It’s been nearly 40 years since Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel about a young Black teenager’s tumultuous life in rural Georgia during the 1930s was adapted into a star-studded feature film directed by Steven Spielberg and scored and co-produced by Quincy Jones. “The Color Purple” was nominated for 11 Academy Awards, with Whoopi Goldberg winning a Golden Globe for Best Actress for her depiction of Celie. The film immediately attracted protest and praise, including from James Baldwin, who called it “awful” mainly for its uncomplicated take on Black male characters.
There are clear villains and heroes, there is danger and trauma, but there is also growth, evolution, celebration and joy.
The popular reworking of Walker’s literary work — both the 1985 film and its more recent turn to musical theater — reveals the ongoing interest in a story about personal triumph in the face of adversity. It’s a very American story, a fact made all the more evident by the latest star-studded adaptation.
Or rather, the adaptation of an adaptation. The latest “The Color Purple,” directed by Samuel “Blitz” Bazawule, is a musical film adaptation of the 2015 revival of the award-winning Broadway musical production, which debuted in 2005. In the years between the first and second of these adaptations, Hollywood has seemingly cracked the code on how to represent Black pain and trauma alongside joy, and the musical format in particular softens many of the rough edges of the book and its original adaptation. It also makes it even more difficult to delve into the subtleties of the novel, especially its depiction of the Black lesbian experience and Celie’s relationship with Shug Avery (Taraji Henson), plotlines Spielberg admits he avoided in the film.
This turn to musical theatrical has been embraced by Walker, although Walker has not figured prominently in its promotion (most likely because of past controversial remarks). Instead, the public face for Bazawule’s remake has been Oprah Winfrey, who made her film debut in the 1985 adaptation and is one of the producers of the new film. She has dazzled in purple on red carpets and during interviews, and she wowed crowds with a portrait unveiling of herself in purple at the National Gallery. She’s the face of the film not just because of her past involvement with the story, but because Winfrey seems to embody this arc of triumph over obstacles like poverty and repeated sexual abuse. Winfrey has forged a space for herself that is unapologetically Black but also reassuring and nonthreatening to mainstream white audiences.
The latest film adaptation is sort of like that, too. In many ways it represents the “Black Panther”-ization of Black American storytelling. There are clear villains and heroes, there is danger and trauma, but there is also growth, evolution, celebration and joy. Bazawule did, after all, help to direct “Black is King,” the musical film produced by Beyoncé to accompany her album “Lion King: The Gift.” As they did for 2018’s “Black Panther,” audiences are sure to flock to theaters to marvel at the musical’s visual delights, from wardrobe to cinematography, as much as for the script and performances. And like “Black Panther” (and for that matter Beyoncé’s “Renaissance” tour and film), we’re meant to show up at theaters dressed to impress — this time in our most fabulous purple looks. It’s an occasion to be seen and to celebrate, a modern-day social media–driven version of our Sunday best; we get a taste of the red carpet and a sense of shared experience.
There’s something about breaking out in song and about Celie’s colorful dream sequences that make the latest adaptation profound but more palatable.
The musical format is what allows “The Color Purple” — a story about generational trauma and sexual violence — entrance into this celebratory fold. It’s hard to imagine anyone asking what someone would wear to the 1985 film or striking poses at the theater. The original adaptation, for all its sentimentality, was a far more wrenching affair that became a cultural touchstone for its performances and because of its powerful storytelling from an often-overlooked perspective: that of a poor Black girl. The film felt like a collective achievement but not exactly a cause for celebration. But there’s something about breaking out in song and about Celie’s colorful dream sequences that make the latest adaptation profound but more palatable, less difficult to sit through. The sort of experience that makes sense to wear sequins for.
This has always been a challenge of Black expression: How to represent the trauma and pain of Black life, especially the experiences during and after enslavement (including Jim Crow racism), without appearing as broken, forever victims. There must be a resilient redemptive narrative. This is not unlike the challenges other groups face when representing historical traumas. But with so few positive depictions of Blackness in news and popular media, the stakes can feel even higher.
When describing what she avoids in her work, visual artist Kara Walker referred to a “Color Purple scenario”: a wrenching but tidy narrative of evolution, growth and resilience. Walker’s art prefers ambiguity and uncertainty instead and makes no effort to reassure viewers with resolution or a happy ending. Walker distinguishes her treatment of historical racial trauma from that of “The Color Purple,” noting that hers is not about growth, evolution or uplift — a choice for which she’s been both praised and labeled as self-hating. By contrast, Winfrey, Barack and Michelle Obama, and Shonda Rhimes are among the high-profile Black figures determined to offer more complicated representations of Blackness that are simultaneously complex and hard-hitting, but also hopeful and lighthearted. These contemporary representations don’t force a choice between more positive, uplifting stories and what are essentially trauma narratives. They have found a way to blend the two stylistically, and production companies, diverse audiences and theaters still struggling to stay afloat all seem eager for this twist. But even with the musical numbers and decked-out moviegoers, this latest version of “The Color Purple” still has plenty in common with the original. All of the iterations of Alice Walker’s story have preserved its classic redemptive plotline, which moves from pain to personal success and becomes a statement about collective growth. The musical format, though, offers a departure in style that has an enormous effect on audiences, providing an aesthetic that represents a collective desire to see a way out of the darkness. It turns out that’s also a very American longing that unites us.
Robyn Autry
Robyn Autry is a sociology professor and director of the Center for the Study of Public Life at Wesleyan University. She is the author of “Desegregating the Past: The Public Life of Memory in the U.S. and South Africa.” 
