The Color Purple Helped Me Forgive My Abusive Father

Something profound happened to me when I saw The Color Purple.

I went in very familiar with the material. I've read Alice Walker's book, watched the 1985 film, and seen the Broadway musical multiple times. But during this screening of the latest film, in a packed theater in Los Angeles with the entire cast in attendance (including Oprah), I was suddenly left with an overwhelming feeling of closure. For the first time since I lost my father a couple of months back, I was not only able to find some kind of forgiveness for my abusive father, but I was also able to see my mother in a whole new light. All that because of a movie. That's how good it is.

For those who don't know the story, the film starts with Celie (played by Fantasia Barrino), a teen who suffered horrific abuse — mentally, physically, and sexually — at the hands of her father, which resulted in the birth of two children. It takes you on Celie's journey from having her children stripped away and put up for adoption to being forced into an arranged marriage with the much older Mister (played by Colman Domingo). As Celie gets older, the one thing in her life remains constant: abuse and the feeling of self-worthlessness. Through faith and with the help of two friends, Sofia (played by Danielle Brooks) and Shug (played by Taraji P. Henson), she's able to find her inner strength, beauty and her voice.

As soon as the film ended and I started to wrestle with the emotions brewing inside me, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to thinking about race. As a white person, for a moment, I thought, am I co-opting the experience of these Black characters for my own sake? And I'm sure there's a conversation to be had about that, I just don't know where it starts and ends. But to that end, Barrino said something that night and later elaborated on it with me when we spoke shortly after the screening.

"This is not just a Black thing," Barrino told me about the message of the film. "This is a world thing. Everybody who watches this movie can relate to something." She went on to tell me that Celie's story "is going to break so many curses off women and men, young and old, white and Black" who have lived through trauma like abuse.

Hearing her tell me that only reinforced the feeling I had the night of the screening. In fact, talking with Barrino and communicating about our shared histories of trauma and abuse just made her performance all the more powerful. Never has an actor portrayed a character's story that so closely aligns with their own personal story more than Barrino's story relates to Celie.

"I wouldn't have been able to play Celie if I did not go through a lot of what Celie we went through. Without saying a lot, you saw what she went through. That is my story."

And by her giving us this version of Celie, she's also giving us Barrino's story, which only intensified my own personal reaction to the film, Celie's story and the story of central male figure in the film, Mister. In fact, there's one pivotal scene Mister shares with his son, Harpo (played by Corey Hawkins), that hit me emotionally in a way I was not prepared for.

Like so many other people who can relate to Celie's story, I am a product of generational trauma. My father abused my mother because his father abused his mother, and so on. The abuse became a reality in a way a family vacation becomes memorable. I can clearly look back on memories that haunt me to this day just like some families remember trips to Disney World.

But like the women in The Color Purple, my mother found a way out to try and break that pattern of generational trauma, but it wasn't easy or perfect. For a lot of complicated reasons, my mother had to effectively give us, her children, up to save herself. For years I resented her for this, because I didn't understand why. Like Harpo, Mister's son, I was left behind with a man who only wanted me as a tool to torment my mother. The pattern of abuse continued until he decided he just didn't want me anymore, and I went to live with my mother in my teenage years.

As I got older, I stopped communicating with my father. I never sought closure because I didn't know I needed it and frankly, I didn't think I was the one responsible for initiating it. Cut to a couple months ago when I received news that my father had died. I didn't receive the news as an invitation to a funeral or anything, he died months earlier and I was only informed because of matters related to his estate. Knowing that even in death I was an afterthought for this man stung. I didn't know how to process these emotions, but it felt like another form of abuse. Instead of dealing with it, I focused on work, which frankly I'm grateful for because it was through my work that led me to this moment of closure.

Cue the scene with Mister and Harpo.

It's the simplest of moments. Mister, older and alone at this point, is drunk and leaving Harpo's bar. His son, Harpo, is holding his father. And in the flash of a second, Mister tells Harpo that he did a good job with the bar. Almost sensing the moment was becoming too intimate, Mister pulls away and drunkenly walks himself home.

"We all want that little moment," Colman Domingo told me about this scene. "I think that's what that scene is for, it's for all of us, for every person who wishes they had the breakthrough with their parent in some way, shape, or form, mother or father."

Colman spoke about how "vulnerable and drunk and open" Mister was during this moment, something he discovered during the rehearsal process.

"He's not even aware that he says to his son, I think you do good with that juke joint. And then I lay my head on Cory's chest. And in that rehearsal, I think it surprised him. And there were so many emotions roaring through Cory that his voice sounded like the voice of a child. I'll never forget that."

Watching this moment made me realize I'll never have that moment with my father, and that's partly my fault.

But it's not necessarily my fault. I also need to recognize that his actions were part of a legacy of trauma that even he couldn't escape.

In the film, Mister gets redemption in a subtle, yet profound way. In his own way he recognizes his past, the abuse and terror he caused, and does what he can to make amends with Celie.

My father didn't do that, but that doesn't mean I can't forgive him.

By forgiving him, I'm able to more clearly see the quiet force that was and is my mother. You see, forgiveness is the light required to see the truth. And ultimately that's what The Color Purple is about. Breaking the patterns of trauma with forgiveness, love, and allowing those quiet heroes like Celie to shine and yell proudly, "I'm here," as Celie does in one of the musical's most profound final numbers.

"People will be free," Barrino told me about what she hopes will be the impact of The Color Purple. "People will walk away from their abuser, and they'll say, you know what? I forgive you because this stuff is older than me, but I forgive you. Now those may not forget, but I forgive you. I won't let my past cheat me from finding my future. I am beautiful. I am a smart person. I can have whatever I want. I can love whoever I want, however I want. I'm here. And that, for me, is the biggest victory."

The Color Purple will open nationwide on December 25th. Look for my conversations with Fantasia Barrino and Colman Domingo in the coming weeks on the Parting Shot with H. Alan Scott podcast and in the magazine.