Whoopi
A DECADE AND A HALF AGO, when I was in my early twenties, careening between weekdays of surreptitious FaceBooking at my entry-level publishing job and weekends throwing shapes at rickety warehouse parties, hangovers were a doddle. They were reliably slayed by two cures: gallons of (all the rage!) coconut water and rewatching Whoopi Goldberg’s performance in the eminently watchable, heartwarming and unashamedly perky classic rom-com Corrina, Corrina. Whenever Whoopi’s stellar, groundbreaking career is the subject of discussion, it’s usually The Color Purple, Ghost and the Sister Act films — the sequel far better, of course — that are cited as evidence of her acting or comedic chops. But the overlooked Corrina, Corrina should be in the mix too.
It was my absolute favourite film as a kid. To me, there was something curiously magical, exotic even, about the film’s 1950s aesthetic — the cat-eye sunglasses, natty knitted cardigans and sleek Chevrolets — so different from my surroundings of 1990s Fulham. And, back then, leaning into the youngest-child stereotypes with gusto, I was a sucker for films in which children’s feelings were shown to be as big and important as those of their elders. Maybe it was because I associated it with my childhood that the movie had a cleansing, purifying effect, and could cut through the fug of booze. Still to this day I can — word-perfect — recite huge chunks of the script: a vital and much-envied party trick.
Written and directed by Jessie Nelson, the premise of the film is exactly the right kind of straightforward for a befuddled mind. It begins in late 1950s Los Angeles, where seven-yearold Molly Singer (Tina Majorino) hasn’t spoken in weeks, since the unexpected death of her mother. Her father, Manny, played by a twinklyeyed Ray Liotta, in sharp tailoring and tie pin, can counsel neither his nor his daughter’s grief. As irony would have it, his job is to compose upbeat jingles for ads and yet now the most doleful silence fills the Singer household.
It being 1959, the idea of this widower running his home without female assistance is truly unthinkable — he must find a housekeeper stat! As I lay in bed in Brixton, batting away distracting flatmates and worsening queasiness, I’d always look forward to the sequence in which Manny interviews a host of wrong’uns, including a fantastic turn from Joan Cusack as an unhinged parody of a domestic goddess in vivid gingham. She’s keen, much to Manny’s horror, to fulfil all possible wifely duties. After Cusack’s rapid ejection from the marital bed, Corrina, a Black maid who is down to her last dime, turns up on the Singers’ doorstep.
A fantastically cool Mary Poppins with killer heels and lightning-quick clapbacks (“Chin up, up — you’re too young to have two!”), Corrina Washington is Whoopi at her most charismatic, able to seamlessly
