The Apollo is a ninety-eight minute documentary about the titular theater in Harlem. Before seeing it in the theater, I was unaware that it was available on HBO NOW. As a child, my mom and I faithfully watched Showtime at the Apollo on NBC so I am sure that my mother would have loved to see this documentary. I also enjoy financially supporting documentaries in the theater, and I wanted to support a black man directing a documentary about a black cultural touchstone. So I prioritized seeing this film even though there were not many showings, and there are movies that I want to see more, but are not suffering from lack of attention, marketing or accessibility.
I do not regret seeing The Apollo although I do not think that it was necessarily worth the effort of schlepping to the theater. When it is good, it is great, but it never quite found its narrative rhythm and lost momentum by the end. If you came for a comprehensive history of the theater, which I did, then this documentary is not really for you although you will still glean a lot while watching it. The thesis of the film is proving its relevance today: is it a museum or still culturally relevant? I never even considered this question since my response was instinctually why choose? It made the film feel more like an informercial instead of an independent film devoted to a revered institution—a great informercial trying to sell you music from your favorite era that you watch in its entirety and maybe even buy the set, but an informercial nonetheless.
To be fair, a comprehensive documentary about The Apollo could potentially be a docuseries because the theater is the center of so many topics, and each segment could just focus on one of the following: notable singers, groundbreaking comedians, memorable dancers, iconic neighborhoods, historical groundbreaking moments. This documentary touches on all those aspects of the theaters’ histories, but I have already seen viewers complain that the film failed to cover their favorite performer and claim that it is motivated by avoiding controversy. Um, maybe, but it is a short documentary. I did not mind it at all.
As long as The Apollo devoted time to Eva Isaac, whom fans of Showtime at The Apollo would recognize as the woman who sits in the front row and enthusiastically interacted with performers, then I have no complaints. I was thrilled that the documentary was just as focused on the audience as it was on the performers, which includes a try not to cry segment devoted to one amateur contestant, Bianca Graham, as she relayed her efforts to get to the stage for a shot at stardom. It is moments like that which shows that the heart behind the film is motivated by good intentions and understands that what makes this theater special is its devoted community, which occasionally becomes its talent.
The Apollo also centralizes the political as the ultimate framework for the documentary. Black spaces are necessary to give spotlight to performers and issues that would otherwise be ignored by the mainstream media. The documentary explains that in a time of segregation, it was one of the few places where mixing was permitted, and black performers could expect respect. Once segregation ended, it was a place that did not shy away from performers interested in addressing political topics, usually around the issue of the callous and unpunished murder of black people whether it was at the hands of civilians (lynching) or the government (extrajudicial executions). From 1934 to now, nothing much has changed on that front. On a more regional note, it was nice to finally see a documentary about rap that actually contained East Coast performances that I recognized! I began to wonder if I imagined being into rap when I was a kid.
A lot of time is devoted to a contemporary production of Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me, which only time will tell if it will have the same historical cultural significance of Billie Holliday’s Strange Fruit or Richard Pryor’s trenchant standup. I will not hazard a guess since we only see the table readings and snippets of the actual performance, which I found frustrating because the documentary spends a lot of time on it, but not enough to get a sense of the entire thing. Because I am not a theater geek, I will defer to the experts, but I wish that the documentary stuck to focusing on well-known performances rather than lesser known, but potential classic works to retain the recognizability momentum of the documentary. If there were already documentaries capturing the entire performance and production which The Apollo then referenced, it would be in line with the rest of the film’s content, but such innovation requires that viewers take their nostalgic hat off and put on another hat to absorb and digest something unfamiliar and new, which I found challenging. I want another documentary following the progress of this production. I knew nothing about it. I want to know more. I needed a photograph of Prince Jones.
The Apollo is at its strongest when it goes through a chronological history of the logistics of managing, performing and promoting the theater. I did not know that it was in constant danger of disappearing, but it makes sense that it happened when all of Manhattan was at its nadir. The montage of black excellence and dishy stories were worth the price of admission. Instead of Tony Curtis hosting Hollywood Babylon, have Leslie Uggams and Smokey Robinson cohost a show and tell stories every episode. Also just seeing the Manhattan skyline always warms my heart. If it needed work, it was the mistake of dividing Ralph Cooper’s segments chronologically because I could totally see the viewers confusing the black and white classic look that he sported as a young man with the Jeri curl wearing older man that he became.
I also loved that The Apollo gave explanations of the significance of why performers presented themselves in a certain way. The hair journey is well known, but the well-tailored, disciplined dance steps of doo wop groups as the cultural equivalent of respectability politics made complete sense and was obvious in retrospect. There was one black and white photograph of the Freedom Trail and Park Street Church, which is in Boston, then Woolworth’s and sit ins, which I assume were not, but I am not sure how the first fits into the entire story whereas the sit in gives historical context. Please enlighten me.
If you like good music, and your pulse quickens at the mere mention of the title, then definitely check out The Apollo. I do not mind financially showing my support, but if you are short on funds, then wait to see it at home. There is some salty language during the brief comedian segment and suggestive dancing when Ms. Isaac appears, but if that dancing met network standards in the eighties, you should be able to handle it in the twenty-first century.