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4.8/10
Archivist John
Senior Editor
A definitive 4.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Film 9 remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Is 'Film 9' worth watching today? Short answer: yes, absolutely, but with significant caveats. This isn't a film in the traditional narrative sense; it's a profound historical document, a collection of raw, unedited footage from the early 20th century that demands a specific kind of viewership. It will resonate deeply with historians, cultural anthropologists, and those seeking an authentic, unvarnished look into a pivotal period of American history, particularly the lives of Black communities in Oklahoma. However, it is decidedly not for audiences accustomed to modern cinematic pacing, intricate plotlines, or high-definition polish.
Solomon Sir Jones’s work is a testament to the power of the moving image as a historical record, a silent witness to lives lived. It offers a window, albeit a dusty one, into a world often overlooked by mainstream historical narratives. This is not entertainment; it is an experience in historical empathy.
To approach 'Film 9' as one would a contemporary feature film is to fundamentally misunderstand its purpose and power. This is an archival treasure, a series of vignettes captured by a pioneering Black Baptist minister and entrepreneur, Solomon Sir Jones. His lens, pointed at the Black communities of Muskogee, Taft, and Okmulgee, Oklahoma, between 1924 and 1928, wasn't seeking drama; it was documenting existence.
We are presented with a mosaic of everyday life: the sturdy, unpretentious architecture of residences, the solemn grandeur of churches, the communal grief of a funeral march, and the vibrant, innocent energy of school children. There is no plot, no character arc, no dramatic tension in the conventional sense. Instead, the film offers something far more rare and valuable: an authentic, unfiltered echo of the past.
The film works because it provides an unparalleled, intimate look at communities that were actively building and sustaining themselves in the face of systemic adversity. It fails because its raw, unedited nature and lack of contextual narration can make it inaccessible for viewers not already invested in historical research or patient observation. You should watch it if you possess a deep appreciation for primary historical sources, are interested in the resilience of Black communities in the early 20th century, or want to witness the foundational acts of early documentary filmmaking.
The true 'director' of 'Film 9' is Solomon Sir Jones himself, a figure whose significance is often understated. Born enslaved in Tennessee, Jones later became a prominent minister, businessman, and, crucially, an amateur filmmaker. His motivation wasn't commercial success but a desire to document the lives of his people, to preserve their stories and their achievements for posterity. This wasn't merely filming; it was an act of profound cultural preservation.
Jones's work stands as a powerful counter-narrative to the often-dehumanizing portrayals of Black Americans prevalent in mainstream media of the era. He captured dignity, community, and everyday heroism.
His dedication to this project, traveling with his camera and capturing these moments, makes him one of the earliest known Black filmmakers. The very existence of this footage is a testament to his foresight and commitment, offering insights that written records alone could never fully convey.
When we talk about 'cinematography' in 'Film 9', we're discussing the raw, unpolished aesthetic of early amateur filmmaking. The camera is often static, the framing sometimes imprecise by modern standards, and the lighting entirely natural. Yet, it is precisely this lack of artifice that gives the footage its potent authenticity.
Consider the scenes of school children: their genuine smiles, their unselfconscious movements, the simple clothes they wear. There's no performance here, only presence. Jones wasn't staging scenes; he was observing life. This provides a stark contrast to the often-staged and stereotypical depictions of Black individuals in contemporary Hollywood productions, such as the problematic portrayals sometimes seen in films like The Belle and the Bill or even the racially charged undertones that could be inferred from some segments of Greed, despite its broader social critique.
The grainy quality, the occasional flicker, the slightly jittery movements – these are not flaws but integral parts of the viewing experience. They remind us that we are peering through a direct portal to the past, untouched by modern post-production wizardry. The visual quality, while technically rudimentary, is rich in historical texture.
The pacing of 'Film 9' is deliberate, almost meditative. There are no quick cuts, no dramatic montages. Each scene unfolds in real-time, allowing the viewer to linger, to absorb the details of a street, a building, a face. This slow burn might test the patience of some, but it rewards those willing to engage with it on its own terms.
The tone is one of quiet observation, interspersed with moments of profound solemnity (the funeral march) and simple joy (the children playing). There's an underlying sense of resilience and community strength that permeates the footage. It's not overtly political, yet its very existence and subject matter are inherently political, asserting the humanity and agency of its subjects.
This deliberate, almost unhurried rhythm forces contemplation. Unlike a rapid-fire narrative, it invites you to pause, to imagine the lives behind the faces, the stories within the structures. It's a challenging but ultimately rewarding journey into a forgotten era, much like the slow, deliberate pace of early serials such as Les Vampires, though obviously with vastly different aims.
Without professional actors or a script, the 'performances' in 'Film 9' are those of ordinary people living their lives. This is where the film finds some of its most compelling power. The unselfconscious expressions, the natural gestures, the way people interact with their environment and each other – it’s all authentically human.
Watching the funeral procession, one can almost feel the collective sorrow and shared comfort. Witnessing the children's exuberance, one is reminded of the universal spirit of youth. These aren't staged emotions; they are genuine human experiences, captured by a camera that was, for many, a novel and perhaps even slightly intimidating presence. This raw, unadorned human presence is what elevates the footage beyond mere historical record to a deeply affecting human document.
Absolutely, 'Film 9' is worth watching, but with a clear understanding of what it is and isn't. It is not a conventional movie designed for casual entertainment. It is a portal to the past, a crucial piece of social history, and an early example of independent, culturally significant filmmaking. Its value lies in its authenticity and its ability to transport the viewer to a specific time and place, offering insights into a community that built its own world.
For those who appreciate the raw power of historical documentation and the quiet dignity of everyday life, this film offers an irreplaceable experience. It’s an act of historical witness. It works. But it’s flawed by modern standards.
One surprising observation is how much 'Film 9', despite its age and technical limitations, manages to convey a sense of vibrant, thriving community. It refutes the often-singular, poverty-stricken narrative frequently applied to Black communities of the era. Jones's lens, whether intentionally or not, highlights self-sufficiency and communal strength.
My strong, debatable opinion is that 'Film 9' holds more intrinsic value than many narrative features of its time. While films like Wuthering Heights (assuming a contemporary version, not the 1939 one) or even some of the more elaborate productions like The Great Leap: Until Death Do Us Part offer constructed worlds, 'Film 9' offers a direct, unmediated connection to a lost reality. Its lack of 'artistry' in the conventional sense is precisely what makes it a profound work of art in the historical sense.
Another debatable point: modern audiences, conditioned by rapid-fire editing and constant stimulation, are perhaps too ill-equipped to appreciate the profound quietude and observational depth offered by such archival films. This isn't a failing of the film, but a challenge to contemporary viewing habits. To truly engage with 'Film 9' is to practice a form of cinematic mindfulness.
'Film 9' is not a film to be consumed; it is a film to be studied, to be experienced, and to be profoundly respected. Solomon Sir Jones’s enduring footage from Muskogee, Taft, and Okmulgee, Oklahoma, is more than just moving pictures; it is a testament to the resilience, spirit, and everyday dignity of Black communities in the 1920s. Its lack of conventional cinematic polish is precisely its strength, offering an unfiltered, invaluable window into a crucial period of American history. While it demands patience and an appreciation for archival material, the rewards are immense for those willing to engage with it. This is a vital piece of our collective memory, deserving of renewed attention and careful contemplation. To dismiss it for its lack of 'entertainment value' would be to miss a profound opportunity for connection with a past that continues to shape our present.
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