The Cannes Film Festival: Two Adventures Rolled Into One

I'm really excited to have been accepted into Le Marché du Film, an international marketplace affiliated with the Cannes Film Festival where I'll meet with movie distributors around the world. I'll be promoting the documentary I produced and directed, "Lady Wrestler: The Amazing, Untold Story of African-American Women in the Ring."

Journeying to the French Riviera next month will be a two-for-one-adventure: not only will I be able to spread the word about "Lady Wrestler," I'll also get to walk in the footsteps of the characters I created for my debut novel, "The Chloe Chronicles." In a key sequence in the novel when the main character, Chloe Bareaux, is a teenager, she and her best friend, Gigi Cartier, defy their overprotective mothers, run away from their hometown of Paris and take up residence in a glamorous hotel in Monaco.

It will be really cool to actually see with my own two eyes where Chloe and Gigi frolic on the beach with a handsome American pop star named Montana and a mixed-race young Frenchman named Dominique.

I'll, of course, post updates from Le Marché du Film and the Cannes Film Festival when they kick off in mid-May. 

As Chloe and Gigi declare when they run away from home, "Monaco, here we come!"

(To view a quick video about my anxiety about traveling internationally given the recent terror attack in Paris and all the instability in the world, click here.)

Attending WrestleCon Was An Eye-Opening Experience

I recently realized that in the several years that I've been working on directing and editing the documentary "Lady Wrestler," I never actually took in a wrestling match. I came to this revelation while attending WrestleCon, a wrestling convention held in Orlando the first week of April. 

"Lady Wrestler" tells the story of African-American female pioneers like Ethel Johnson, Babs Wingo, Marva Scott and Ramona Isbell, who braved racism and sexism in the 1950s and '60s to excel in the male-dominated field of professional wrestling. 

I found out about WrestleCon while browsing the Web one day and saw that one of the highlights of the convention would be a "Women's SuperShow." I thought it would be interesting to finally see firsthand the subject that I'd done so much research about in the past decade.

I landed in Orlando without any preconceived notions about what the WrestleCon experience might turn out to be. Before I started working on "Lady Wrestler" way back in '06, I knew next to nothing about professional wrestling other than watching it on WTBS as a kid in the '80s when Hulk Hogan and "Rowdy" Roddy Piper were superstars.

When I arrived at the hotel and convention center that hosted WrestleCon, I was pleased to find a lot of diversity. Not only were there male and female fans of all races milling around the convention floor, there were also white, black and Latino wrestlers signing autographs and posing for selfies with fans.

Attending my very first in-person wrestling match was a blast. The crowd for the "Women's SuperShow" was also diverse. And something that really struck me was how the men in the audience hooted and hollered and went crazy for the women wrestlers. 

When the female wrestlers would make their entrance, the male fans would rush to the sidelines to shake hands and high-five these women they obviously idolized. There were a couple of matches when women wrestled male wrestlers, and the men actually rooted for the women to dominate.

Interestingly, the women in the audience remained quiet the whole time. It was almost as if the men dragged their wives and girlfriends to this female-centered event, instead of the other way around.

Seeing the men going wild for these female superstars was such a refreshing contrast to the sci-fi/fantasy genre, where so-called fanboys brutally harass women who dare to enter their realm. Remember that horrible incident last summer when Leslie Jones was savaged by Twitter trolls just because she starred in an all-female remake of "Ghostbusters"?

Taking part in WrestleCon was a truly awesome experience. To see a quick video highlight on my YouTube page, click here. 

Are Men 'Allowed' To Be Feminists?

I sat in the front row of a local concert venue, applauding my friend who happens to be a musician as she performed with three other talented female artists in celebration of International Women's Day on March 8. 

At one point in the show, my friend addressed the audience: "Let's give all the men a round of applause for coming out."

While I appreciated the recognition, there was a part of me that felt I didn't deserve it. Why should I and my fellow male concertgoers be patted on the back for doing the right thing? Why should anyone be applauded for doing the right thing?

This experience has me reflecting on how far we've come ‒ and how far we still have to go ‒ in what used to be referred to as "the battle of the sexes." This issue is especially relevant at this time of year during the observance of Women's History Month.

It's still considered unusual for men to be interested in issues that concern women, but issues that concern men are supposedly of interest to everyone. For example, I was the literal "odd man out" at the International Women's Day Concert. But it's perfectly acceptable for women to get caught up in March Madness and accompany their husbands, boyfriends and male associates to watch basketball games at sports bars.

Gender relations are of particular interest to me as an artist whose debut movie, "LadyWrestler: The Amazing, Untold Story of African-American Women in the Ring," and debut novel, "The Chloe Chronicles," are centered on the stories of women. 

I didn't set out to make a documentary about women's sports. Nor did I tell myself, "I'm going to write a book about a female character."

In the case of "Lady Wrestler," I simply came across an interesting story about black women who excelled in the male-dominated world of professional wrestling back in the 1950s, '60s and '70s. As a journalist, I'd like to think that I can identify a good story that needs to be told.

In the case of "The Chloe Chronicles," I didn't consciously try to tell a story with a female main character. I simply got an idea for a novel with male and female characters of many different races, and the title character happens to be female. I just decided to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it were) and tell the story that was in my head. I didn't give any thought as to whether it was "proper" for a guy to tell a story with a female main character. Who cares, as long as readers find the story engaging?

As a journalist, you have to be versatile and have the ability to tell stories that include several different perspectives. So when I got the opportunity to assist businessman Raymond Lambert in writing his memoir about his legendary Chicago comedy club, "All Jokes Aside: Standup Comedy Is a Phunny Business," I jumped at the chance. 

In Raymond's case, I didn't consciously tell myself, "Okay, now I'm going to co-write a book about a man." Once again, I simply saw a good story that needed to be told.

If we're ever going to achieve true equality, men are going to have stand up, raise our voices and champion issues that affect women. We men are going to have to have the courage, the integrity ‒ the balls ‒ to step outside of society's traditional roles and resist the urge to remain silent and "stay in our lane." 

"Can men be feminists?" I asked my friend, a woman who attended the International Women's Day Concert with me. She said yes, that it's okay for men to use that label as long as they're "woke."

An interesting coincidence: a couple of hours after I wrote the original draft of this post, I walked into my office building and encountered a woman passing out flyers for a "lunch and learn" Women's History Month presentation. She handed flyers to the two women ahead of me, but when she saw me (a guy) approaching, she literally turned her back and walked away. 

How did she know I wasn't a "woke" man who would appreciate the Women's History Month presentation ‒ which, of course, I would have. 

Would I label myself as a feminist? If being a feminist means supporting women's rights ‒ and human rights, in general ‒then the answer is yes.

But why does the label even matter? As a writer and filmmaker, I'm going to continue to try to tell good stories, regardless of the gender of the characters.

A good story is a good story. Period. 

'Get Out' Is Just One Way To Tell A Multiracial Story

Jordan Peele's blockbuster horror comedy "Get Out" just became the first movie by an African-American writer/director to break $100 million at the box office, according to an article in Diversity Inc. 

"Get Out" portrays the literal mayhem that ensues when an African-American man accompanies his white girlfriend home to meet her parents. Another movie with a multiracial cast that is sure to rake it in at the box office is "The Fate of the Furious." The latest installment in "The Fast and the Furious" franchise opens April 14.

"Get Out" and the "Fast and the Furious" movies represent two very different approaches to storytelling and race relations. "Get Out" confronts race head-on. In "The Fast and the Furious," the race of the characters is almost irrelevant.

I took a path that is somewhere in between these two approaches when writing my novel, "The Chloe Chronicles." The story centers on the globe-hopping adventures of an exotically beautiful, multiracial young woman named Chloe Bareaux. 

Like "Get Out" and "The Fast and the Furious," "The Chloe Chronicles" features characters of different races. In the novel, the issue of race comes up whenever it's relevant, but it's not the central theme of the plot.

Here are some challenges that I encountered in telling a story with characters from different cultural backgrounds and how I tried to overcome them:

Walking in my characters' footsteps. The first part of "The Chloe Chronicles" takes place in Paris, where Chloe's African-American mother, Maxine, moved before giving birth to Chloe. To accurately portray the details of Parisian life, I studied travel guides and French phrase books, watched travel shows and feature films set in France, and even took a trip to Paris. 

Walking down the actual streets and visiting the landmarks where my characters interact helped me in visualizing the action, and hopefully makes the story more vivid for readers.

Revising as needed. Chloe eventually moves to New York and becomes a famous fashion model. Before her career takes off, she shares an apartment with several other models from around the world. 

One of Chloe's roommates is a Latina named Graciela. Like Chloe, Graciela is using modeling as a steppingstone to realize her real ambitions. Whereas Chloe has always been in love with the movies and aspires to act, Graciela's pipe dream is to become a singer.

Graciela was originally supposed to be Brazilian. But while researching, I realized Portuguese is spoken in Brazil. If Graciela's native language was Portuguese, she most likely would not sing in Spanish and wouldn't be able to become a Latin pop star, as the plot goes. So I changed Graciela's country of origin to Venezuela.

Addressing race in a culturally sensitive way. When Chloe's mother, Maxine, meets a wealthy French entrepreneur named Jacques, who eventually becomes Chloe's stepfather, their cultural differences are apparent. Jacques is smitten with Maxine when she attends a charity ball he throws. He flirts with her and finds a culturally sensitive way to ask this black woman who speaks with an American accent about her background. 

This excerpt shows how the interaction between Maxine and Jacques plays out:

     “‘Maxine Bareaux,’ that’s a lovely name,” he said in his sexy accent, looking at her with his light brown eyes, which glinted with flecks of green and gold in the twilight.
      She fanned herself, starting to feel a little warm in spite of the chill in the air. “Merci.”
     “It sounds French, but your accent is American?”
    “Yes. Louisiana Creole. I’m originally from New Orleans.”
    “Ah, New Orleans,” Jacques said, as if fondly recalling the name of a lover.“I used to go there often as a young man when I was in the navy. That city gave me many good times and a lot of great memories. It’s such a vibrant city, with its jazz and great food and beautiful women.” He looked at her pointedly. 

A new, updated edition of "The Chloe Chronicles" is due out later this year, and I'll post details soon.

(In addition to penning "The Chloe Chronicles," Chris Bournea is the co-author, with Raymond Lambert of the acclaimed non-fiction book "All Jokes Aside: Standup Comedy Is a Phunny Business." Bournea is also the director of the forthcoming documentary Lady Wrestler: The Amazing, Untold Story of African-American Women in the Ring.)

Blacks' History With The Catholic Church Is No 'Joke'

The season of Lent, which just got underway, is one of the biggest traditions in Catholicism. An interesting coincidence is that both I and Raymond Lambert, my friend and co-author of the book "All Jokes Aside: Standup Comedy Is a Phunny Business," went to Catholic school. 

"All Jokes Aside" chronicles Raymond's legendary Chicago comedy club of the same name, a "star factory" that helped launch the careers of Steve Harvey, Oscar winner Mo'Nique, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Carlos Mencia, D.L. Hughley and many other Kings and Queens of Comedy. The club was also the subject of the acclaimed documentary "Phunny Business," which debuted on Showtime in February 2012 during Black History Month.

One of the funny anecdotes Raymond shares in "All Jokes Aside" is his experience in the 1970s as one of only a handful of black students attending Salesianum, an all-boys Catholic college-prep academy in Wilmington, Del. (A really cool video retrospective of Raymond's recent return to Salesianum in which he imparts life lessons to current students is available by clicking here.)

The following is a passage from "All Jokes Aside" that ended up on the "cutting room floor" and didn't make the final version of the book. The passage describes the historic relationship between African Americans and Catholic schools. Many of these descriptions apply to both Raymond's experience at Salesianum and my own experience attending Holy Spirit School in Columbus, Ohio:

The Lamberts were not unusual in sending their son Raymond to Catholic school at Salesianum. There has been a long-standing relationship between the African-American community and the Catholic Church, dating back to at least the early 1800s. This is according to the book "Growing Up African American in Catholic Schools," a 1996 volume published by Teachers Press and edited by Jacqueline Jordan Irvine and Michèle Foster. 

In the 1950s and '60s, when many predominantly black schools were under-funded and before the integration of public schools became widespread, Catholic schools provided an alternative for African Americans to receive a quality education. Catholic parishes historically courted African Americans "in the hopes of swelling the numbers of African Americans who would require or desire a Catholic education," according to "Growing Up African American in Catholic Schools."

The authors "refute the notion that African American students who meet success in Catholic schools are middle-class African Americans who would do well in most U.S. schools," according to a review of the book published in the Harvard Educational Review. 

"In fact, their evidence indicates that the students who are best served and make the greatest gains in Catholic schools are those who are worst served in the U.S. public schools. The authors also make clear that Catholic schools continue to educate a particular population well, even though they spend less per student and thus have fewer materials and resources." 

For example, the Holy Angels School in Chicago devoted resources to helping working-class and poor urban youth achieve their full potential, regardless of economic status.

"Growing Up African American in Catholic Schools" features the perspectives of black people from all walks of life who attended Catholic school and "are successful and who possess such qualities as resiliency, accommodation to the dominant culture without assimilation, and retention of their positive cultural identities."

(In addition to co-authoring "All Jokes Aside: Standup Comedy Is a Phunny Business," Chris Bournea directed the forthcoming documentary "Lady Wrestler: The Amazing, Untold Story of African-American Women in the Ring.")

My Cringe-Worthy Moment With Faye Dunaway

There were many moments that stood out at this year's Oscars. Two of the most moving, in my opinion: 

The "Hidden Figures" cast introducing real-life NASA hero Katherine Johnson, who received a much-deserved and long-overdue standing ovation.

Viola Davis' amazing, touching acceptance speech, during which she offered the poignant insight, "There's one place that all the people with the greatest potential are gathered... the graveyard."

But, of course, the one moment that everyone is still buzzing about is the one that is being described as "the biggest flub in Oscar history": living legends Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway wrongly announcing "La La Land" as the Best Picture winner before the error was corrected and "Moonlight" was crowned the real champ.

Accounting firm PwC, which tabulates the Oscar votes, has taken full responsibility for the mistake and issued apologies to the Academy, the cast and crew of both "Moonlight and "La La Land," Beatty and Dunaway. But the moment will live on in infamy as one of the most cringe-worthy in television history.

I had my own cringe-worthy moment with Faye Dunaway 20 years ago. And like her Oscars flub with Warren Beatty, it all resulted from an innocent mistake.

It was 1997 and Dunaway was starring in a touring production of Terrence McNally's Tony Award-winning Broadway play "Master Class," based on the life of opera diva Maria Callas. I was a young writer at the time and aspired to one day become a playwright, so I felt it was important to see top-notch theatrical productions when they came through town. 

Seeing "Master Class" was, well, a master class ‒ pun intended. I enjoyed the show when it played the Palace Theatre in my home base of Columbus, Ohio. After Dunaway's curtain call, I waited outside the stage door for her to come out and sign my Playbill.

Dunaway's legend wasn't lost on me. As a Gen X latchkey kid, cable TV was my babysitter and I grew up watching endless showings of "Mommie Dearest" on HBO. I was an avid fan of the biopic in which Dunaway portrays silver-screen queen Joan Crawford, as told from the perspective of Crawford's daughter Christina.

I think the reason I related so much to "Mommie Dearest" was that Crawford reminded me of my father figure, my maternal grandfather whom I called "Daddy Bob." It may seem odd to compare a working-class African-American man to a glamorous Caucasian female movie star. But there were some definite similarities. 

Crawford and my grandfather were from the same generation. Both were demanding and had grandiose personalities that ensured they were always the center of attention. Both could be temperamental and unpredictable ‒ sweet and nurturing one minute, ranting and raving the next. And both had impossibly high standards for their children ‒ though my grandfather's over-the-top antics certainly never rose to the level of abuse like Crawford.

For example, a scene in "Mommie Dearest" that hit home for me was the one in which Crawford wakes up Christina and her brother in the middle of the night and makes the children chop down rose bushes. There was a similar incident one summer when my grandfather pulled me away from my favorite TV show to make me trim hedges that were already perfectly manicured because doing chores was the way I was supposed to express my love and devotion to him. 

I want to reiterate that I'm not equating my grandfather's arbitrary rules with Crawford's outright abuse. But as a child, I could relate to Christina Crawford's exasperation over her mother's insistence on making her do a pointless chore.

So when Dunaway emerged from the stage door that night in '97 at the Palace Theatre, I shyly asked her to sign my Playbill and she couldn't have been more friendly and accessible. But the moment turned cringe-worthy when I naively informed her, "'Mommie Dearest' is one of my favorite movies of all time." She actually winced.

At the time, I wasn't sophisticated enough to know that "Mommie Dearest" is considered one of the most disastrous movies ever made. Upon its release in 1981, the movie won multiple Golden Razzies, which recognize the worst in film and serve as a counterpoint to the Oscars. I didn't know that critics had savaged Dunaway's performance as going way too far in chewing the scenery.

But "Mommie Dearest" has become a camp classic over the years and developed a loyal cult following, myself included.

Despite my faux pas in bringing up "Mommie Dearest," Dunaway was polite (after I made her wince), dutifully gave me her autograph and wished me well.  No, she didn't beat me with a wire hanger :-) (You'd have to have seen the movie to get the joke.)

(Chris Bournea is the co-author, with Raymond Lambert, of the book "All Jokes Aside: Standup Comedy Is a Phunny Business." Bournea is also the writer and director of the forthcoming documentary "Lady Wrestler: The Amazing, Untold Story of African-American Women in the Ring.")

How I Lost My Accent (Mark)

I sat in the newsroom of the publication where I worked as a reporter, listening with interest as my Latino colleague explained to one of the graphic designers about how important it was to include the accent mark in his surname when his byline appeared in the paper. For the purpose of this writing, I've changed details to protect my colleague's privacy, so let's just say his surname is "Díaz."

"I can relate," I told my colleague. "My last name is supposed to have an accent mark, too."

This incident happened in the early 2000s, and in hindsight, I can see that there are some important distinctions between my colleague's situation and my own. For me, the accent mark in my last name, Bournéa (pronounced bor-NAY), is optional. For my colleague, however, including the accent mark in "Díaz" is not just about ensuring that his name is spelled properly, it's about identity. The accent mark is an essential part of who he is.

With the complex issue of immigration front and center these days, I've been thinking a lot about ethnic identity. As an African-American man, I feel solidarity with people of color around the world, including immigrants who have made the brave and often traumatizing journey to build new lives in this country. 

My Latino journalist colleague hails from an immigrant family ‒ his mother and father are from two different Latin American countries. But I would have to go back multiple generations to identify an ancestor from a "foreign" country.

Like many African Americans, my family history is complicated by forced immigration ‒ slavery. As is the case with millions of black people, my heritage is made up of both African and European ancestry. 

According to family lore, Bournéa is of French Creole origin and my family's roots extend to Louisiana, which was, of course, once owned by France. I've never done genealogical research to confirm or refute this. 

I've flip-flopped back and forth over the years on whether to use the accent mark in my name. When I began my career as a journalist in the '90s, typesetting programs were less advanced and the accent mark in Bournéa was fairly difficult to reproduce in print. So for most of my adult life, I haven't used the accent mark.

But a few years ago when I published my first novel, "The Chloe Chronicles," it made sense to insert the accent mark in my author byline, since much of the story takes place in modern-day Paris. The plot centers on the globe-hopping adventures of an exotically beautiful, multiracial young woman named Chloe Bareaux who becomes a world-famous fashion model and finds romance along the way. (Shameless plug :-)

The accent mark issue surfaced again last year when I co-authored the book "All Jokes Aside: Standup Comedy Is a Phunny Business" with Raymond Lambert about his legendary Chicago comedy club of the same name. Our very patient editor, Doug Seibold with Agate Publishing, asked how I would like my name to appear on the cover, since he'd seen my byline with and without the accent mark.

After thinking it over, I decided once again to abandon the accent mark. It wasn't about trying to "American-ize" my last name or ensure that no one mistook me as "foreign." It was a business decision based on the assumption that I'd come across as more professional and be taken more seriously as a writer if I don't have some pretentious, "French-i-fied" flourish in my byline. 

After all, I was born and raised in Columbus, Ohio, and I'm decades ‒ if not centuries ‒ removed from any French ancestry I might have.

With the seemingly relentless focus on immigration in recent weeks and talk of border walls and travel bans, I've gained a new appreciation for those who, unlike me, can't simply erase their accent marks ‒ or their verbal accents, for that matter. 

Every now and then, someone inquires about the origin of my last name, posing the question, "Where are you from?" It's obvious that what they're really asking is, "Are you a foreigner?" 

Most of the time, I play dumb and reply, "I'm from Ohio," which usually results in a change of subject. But sometimes I attempt to explain my complicated family history.

As a native-born American citizen, I have the ability to "code switch," choosing whether or not to use the accent mark in my last name when it's convenient ‒ or inconvenient, depending on the situation. But for people like my Latino journalist colleague, by taking pride in their unique cultural markers, they make an important statement: They belong here like everyone else.

(This is the first in a series of posts that I plan to occasionally publish on the theme "What Does It Mean to Be An American?" I'll share my perspectives and interview others about their experiences in this multicultural society we live in.)