If there are 8 million stories in the naked city then Harlem has a million of them.
THE DISS --- Listen to a small time drug dealer as he makes a name in the crack game. He will soon learn that it’s not what not what you do that matters, but what you say that does.
.HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS-- Then there’s the rehabilitated writer who returns back to Harlem a place where his past and present collide and only he can tell the difference. Unbeknownst to him he is about to write his greatest work – his life.
WHERE IS THE LOVE -- Hear the voice of the talented photographer tormented by artistic obsession and carnal desires. He encounters a mysterious woman who reveals the one thing both have tried to avoid -- the truth
JAZZ IS HIP HOP --Then there’s the jazz connoisseur who watches with apprehension as the young rapper moves into his building. This sets into motion a chain of events, which proves change if even not welcomed is inevitable
.
These are some of the voices of men who scream because they can’t be heard.
JAMES GILLARD
Author, filmmaker, playwright
James Gillard is a filmmaker writer whose films and plays focus on
telling the stories of the African Diaspora that are true to the integrity of
the global Black experience (struggles, identity, moral conflicts and social
conditions).
His first short film, “Out Of Focus,” was selected as the “1999 Best Short Film Winner” of
the Harlem Film Festival. It was also a finalist
in the 2002 “Hollywood Black Film Festival.” It has been in numerous festivals in
the country. Most recently it was
featured at the 2004 BAMCINEMATEX Next
Cinema slam.
His last
few projects have included the production of two stage plays. “A
MESSAGE IN OUR MUSIC”
written by James and produced by famed playwright WOODIE KING as part of Henry
Street Settlement’s “GREAT BLACK ONE ACTS
2000.” It was also featured in the “FRINGE NYC
2001 Play Festival.
His full length play “DESTINY MANIFESTED” premiered at the 2003 Downtown Urban Theater
Festival, where it won “best audience winner,” it has since been showcased at
The Theater For the New City, presented in June 2004 at The “JUNETEENTH LEGACY
THEATER”, and showcased at the
University of California at SANTA CRUZ.
In May of 2005 it was presented at the Paul Robeson Theater in Brooklyn.
One of his
short stories, ”THE DISS”, was
published in the 2003 edition of the Literary Journal, “SIGNIFYIN HARLEM.” His other short story “Jazz is Hip-Hop” was featured in the Summer/Fall 2003 edition of NYU’s
Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noire magazine and recently won the Harlem Short Story Contest sponsored by
The NATIONAL BLACK PROGRAMMING
CONSORTIUM
In June 2005 his play “PENDEMONIUM”, opened the 5th annual Downtown Urban
Theater Festival at the Cherry Lane Studio Theater in New York and in Nov 2007
was showcased at Van PUTTEN STUDIOS in New York City. . In April 2006 his short film version of the
play “PENDEMONIUM”, premiered at the
ACTNOW Foundation screening in Brooklyn New York, and has since been screened
at the San Francisco Short Film Festival,
and at the BET SHOWCASE in CALIFORNIA 2008.
In 2009 James was awarded a HARLEM ARTS GRANT for the film “Jazz is HIP
HoP. In 2010 he was awarded a HAA grant
for his children’s film VOICES OF YOUTH.
In 2012 his docudrama series Zora returns to Harlem was awarded a LMCC
grant. In 2012 he completed his first
book IF HARLEM COULD TALK IT WOULD SCREAM. A collection of short stories. In 2013 he completed his second book , “CAN
ANYBODY HEAR ME , VOICES OF YOUTH”
www.135thandinfinity.com
WATCH THE TRAILER FOR MURDOCH
A full length screenplay written by James Gillard
SCREENPLAY FINALIST IN THE 2018
Harlem International Film Festival
ON the Red Carpet at the AMC MAGIC JOHNSON THEATER
with friends.
OTHER WORKS BY JAMES GILLARD
OUR YOUTH ARE TALKING BUT IS ANYBODY LISTENING?
Read an excerpt from
JAZZ IS HIP HOP
by James Gillard
When I open the door to the building I see that boy standing
right there at the mailbox. Just looking like he up to no good. Pants down as
usual, big boots on, and wearing one of them Doo Rags on his head. Charlie
Bryant from apt 2a come down and checks his mail. We acknowledge one another.
You know just simple chit chat. ―How you doing Mr. Lankford,
―Good and yourself Charlie,―Look
like we got another hot one
―Yes, we
do, dress lightly son.
See that‘s just the way I was raised. Then I see Deloris Taylor headed out
the building with her daughter. She moving so quickly I couldn‘t see her face
but I still heard her mouth. ―Have
a good day Mr. Lankford. Now here we got all
these people showing courtesy to one another and that boy standing right there
and can‘t even open his mouth.
When he turns to go up them stairs,
I just had to say something. I guess it was Ms. Grace getting robbed, that
young girl on the train, and me feeling unwanted.
―It‘s time for
you to show some respect to your elders, this world
don‘t evolve around you? That hall got real quiet like. But I didn‘t care, cause I meant every word I said.
I could see it caught him
off guard. ―Time for you to show
some respect to your elders ―What
you say
pops? He said turning around all angry.
―I said
it‘s time to show some respect to your elders and my name is not pops. Now as soon as I said this, he just look at me, shake his head and keep right on walking. Now there‘s three
things in life I can‘t stand. The first is the tour buses that come through Harlem. The one with all them white
tourist peering out the windows and looking at us like we some kind of zoo
exhibit. The second is to be interrupted
while playing my jazz. The last and the most important one is for someone to turn
their back on me when I‘m talking to them.
So I had all that working in me when I said ―you bringing shame on
this building with the way you carrying on. You bring shame on your people also. This time I got his attention.
He stopped right there at them steps
that lead to the exit way. I could sense it was about to get scary up in that
building. ―Yo, pops don‘t you ever come out your face like that to me again. You the fucking Uncle Tom in
here!
WATCH THE TRAILER FOR THE PLAY
IF HARLEM COULD TALK IT WOULD SCREAM
Performed at the NUYORICAN POETS CAFE
OTHER WORKS BY JAMES GILLARD
OUR YOUTH ARE TALKING BUT IS ANYBODY LISTENING?
Watch a clip of the award winning Youth films by James Gillard
Bad things come in Three.
Taken from the book
CANY ANYBODY HEAR ME
Watch
YOUNG ACTORS RE-CREATE
Radio Raheem
From Do the Right Thing
MY DISCOVERY OF HARLEM
by James Gillard
"Jim, get upstairs now, it's getting late." That was the familiar voice of my mother reminding me of the uneasy balance of giving your child space but also setting parameters. It was the mid 70's and it was a time that represented friendships, new discoveries, and danger -- all intertwined in this village of Harlem. Long gone was the renaissance era. Harlem was in a time of economic woe reflected in many urban spaces throughout the country. Heroine, dilapidated buildings, poverty, and crime.
At the time I didn't understand the magnificence of this place, it was just home to me. Yes, there were names I heard in my journeys to school. Names like Langston, Billie, Baldwin, and X. But that wasn't the Harlem I could touch or feel not as of yet.
My Harlem experience came from how others viewed me. The times when I would visit family in the South and they could sense something about me. Swagger, a Harlem swagger. The way I talked, walked, or just observed. They would always say yeah that my cousin from NY. Harlem. So in a confident way I didn't need to know the history in some way I felt I was making history -- just because of this place Harlem.
Mind you I grew up in Lincoln Projects on 135th and Madison. My world at the time was about as far as four avenues. Park, Madison, 5th, and Lenox. It was a concrete jungle filled with about 15 buildings. Within that space I saw life, experienced love, played ball and at times experienced sheer terror. But in essence this was my Harlem. A Harlem filled with soulful encounters with the elders who reminded us of the blocks that Malcolm walked, Men and women who could party hard the night before and still get up and go to work. Then there was the stark reality of innocently playing on a street corner that was next to the same spot where a dead brother or sister laid. Yes, it was a Harlem that was rich with black life, good bad and indifferent.
I guess this is why Racism, was a distant thought. My life didn't consist of feeling oppressed or unworthy. In some ways Harlem sheltered us from the world outside of 110th street. I only encountered few white people unless they were teachers at my elementary school or a salesperson. As I stated this was a Harlem to me that was only about 4 avenues..
In my early teens my world expanded (7th and 8th ave) and things soon changed. I could travel venture out beyond my 135th home and 125th, to 155 became my new home. I went from catching bees and playing scalies, shooting the dozens to chasing girls and hanging out a bit later. Really much later, “sorry mommy.” .At about this time in life those early names of those voices from year past began to come to existence to me in different ways. Langston, the great poet laureate of Harlem words were introduced to me and I listened. His work introduced me to Baldwin, and Wright. Suddenly the Harlem I had not knew of became a lot more touchable. I still couldn't fathom the depth of this place.
Summer times changed and the street developed a rhythm. Young brothers were doing something new with music. Our local park became a gathering place for a concept that would bring about beauty, individuality and a whole new creation that would change the way we view ourselves and the way we are viewed. HIP HOP.
Late 70's albums, microphones, and young brothers telling stories in rhyme. My block had changed. Jams in the park were full of life, break dancing, kangols and girls. Girls loved hip-hop and this was our time. Stories were told about life in rhyme and Harlem as well as the Bronx was feeling this new energy. Although hip hop started to flourish Harlem's economic woes pretty much stayed the same. Desolate buildings and brownstones littered certain blocks, Reaganomics affected our programs of child care and in time Hip Hop reflected this shift with edgier lyrics. Materialism: and in essence the introduction of a little rock that destroyed the fabric of the black family.
Harlem had now become the poster child of what’s wrong in America. An economic social disaster. But this was the opinion of outsiders. I delved into the short stories of Langston now, and began to read the Autobiography of Malcolm. And amongst this turbulent backdrop I fell more in love with Harlem.
The crack epidemic ravaged this historic community. It's been said that in the early 80's - mid 90's that more drugs came through Harlem than anywhere else. Urban legend, but as a youth growing up in Harlem I had a drug dealer friend on about every corner. At this same time the city began to sell abandoned property (brownstones) for 1 dollar. There were some takers but not many. Although you could buy the property for a dollar what was not told was how much you had to pay to get the property re-furbished. This set in motion the introduction of a new population. A group of people who at times we felt uneasy about. Gentrification, and economic vision was the goal of the new Harlem.
This Harlem had superstores and restaurants in mind. For some of Harlem’s older citizens it felt like an invasion. Harlem at one time the mecca of the black experience was now becoming a village of status, and economics. MY HARLEM.
So as I continue on in my journey my goal is to document these stories of the Harlemites who still reside here and to continue to discover those voices who I only read about but now I experience. This is the continuous story of my discovery of Harlem.
At the time I didn't understand the magnificence of this place, it was just home to me. Yes, there were names I heard in my journeys to school. Names like Langston, Billie, Baldwin, and X. But that wasn't the Harlem I could touch or feel not as of yet.
My Harlem experience came from how others viewed me. The times when I would visit family in the South and they could sense something about me. Swagger, a Harlem swagger. The way I talked, walked, or just observed. They would always say yeah that my cousin from NY. Harlem. So in a confident way I didn't need to know the history in some way I felt I was making history -- just because of this place Harlem.
My Harlem experience came from how others viewed me. The times when I would visit family in the South and they could sense something about me. Swagger, a Harlem swagger. The way I talked, walked, or just observed. They would always say yeah that my cousin from NY. Harlem. So in a confident way I didn't need to know the history in some way I felt I was making history -- just because of this place Harlem.
Mind you I grew up in Lincoln Projects on 135th and Madison. My world at the time was about as far as four avenues. Park, Madison, 5th, and Lenox. It was a concrete jungle filled with about 15 buildings. Within that space I saw life, experienced love, played ball and at times experienced sheer terror. But in essence this was my Harlem. A Harlem filled with soulful encounters with the elders who reminded us of the blocks that Malcolm walked, Men and women who could party hard the night before and still get up and go to work. Then there was the stark reality of innocently playing on a street corner that was next to the same spot where a dead brother or sister laid. Yes, it was a Harlem that was rich with black life, good bad and indifferent.
I guess this is why Racism, was a distant thought. My life didn't consist of feeling oppressed or unworthy. In some ways Harlem sheltered us from the world outside of 110th street. I only encountered few white people unless they were teachers at my elementary school or a salesperson. As I stated this was a Harlem to me that was only about 4 avenues..
In my early teens my world expanded (7th and 8th ave) and things soon changed. I could travel venture out beyond my 135th home and 125th, to 155 became my new home. I went from catching bees and playing scalies, shooting the dozens to chasing girls and hanging out a bit later. Really much later, “sorry mommy.” .At about this time in life those early names of those voices from year past began to come to existence to me in different ways. Langston, the great poet laureate of Harlem words were introduced to me and I listened. His work introduced me to Baldwin, and Wright. Suddenly the Harlem I had not knew of became a lot more touchable. I still couldn't fathom the depth of this place.
Summer times changed and the street developed a rhythm. Young brothers were doing something new with music. Our local park became a gathering place for a concept that would bring about beauty, individuality and a whole new creation that would change the way we view ourselves and the way we are viewed. HIP HOP.
Late 70's albums, microphones, and young brothers telling stories in rhyme. My block had changed. Jams in the park were full of life, break dancing, kangols and girls. Girls loved hip-hop and this was our time. Stories were told about life in rhyme and Harlem as well as the Bronx was feeling this new energy. Although hip hop started to flourish Harlem's economic woes pretty much stayed the same. Desolate buildings and brownstones littered certain blocks, Reaganomics affected our programs of child care and in time Hip Hop reflected this shift with edgier lyrics. Materialism: and in essence the introduction of a little rock that destroyed the fabric of the black family.
Harlem had now become the poster child of what’s wrong in America. An economic social disaster. But this was the opinion of outsiders. I delved into the short stories of Langston now, and began to read the Autobiography of Malcolm. And amongst this turbulent backdrop I fell more in love with Harlem.
The crack epidemic ravaged this historic community. It's been said that in the early 80's - mid 90's that more drugs came through Harlem than anywhere else. Urban legend, but as a youth growing up in Harlem I had a drug dealer friend on about every corner. At this same time the city began to sell abandoned property (brownstones) for 1 dollar. There were some takers but not many. Although you could buy the property for a dollar what was not told was how much you had to pay to get the property re-furbished. This set in motion the introduction of a new population. A group of people who at times we felt uneasy about. Gentrification, and economic vision was the goal of the new Harlem.
This Harlem had superstores and restaurants in mind. For some of Harlem’s older citizens it felt like an invasion. Harlem at one time the mecca of the black experience was now becoming a village of status, and economics. MY HARLEM.
So as I continue on in my journey my goal is to document these stories of the Harlemites who still reside here and to continue to discover those voices who I only read about but now I experience. This is the continuous story of my discovery of Harlem.
So as I continue on in my journey my goal is to document these stories of the Harlemites who still reside here and to continue to discover those voices who I only read about but now I experience. This is the continuous story of my discovery of Harlem.
read an excerpt of THE DISS
The DISS
HARLEM 1991
―Here is something you can’t understand; I could just kill a man. Al turned the radio down,
and looked directly in the man‘s face
and said,
―Let me
make this shit clear, cause obviously you ain‘t hearing me. I don‘t take no fucking change, go somewhere and turn
them pennies into dollars before I put my foot
up your ass. The man‘s body cowered with the delivery of each word. Al‘s point
had hit home. Turning back up the
radio, he watched the man meekly walk
away. Al thought to himself, ―who ever made
this crack shit, was brilliantly evil. It made
men leave their families, wives
became 2-dollar hoes, and friends would kill friends -- all for the love of this little rock. He
knew the man would be back,
after all he was a crack head and Al
had the best crack on 132nd street
-- Green top. The day had been good. He had rocked about three grand and he only had to diss two people. First the young boy who
obviously forgot where he was
and who he was dealing with, trying
to sell red top on his corner.
Saying ―he didn‘t know
anybody was clocking there. When I told him to bounce the little nigger got
indignant. Talking bout,
―it‘s enough for all of us to get paid. Al liked his heart and if he didn‘t have pressing matters, he would take him under his wing, but now
was not the time for him to be a teacher.
―Little nigger
you better take
your ass home and play
with your Lego‘s and while you at it put a towel behind your ears cause you dripping wet, I been out here
hustling before your mother and father met. Al could see tears in the boy‘s eyes. He knew he had broken his
spirit. But he admired the way he
sucked it up and didn‘t let his boys see him rattled. The second
was the fool that had just stepped to him with
pennies. Taking a deep swallow of his soda, Al surveyed his environment, two
bodegas, one number hole, a coke spot, abandon buildings, a courtyard and the
projects. Skinny Tony owned the first bodega.
He was an Italian cat who swore he was black. Wore jewelry down to his
stomach, and was always slapping five with the brothers. ―What‘s up my niggers, ―What‘s up my
niggers? At the same time, he would turn around and sell you moldy
ass bread, and green meat. He was a piece of work.
Al still couldn‘t get over the way Tony dissed him when he wanted to set up shop outside the store. ―I know you not selling
that dope outside my door, no dope
outside my door; take that shit back
to the projects!
