"Passing" Drifts By Decency On The Road To Ineptitude

Rebecca Ferguson's directorial debut flounders in the face of its topical subject matter.

April 11, 2022

In March 1901, the Baltimore Orioles stayed at the Eastman Hotel in Hot Springs, Arkansas, during training camp. One day, manager John McGraw looked out the window and saw the staff playing baseball. He became enamored with bellhop Charlie Grant, whom he invited to join the Major League club.

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Fourteen years earlier, future Hall of Famer Cap Anson, a virulent racist, objected to an opposing team fielding Black players. Although his initial protest proved unsuccessful, he continued to dissent until the issue reached the International League, which voted to ban new contracts for Black players. The game was officially segregated.

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The color barrier was never a law. Any team could have broken it, but the stars threatened to quit if Black players joined the league. Resistance was futile.

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Grant had straight hair and light skin, so McGraw passed him off as a Cherokee Indian named “Charlie Tokohama.” The scheme was effective until the Orioles traveled to Chicago, where Grant’s friends celebrated his return: seeing a group of Black people in the stands horrified White Sox owner Charles Comiskey, who unveiled the ploy. Despite an alleged lack of defensive prowess, it was this moment that ended Grant’s career: he could no longer pass for white.

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It is the truth of America even today: the nation is for white people. It does not matter how often we decry institutional prejudice or demand change: those in power have no vested interest in surrendering it. If this nation becomes one for all, it cannot be one for them. The only chance for equality is a veneer, where opportunism deludes the reactive into believing genuine shifts are occurring until something happens to remind them it was all a facade. Studios will replace white characters with actors of color in the false name of representation. Networks will vow to legislate equal racial representation on television shows, as though simply appearing on the screen means a worthwhile story will get told. As long as we cry wolf and rejoice in getting thrown a bone from time to time, we can never accept that we are not that one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all.

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Charlie Grant could play in the Major Leagues today, but only by the will of a man seeking to capitalize on Black talent to capture a pennant. It was not a generosity of spirit or the struggle for equality that made Branch Rickey sign Jackie Robinson: it was greed, the kind only a rich white man can possess.

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The United States is foundationally racist, rife with corruption that infects the country from its bigoted roots to every one of its branches: movies, television, the workforce, social equality, even equal protection under the law. It is everywhere. Passing is a film that seems worthwhile in telling the story of a Black woman who can pass for white but fails to shed light on what its necessity means and its effect on those backed into that corner.

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Passing requires a suspension of disbelief in that neither of its two leading ladies can pass for white, but it requires far more mercy for the non-committal handling of its subject matter. Passing is a delicate matter which hangs by a thread, and those with the power to cut it are the most plainly evil people imaginable. Clare’s husband is faithful to the casual racism of eras past, but there is no depth to the conflicts Irene experiences in knowing what she faces because what she faces lacks substance.

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Passing manages a sincerity towards its time. It feels and sounds like the 30s: all the vernacular is precise, and dialogue is loaded with linguistic pomp. The restraint could comment on the need to mask truth, which the film hints at it in a tense discussion between the two women about renewing their friendship. Sadly, it is more an ode to old-school manners than a commentary on what a stubborn world requires of those outside the majority.

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Code-switching is a necessary skill for many minorities. For example, a gay, biracial child could feel alone. He is too Black for the White kids and too White for the Black kids, all while shouldering a secret he fears no one will understand or accept. He must adapt by tapping into his familiarity with every group he interacts with, using their speech patterns, mannerisms, and vernacular to assimilate while suppressing things he knows would give him away. He can grow up as a fraud in the strictest sense, but in that way, be more sincere than most. He can find understanding across demographics constantly at cultural war. He can allow the fear of neglect to inform his perspective, lending empathy many may not find in most companions. He can be someone whose tragedy breeds triumph if only time allows him to find success in growing up so isolated.

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Passing has the story to impart this wisdom but does not understand it. Irene is uniform, never breaking her soft-spoken veneer. She is the same woman at a white marketplace as she is around her Black husband and employees, always speaking as if she has her feelings caught in her throat, and every thought in her head is banging on a blocked exit. If inequality has turned her into a white imagining of acceptability, we must see this. If she is striving to show she can be everything her white counterparts cannot accept a Black person can become, we must see this.

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Unfortunately, the movie never shows anything. It is so bent on being floaty that it forgets to be fulfilling. It could make a statement but never does, leaving the factual to interpretation. Clare is a woman of renowned beauty and self-admittedly low morals. Irene should see her as a threat, but the movie can never decide the danger Clare poses. In passing for white, she could be a societal dream stealing her life, degrading her in an unfamiliar way that still understands prejudice. She could cause her to question the use of her propriety: if Clare passing can upend her life with ease, what good is hers?

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Only in the most desperate criticisms could Passing be said to touch upon these ideas. It thrives to the slightest degree, and only when introspection is negotiable. As Irene faces the possibility of an affair between Clare and her husband - an event Clare foreshadows in a forced conversation used to establish the rising action - the movie gains momentum. It plays coy with the nature of Clare and Brian’s relationship but never implies that these two women’s approach to their race is a factor in Irene's suspicion. Her fears seem rooted in the same insecurities as any wary wife. A film desperate to say something about race, the somber virtue of changing your skin, and slipping beneath the radar of systems rigged against you offers only a domestic squabble plucked from a Lifetime movie.

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Sadly, this is only in spirit. Passing leaves itself as open as possible to invite projections that will give it substance and meaning, but in doing so, never gathers momentum. It never stands out in any way, from its dusty cinematography, mostly muted performances, and banal screenplay, all convinced the further it keeps us from conclusions, the more value it contains. Unfortunately, we do conclude, and our realization undermines the movie.

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Clare’s immorality renders the movie moot. By admitting to her soullessness, every action seems flippant instead of purposeful. She can never be a reflection of anything but her soullessness, and thus the movie reduces the issue of colorism to morals, almost blaming the victim. Clare could be an opportunist who exploited an opening, but Passing begs us to view her in a sympathetic, albeit suspicious, light. If she chooses to pass because it is the easier path, and the other is impossible, she can be a product of a forced environment. It would make her more complex but render her friendship with Irene pointless. If she walks the path one way and Clare another, they still walk the same path and thus will arrive at the same destination. Anything they share or experience together or because of each other is only meaningful if the film is an exercise in tragedy. Alas, Passing is an exercise in nothing.

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As a result, it fails to earn anything it takes, especially its ending. The ambiguity is plain, but the legitimacy is not. Irene's turmoil has not pushed her to murder, so all the reflection the movie demands is not warranted. If it is envy, what has incurred her jealousy? If it is bitterness, what has inspired her resentment? A film cannot leave us hanging at the end without holding itself together every step before. Thematics bind a film: Passing passes by them.

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It is faithful to a literary style, where each moment is a passage we endure to reach the subsequent development. It feels split by chapters, but each installment is just a means to an end. It does not explore, dissect, or strive to be anything other than a movie that exists. It has little to say and thus gives nothing to digest or conclude. Movies can draw us to them instead of forcing the issue, but Passing is so focused on being artful and measured that it forgets to be a movie. It must ask and answer questions through the truth of its story and the reality it inflicts upon its characters. Movies with something to say should say it loudly, and Passing wants to be a film with a message rather than one predicated on ideas. In confusing which should get pronounced, it fails to pass for anything, especially a movie worth our time.