee joints and watching Def Poetry Jam. I was getting the DVDs sent to me in the mail because I wanted to be a part of the culture. So, this isn’t a surprise to anyone.

But here they were, having this discussion about whether Spike Lee is a “coon,” and I was shocked. I was flabbergasted. I was bamboozled! I couldn’t believe it. Are we really talking about the Spike Lee?

I have a little list of how I would describe him: He’s a prolific and consistently overlooked Black filmmaker. And what I mean by that is, he’s the Beyoncé of the Academy. Jay-Z just told y’all: how does it make sense that Beyoncé has the most Grammys out of anyone but hasn’t won Album of the Year? How is that possible? That’s how I feel about Spike Lee. How could he have made all these films, had such an impact on the culture, but we still don’t talk about him the way we talk about Spielberg or Scorsese? I don’t understand it.

Spike is everybody’s favorite Brooklyn uncle. If you live in the city and you’ve ever been to his block party—his Michael Jackson/Prince block party—after he’s had a few nutcrackers, he’ll get on the mic and start telling stories. It’s borderline uncle/grandpa. He’ll go off on a tangent, but everyone listens because he’s an elder, and he deserves respect. The man is also the Knicks’ number one fan. If we can’t ride for him the way he rides for the Knicks, what are we doing? Where’s the loyalty?

He’s also a Morehouse man, and none of the men who went to Morehouse will let you forget they went to the same school as Spike Lee. One of my favorite things about Morehouse men is that you can always tell a Morehouse man, but you can’t tell him much. I know they won’t like that, but it proves my point. That’s who they are.

In my head, I’m thinking: How could the man who untangled interracial dating in Jungle Fever, who promoted women’s sexual agency in She’s Gotta Have It, who critiqued colorism and the violence of Greek life in School Daze—y’all don’t want to talk about that, but he critiqued it—how could the man who gave Black heroes the biopic treatment before that was even a thing, before Ray, there was Malcolm X? He made a film that is timeless. Anytime we’re talking about interracial violence or race riots, you can turn on Do the Right Thing and it’s like the movie could have been made today. It could have been made during the Trayvon Martin case, in the aftermath of Mike Brown, or the summer of 2020. He has made timeless work over and over again.

He also pops up in his own movies, and it’s one of my favorite things. He always plays some clownish character and delivers lines that rhyme. One of his most repeated phrases is, “No buffoonery.” So for someone to say Spike Lee is a buffoon… I can’t wrap my head around it. I have to make space in my heart to even hear the argument that he’s potentially more of a discredit to the race than a credit.

I have to say upfront that it was always a slim chance of me walking into this show and saying, “This isn’t art. Spike Lee is whack. He’s a clown.” It just wasn’t going to happen. Chances are, I was going to walk in and love it, and I won’t tell you whether or not I did—that’s the point of this review. But I have to open my heart to even hear somebody fix their lips to say Spike Lee is a… you know.

Until I’m invited to Sam Jay’s next party, I’ll be preparing my bullet points. One of the things that struck me during this conversation was how uncomfortable it felt. I’m imagining being in the room and feeling uncomfortable about the fact that they were critiquing Spike Lee in a mixed-race group. Artists have every right to critique other artists, and the audience has a right to critique the art. But it felt like a barber shop conversation or a back-of-the-church conversation. We’re really having this discussion about whether Spike Lee made a contribution to the Black community? Him being a voice of a generation, a neighborhood, a culture? A community? We’re having that conversation with everyone? I don’t know about that. It makes me uneasy.

So, I’ll be preparing my bullet points for Sam Jay’s next party.

Not too much on Sam Jay, though. Spike Lee has his own history of critiquing other Black artists. I remembered something I had to share with y’all. Spike Lee called Tyler Perry’s work “coonery” and “buffoonery.” So, was Sam Jay calling him a “coon” just… the hand that comes back to bite? To quote Malcolm X, “The chickens are coming home to roost.” Maybe this is just the cycle of Black artistry—Black artists get to call each other “coons” and “buffoons.” As for me, I don’t think I’ll participate, but I’ll be here, writing it out and noting when it happens.

The Spike Lee Creative Sources exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum allows you to decide what you think about Spike Lee’s artistry, his impact on the culture, and the community. And, if I may, the conclusion I came to is that he knows exactly what he’s doing. The man is a prolific creator. He is an icon. He Got Game—y’all heard.

Summary

The artifacts in the show are separated into several categories across seven rooms. The names of the rooms are: Black History and Culture, Family, Brooklyn, Photos, Cinema History, Music, and Sports. These categories represent his creative sources and inspirations.

What moved me the most from the whole exhibit wasn’t even a piece of art—it was just a placard. It says that everything you see in the show, every single artifact, is owned by Spike and Tonya Lewis Lee, which is wild to me because it’s enough to fill seven museum rooms. I don’t know where they keep all of this stuff when it’s not on display, but I imagine Tonya has to tell Spike, “It’s too much, babe. We have to get rid of some of this stuff,” but the man will not. It’s borderline hoarding, but I appreciate it. It reminds me of when artists own their masters, like how recording artists own their masters—shoutout to Megan Thee Stallion. There’s something powerful about everything in there being Spike’s. He didn’t have to call the Academy to say, “Can you loan us that historical piece from Spike’s first movie?” He didn’t have to call Samuel L. Jackson to say, “Can you give us the hat you wore when you played a crackhead?” Everything in there is Spike’s, and I think it speaks to his commitment to Black art—not only his own but the things the entire community has contributed.

I have to give it up to him just for that. The things that he owns are so impressive. Of course, there are some things that aren’t surprising to me that he owns, like the pink suit he wore when he chaired the Cannes Film Festival. To underscore my previous point: the man chaired the Cannes Film Festival. But where are the accolades? It doesn’t make sense. Another item in the exhibit is the G Phi G varsity jacket Spike wore in School Daze. Me being silly, I really wanted to get closer and smell it to see if it smelled like sweat—was this really the jacket Spike wore? But the security guards were looking at me, so I didn’t do that.

There are also random mementos in the exhibit. Again, these are things I’d expect Spike to own: his costumes, his clothes, things that are important to him. But then there are items that are objectively valuable to people beyond just Spike. For example, he has first editions of Toni Morrison’s books. You might have noticed I, too, am a Toni Morrison fan—she’s right over here. He has signed copies, too. He also has a portrait of Toni Morrison, commissioned from the Time Magazine Person of the Year cover. He saw it on the cover and said, “I need that,” and the actual piece—the painting with the brushstrokes—is hanging in the Brooklyn Museum.

Then there’s the art he owns. We’re talking money now. He has a Basquiat drawing, a bust by Augusta Savage. These things are not cheap, y’all. These are high-end Black art pieces—classics. He also has collectible items, like Prince’s guitar, an original photo of Muhammad Ali, and a certified original photograph of Nelson Mandela. He has behind-the-scenes items from his own films, too. As a history buff, I love thinking about the fact that Spike was making these movies before cell phones, the internet, and computers. He has leather-bound journals where he handwrote the scripts for his movies. How does that not move you? The man wrote a movie by hand. Have you ever written a movie? Could you do it by hand? And if you made a mistake, if you decided to add in another scene or another line, what would you do? Being on computers for so long, I would love to crack open one of those notebooks and flip through it. Better yet, I’d love to read along while watching the movie to see where it matches what he wrote and where someone added in extra stuff. To me, that’s so cool.

There are also some little factoids about Spike’s process that I find fascinating. For example, his dad, who was a jazz musician, scored the music for most of Spike’s films. He cast his sister in almost every movie he made. Another fun fact: Rosie Perez’s opening dance scene in Do the Right Thing—the “Fight the Power” scene—took eight hours to film. When I told my friend this, she was like, “Okay, but Rosie wasn’t really dancing that hard for eight hours. They didn’t play the whole eight hours.” But I want you to know I sat and watched it. They didn’t play the full eight hours, just the final cut. I got tired just watching Rosie, so the fact that they had her dancing from sunup to sundown and then said, “Okay, run it again, Rosie,” blows my mind. I don’t know why it took eight hours, but those are the little things I want to know about an artist’s work. You don’t always get the chance to hear those behind-the-scenes stories. Not every director will have an exhibit or enough personal items to make a show like this happen.

I do have to make a little joke before getting serious again: one of the mementos Spike has is an inmate card signed by Michael Jackson. Yes, Michael Jackson, pop artist, arrested and put in jail. When you go into these institutions, you get an ID card, an inmate card, and this one had Michael Jackson’s picture and signature. Spike owns this card, and I have to ask, “Why?” Is it cool to you, Spike? Did you buy it at an auction? I guess we’ll never know.

But there are other mementos that are more sentimental. One of the things that really touched me was the degree of reverence Spike has for other artists and filmmakers. The Cinema History section of the exhibit was filled with posters of films that weren’t his own. These are films that shaped how he sees art, and he’s had those posters signed. He has signed game tickets from Knicks games, movie posters that are signed, artwork, personal letters—all these little things. They’re sweet to me because I have this image in my mind of Spike walking up to someone, maybe his contemporary or even someone below him in stature, and asking, “Can you sign this for me? Can you take a picture with me?” I find that so endearing. There’s also a famous photo of Michael Jordan putting his elbow on Spike’s head. You have to really look up to somebody to let them son you like that, right? You have to be flexible enough to laugh at yourself while also taking yourself seriously.

When I was standing in the exhibit, I felt immersed not just in Spike’s legacy but also in the legacy of Black art. He’s very aware of the tradition he’s part of, and it was nice to see the man behind the lens. Don’t get me wrong—Spike will hop in front of a lens at a Knicks game in a heartbeat—but it was nice to see this other side of him, how sentimental he is about us, the community.

I give it up to Spike. I don’t see the coonery, I don’t see the buffoonery. I would love to go to the exhibit with Sam Jay and ask, “Okay, what do you think about this?” Masterful, masterful work. I have to shout out the curator, Kimberly Gant, and her assistant. They did a great job organizing the work. It was a real hodgepodge collection, but they found a way to tell a story. I appreciate Spike for going to them, and I know they’ll do a great job with the Alicia Keys and Swizz Beatz exhibit coming up soon. Shout out to Kimberly Gant as well.

Review

Alright, it’s time for my review of Spike Lee: Creative Sources. Let’s start with who I would take to this show. I would take Sam Jay—just kidding. I mean, if she wanted to come, I would. I’d take anyone from Brooklyn, anyone interested in film, a Morehouse man, a classy Spelman lady, or anyone who went to an HBCU. I’d take high schoolers, too. I’d also take anyone who’s like, “Oh, I’m a content creator. I make films. I make movies.” Let’s go pay homage and see where this tradition of Black storytelling stems from in contemporary times.

Who else would I take? I’d take anyone who’s never seen a Spike Lee movie, too. I’m thinking it might encourage them to watch one. I will say, I hadn’t seen BlacKkKlansman before I went to the exhibit, and as soon as I got home, I was like, “Where can I watch this?” It was one of the few Spike films I hadn’t seen, and I liked it. Denzel’s son, John David Washington, was in there doing his thing. It was a good movie and a great story.

Who else would I take to this? I’d take anyone who collects stuff, to show them what they could do with their collection. You could organize it in a way that tells a story and inspires people.

So, those are just some categories of people I might take to see this show. You don’t have a lot of time, though. Once again, you need to haul ass! I should have done this review earlier, but I’m doing it when I can. The show closes on February 11th, so make it happ’n, cap’n.

Where would I go after? I’m so happy you asked. There’s actually a Black-owned spot down the street, just a short walk from the Brooklyn Museum. It’s called The Rum Bar, and they have delicious jerk pork and Caribbean libations. It’s on Franklin Avenue, and it’s a great place to zoom in on whether or not Spike measures up to your expectations for Black artists.

Overall, I would give this show four Black stars. Again, I have to tell you, the chances of me walking in and hating it were slim to none from the very beginning. But I want to say a big thank you to Spike and everyone at the Brooklyn Museum for bringing this story to us and giving people their flowers while they can still smell them. There’s something really powerful in that.

So, overall, thank you, thank you, thank you for watching this review. Please like it, give it a thumbs up. You can also subscribe to my channel because I have a lot more content coming this Black History Month and into March. I’ve sat down and really planned out a lot of new shows. We’ve got museums, theater shows, art galleries—it’s going to be really lit. I hope you’ll join me on my Black Star Review journey.

In the meantime, though, of course, I’m sending you all blacklove and starlight. Keep shining. I’ll see you next time. Bye, Black Stars!