The One Thing That Took Me Out of ​ The Color Purple

The story of The Color Purple’s Celie—a young Black woman living in rural Georgia in the early 1900s who endures domestic and sexual violence, racism, and sexism before finding empowerment through sisterhood to stand up for herself—has traveled a long way since 1982. The original novel by Alice Walker was first adapted into the 1985 11-time Oscar-nominated Steven Spielberg film before becoming the 2005 Tony Award–winning stage musical. The musical remained on Broadway for three years—even pulling in American Idol winner Fantasia Barrino to take over the lead role of Celie for a time—before embarking on a series of U.S. tours, an Off–West End run, and, more recently, a lauded Broadway revival from 2015 to 2017, injecting the musical with a newfound popularity. Shortly after, another feature film was announced—not a remake of the original film, but an adaptation of the musical. All of this has culminated in this Christmas Day release of “a bold new take” on Walker’s story, complete with, as the promotional material boasts, some “modern twists.”

This version of The Color Purple, directed by Blitz Bazawule (best known for The Burial of Kojo and Beyoncé’s Black Is King) and produced by some of Hollywood’s biggest names—Oprah Winfrey, Spielberg, Scott Sanders, and Quincy Jones—is indeed a very new take. With Jones and Winfrey at the production helm, the film unsurprisingly serves as a veritable who’s who of Black excellence in Hollywood, featuring solid performances by Halle Bailey, H.E.R., Taraji P. Henson, Colman Domingo, and Corey Hawkins, as well as standout reprisals by Danielle Brooks and Fantasia Barrino. But, despite the stacked cast, perhaps this new iteration of Celie’s story is too modern. What do I mean by that? Two words: the dancing.

I appreciate an effort to revitalize an older story to make it more palatable to present-day audiences, but I found the choreography in the new film to be out of place to the point of distraction. As I was watching this story that takes place from 1909 to 1947, all I could think was: Respectfully, why are these dancers practically popping and locking? I love some great choreo, but it was difficult to concentrate on the opening number—the Tamela Mann–sung “Mysterious Ways,” a showstopping tune about some good ol’ fashioned praisin’ of the Lord—with so many anachronistic shenanigans going on in the background. The beginning of the number, which you can see clipped in this featurette for the film, resembles the vocal prowess–focused stage version, with Mann’s stunning belt alongside minimal movements integral to Black female dance traditions, like the changing of arm poses and slight dips that are still found in Black majorette performances and sorority strolls today. But, moments later, the energy palpably shifts as The Color Purple ramps into what will remain its dominant mode for the next couple of hours: a large-scale spectacle. The film’s version of “Mysterious Ways” is replete with contemporary hip-hop dance moves, a no-handed roundoff flip off of a wooden porch, and the entire ensemble doing a synchronized single tour en l’air. The Broadway revival’s rendition, in comparison, primarily consisted of the ensemble rising and sitting on chairs over and over again.

But the changes don’t stop there. More modern grooves are thrown in to complement one of the new songs written for the musical, “Workin’,” sung by Corey Hawkins, along with whatever shoulder-forward body roll and stomp Hawkins is doing here. (No surprise—as a friend of mine astutely noted, when it comes to Hawkins, “They always have him hip-hoppin’.”) At one point during “Hell No!” the women of the house can be seen emphatically rolling their heads in defiance, like they’re in an episode of That’s So Raven. Please, I can’t be the only one thinking throughout: It is 1922—stop flipping and stay on those damn feet!

Were these dancers doing their assigned choreography excellently? Yes, they were performing and then some. For a different production, the choreography—which was handled by Fatima Robinson, who choreographed Beyoncé’s Renaissance film and tour—would have fit just right. But, watching The Color Purple, the anachronistic dancing takes you out of the emotionally arresting story being told. Instead of reinvigorating the musical for the screen, the too-showy moves drag it down. This choreography is also a symptom of a bigger problem: the film taking the easy way out. The updated movement is all in service of the filmmakers’ goal to “connect with the younger generation,” making the film something that viewers of all ages can enjoy. But in that pursuit, the film winds up overly sanitized and modernized. Celie’s hardships are often merely referred to, revealed through context clues and euphemisms, or generally glossed over by the incredibly quick pace of the film (which cut more than 10 songs from the stage production). We can still feel the traumatic effects of those hardships through Barrino’s and Brooks’ devastating performances, but the film does have a certain sanitized, Disney-fied feeling to it. The saturated colors and glints of gold, the fake rain and thunder in the serious moments, the impressively lively but out-of-place dancing—the tone that these elements create is akin to what a live-action version of Disney’s The Princess and the Frog would look like.

Not all of the film’s dance numbers are so jarring. “Push Da Button” has a booty pop here and there, but it works, in part because it feels far more in line with what our parents’ parents’ parents would have been doing during their nights out on the town. I would’ve loved to see the movie strike more of that balance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad this adaptation exists. The Color Purple is still entertaining and deeply heartfelt (I had a face full of tears by the end), with some awards-worthy acting and singing (and, yes, dancing). I just wish it retained a greater sense of gravitas. When Sofia says the famous line “All my life I had to fight,” it’s supposed to feel deeply earned. When Celie sings her big song “I’m Here,” designed to bring the house down and the audience to their feet, it’s supposed to feel like it’s been too far overdue. We almost land there—if only it weren’t for all that grooving and spinning and slick flashiness getting in the way.