Anymore it feels like most movies can’t resist namedropping the title of their film at some point in the dialogue. Cauleen Smith’s Drylongso never does, but there is a big clue during the opening titles as to what “drylongso” means. It could be easy to miss, and it wasn’t until listening to Smith’s conversation with film scholar, Michael B. Gillespie (which is included as a bonus feature on Criterion’s Blu-ray) that I picked up on it. Basically the “o” in “drylongso” turns into the word “ordinary,” and I remember wondering why at the time but, as Smith explains, “drylongso” is the title of a book by John Langston Gwaltney and a term that was used in the Southern Black communities that he visited to describe themselves as ordinary.
Smith’s Drylongso is set in West Oakland, but it’s also a film about ordinary people going about their lives. For Pica (Toby Smith), that means trying to pass her college photography course despite not following the rules to the letter and knowing that the deadline for her final project is coming up fast. Ideally Pica would be spending all of her time working on it, but that’s not the reality Pica is living and with rent to pay, a job to keep, and a nasty cough that keeps getting worse, making it to class regularly isn’t guaranteed.
Given all of the pressure Pica is under it might be expected that there would be more of a sense of urgency to Toby Smith’s performance or the editing. That there’s not really stresses how ordinary being under pressure is for Pica. Far from being some kind of sign that Pica isn’t invested, the fact that she keeps pushing forward without knowing if it’ll do any good or what the future holds is a testament to how passionate she is about her art. The scenes where Pica stands by her choices (like using a Polaroid camera instead of buying a fancier 35 mm one) are really incredible, too, because none of her answers sound pre-meditated or like she knew the answers herself before being questioned, and the tone isn’t “I need to explain myself.” They’re just convictions that Pica no sooner says than knows are true and stands by.
Salim Akil, who co-wrote the screenplay with Smith, does double duty as Pica’s photography professor, Mr. Yamada, while April Barnett plays a stranger Pica meets in front of her house and is able to help after a violent assault. Her character arc in the film is just as rich as Pica’s, but it’s their friendship that’s the real marvel, in that it didn’t exist before the events of the film yet becomes so integral to both their lives. It’s a reminder of how quickly your life can change, and it’s also plain good writing, since Smith and Akil never let their friendship be a given. Even after Tobi (Barnett) and Pica’s paths cross, it’s never supposed be to more than a one-time meeting. That it turns into more is as much a surprise to them as it is to viewers.
Bonus Features:
Criterion’s Blu-ray comes with a foldout poster of the box art by Krista Franklin. Inconveniently, Yasmina Price’s essay is printed on the back (these should be two, separate things), but it’s truly excellent (my favorite line is when Price captures the heart of the movie when she says it’s, “…ultimately focused on the bond between two young Black women and the ways that they imaginatively, collaboratively choreograph their lives in the face of their common vulnerabilities”). It’s also upsetting, in that Price draws attention to the fact that Smith is part of a long line of great female, Black directors who’ve only gotten to direct one feature (this includes Leslie Harris and Julie Dash).
In the conversation with Gillespie, Smith talks about how her film mixes up genres, shares some of her influences, and reveals the basis for some of the storylines.
Criterion’s disc also comes with six of Smith’s short films (according to Price, she’s made over forty) and an introduction to them by Smith where she provides some additional context (I’d love to know how she chose the six of them). “Chronicles of a Lying Spirit (by Kelly Gabron)” (1992), for example, was a school assignment, while “Songs for Earth & Folk” (2013) uses archive footage from the Chicago Film Archive and a live-improvised score by The Eternals. Smith’s technique of using text instead of vocals to create lyrics in that short is really interesting (if the message isn’t ultimately uplifting). Another standout is “Remote Viewing” (2011), which was inspired by a story Smith heard on the radio but instead of finding that broadcast and having it play over the short, Smith creates a soundscape that’s transfixing. The story behind the shell costume that the ancestral figure wears in “Egungun (Ancestor Can’t Find Me)” (2017) is great as well. The figure looks like a monster that would appear on a classic episode of Doctor Who, and a happy accident (in that Smith thought she’d run out of film) led to choreographer, taisha paggett, getting a co-star in “Lessons in Semaphore” (2016). “Suffolk” (2021) is a music video for Jeff Parker that incorporates extra footage from another short Smith did called “Sojourner” (2018) that’s not included.
Drylongso is available on Blu-ray and DVD from Criterion.
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