NEW YORK (AP) 鈥 Charles Burnett has been living with 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 for more than half a century.
Burnett, 81, shot on black-and-white 16mm in the early 1970s for less than $10,000. Originally Burnett鈥檚 thesis film at UCLA, it was completed in 1978. In the coming years, 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 would be hailed as a masterpiece of Black independent cinema and one of the finest film debuts, ever. Though it didn鈥檛 receive a widespread theatrical release until 2007, the blues of 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 have sounded across generations of American movies.
And time has only deepened the gentle soulfulness of Burnett鈥檚 film, a portrait of the slaughterhouse worker Stan (Henry G. Sanders) and his young family in Los Angeles鈥 Watts neighborhood. 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 was then, and remains, a rare chronicle of working-class Black life, radiant in lyrical poetry 鈥 a couple slow dancing to Dinah Washington鈥檚 鈥淭his Bitter Earth,鈥 boys leaping between rooftops 鈥 and hard-worn with daily struggle.
A new 4K restoration 鈥 complete with the film鈥檚 full original score 鈥 is now playing in theaters, an occasion that recently brought Burnett from his home in Los Angeles to New York, where he met The Associated Press shortly after arriving.
Burnett鈥檚 career has been marked by revival and rediscovery (he received an honorary Oscar in 2017), but this latest renaissance has been an especially vibrant one. In February, Kino Lorber released Burnett鈥檚 a 1999 film starring and Lynn Redgrave that had never been commercially distributed. It was widely hailed as a quirky lost gem about a pair of lost souls.
On Friday, Lincoln Center launches a film series about the movement of 1970s UCLA filmmakers, including Burnett, and Billy Woodberry, who remade Black cinema.
The Mississippi-born, Watts-raised Burnett is soft-spoken but has much to say 鈥 only some of which has filtered into his seven features (among them 1990鈥檚 鈥淭o Sleep With Anger鈥) and numerous short films (some of the best are 鈥淲hen It Rains鈥 and 鈥淭he Horse鈥). The New Yorker鈥檚 Richard Brody once called the unmade films of Burnett and his L.A. Rebellion contemporaries 鈥渕odern cinema鈥檚 holy spectres.鈥
But on a recent spring day, Burnett鈥檚 mind was more on Stan of 鈥淜iller of Sheep.鈥 Burnett sees his protagonist's pain and endurance less as a thing of the past than as a frustratingly eternal plight. If 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 was made to capture the humanity of a Black family and give his community a dignity that had been denied them, Burnett sees the same need today. The conversation has been edited for brevity and clarity.
AP: The most abiding quality in your films seems to me to be tenderness. Where did you get that?
BURNETT: I grew up in a neighborhood (Watts) where everyone was from the South. There was a lot of tradition. It was a different culture, a different group of people living there 鈥 people who had experienced a great deal and kept their humanity. And they had a work ethic. It was a nice atmosphere. People looked after you. I grew up with people who were very gentle. There were when you couldn't walk down the street without police harassing you. Police would stop me and do this forensic search and call you all kind of names while doing it. But in the riots, it wasn't that people got braver. They just got tired. When people got together, they always had the perspective of: Let the kids eat first.
AP: In 鈥淜iller of Sheep,鈥 like your short 鈥淭he Horse,鈥 you seem to be giving a great deal of thought to the future of these children, and their preparation for the cruelty of the world.
BURNETT: In 鈥淜iller of Sheep,鈥 kids were learning how to be men or women. The changing point was when was being shown everywhere in Jet magazine. All of a sudden, it was no longer this fantasy. You were now aware of the cruelty of the world. I remember a kid who had come home abused, who supposedly fell down the stairs. You learned this dual reality to life.
AP: When you watch 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 again, what do you see?
BURNETT: Life going by. A life that should have been totally different. In high school, I had a teacher who would go walking down the aisle pointing at students saying, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e not going to be anything, you鈥檙e not going to be anything.鈥 He got to me and said, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e not going to be anything.鈥 Now, (Florida Gov. Ron) DeSantis wants to destroy Black history. It鈥檚 always a battle.
AP: What could have been different?
BURNETT: Young kids were capable of so much more. We were all looking for a place where you felt like you belonged. America could have been so much greater. The whole world could have been better.
AP: In thinking about what could have been different after 鈥淜iller of Sheep,鈥 would you include yourself in that? You鈥檙e acknowledged as one of the most groundbreaking American filmmakers yet the movie industry often wasn't welcoming.
BURNETT: You do the best you can with what you have. There are so many things you want to say. What you find is that sometimes you work with people that don鈥檛 see eye to eye. Even though I didn鈥檛 do more, it鈥檚 still more than what some people made, by far. I鈥檓 very happy about that. On the flip side, a lot of times you hear, 鈥淵our films changed my life.鈥 And if you can get that, then you鈥檙e doing good. One of the things that I found is that people will take advantage of you and make you make the film that they want to make. You need to be somehow independent where you can tell them, 鈥淣o, I鈥檓 not doing this.鈥 I had to do that a number of times. So you don鈥檛 work that often.
AP: To you, what's the legacy of 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥?
BURNETT: One of the reasons I did 鈥淜iller of Sheep鈥 the way I did, with kids in the community working in all areas of the production, was to show them that they could do it. I made the film to restore our history, so young people could grow from it and know: I can do this. Even when I was in film school, there was a film production going on in my neighborhood. I was on my bike and I rolled over to see. I asked a guy, 鈥淲hat set is this?鈥 and he acted like I wouldn鈥檛 understand. It鈥檚 changed a bit but there鈥檚 still this attitude. You look at what Trump and these guys are doing with DEI. It鈥檚 this constant battle. It can never end. You have to constantly prove yourself. It鈥檚 a battle, ongoing, ongoing, ongoing.
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This story has been corrected to report that Burnett received his honorary Oscar in 2017, not 2007, and that he's 81, not 82.
