Sarah Gord Blog 6

One of my favorite poems this week was “Dinosaurs in the Hood” by Danez Smith, where Smith proposes a dinosaur movie where black people get to be human. In this poem, Smith’s “instrument” is both the poem and the film he describes. He wants to see a young black boy and a black community defeating dinosaurs like badasses – in a film that doesn’t become about black pain or kill the young black boy. He problematizes tropes in preexisting films where black people are either not allowed to be three dimensional characters or where black folks are only allowed to wallow in pain, ultimately arguing for more stories of regular black people who thrive in extraordinary situations (but not in spite of or because of a history of violence or pain).  

He declares both what the movie should and shouldn’t be, and a lot of the things he suggests it shouldn’t be are tropes that represent dominant trends in Hollywood movies. He directly addresses the reader as collaborator (beginning with “let’s make a movie”) or as someone who can help make this movie a reality. The primary image he returns to is “a little black boy…playing / with a toy dinosaur on the bus, then looks out the window / & sees the T-Rex.” This young boy gets to be a kid whose dreams are “possible, pulsing, & right there.” By the end of this poem, the dinosaurs become something much larger; this movie comes to represent possibility for that young black boy.

The speaker is very particular about who gets to make this film (and whose voices are showcased). He is clear about who and what this movie should not represent. Early in the poem, he says, “Don’t let Tarantino direct this,” alluding to the white director known for his violence and freewheeling use of the n-word (later implicitly referenced again when he says “nobody can say nigga in this movie / who can’t say it to my face in public”). He refers to “his [Tarantino’s] version,” where a gun becomes a metaphor and the boy is destined to end up like his father (and therefore he does not have any agency for himself). This, he argues, is not what he wants. The dinosaurs are still a metaphor in the speaker’s version, but for something much more hopeful: they are “proof of magic or God or Santa.”

This is also not a movie about the cops or government saving the day; “this movie is about a neighborhood of royal folks-- / children of slaves & immigrants & addicts & exiles—saving their town / from real ass dinosaurs.” For the speaker, “royal” is synonymous with folks who are marginalized in society, who too often are not represented in high profile films. He says, “I want grandmas on the front porch taking out raptors / with guns they hid in walls & under mattresses.” The heroes in this movie are regular people, overlooked people, people considered “different” – depicted as they are, human. 

Near the end of the poem, the speaker specifies even more what this film is not. The film is not an instrument for racism, for tropes, or a vehicle for successful actors who often play into stereotypes about their race or accent. He repeats “this can’t be,” highlighting Hollywood’s dismissiveness of a “black movie.” He also echoes his adamant belief that “this movie can’t be metaphor / for black people & extinction.” The movie can’t be about the history of racism, or about black pain for audience’s pleasure. Most significantly for the speaker, he repeats “& no one kills the black boy” three times. Too often in disaster films, the black characters are killed off, either because they are not deemed central characters or because it would be dramatic for the audience. Smith calls bullshit on this trend, and advocates instead for the boy’s storyline to remain hopeful and optimistic. 

He adds near the end, too, “Besides, the only reason / I want to make this is for that first scene anyway: the little black boy / on the bus with a toy dinosaur, his eyes wide & endless / his dreams possible, pulsing, & right there.” This film is not as much about the dinosaurs as about hope and possibility, something readily available and visible in films about young white boys but too rarely depicted in mainstream films about black boys. In this film, the little boy doesn't have to stand for all black people or represent something larger for himself; he just gets to be a little boy.