To continue:
About halfway through the movie I decided I’d seen enough, and turned to my mother to see if she might be ready to go. But her face, lit by the blue glow of the screen, was set in a wistful gaze. At that moment I felt as if I were being given a window into her heart, the unreflective heart of her youth. I suddenly realised that the depiction of the childlike blacks I was now seeing on the screen, the reverse image of Conrad’s dark savages, was what my mother had carried with her to Hawaii all those years before, a reflection of the simple fantasies that had been forbidden to a white, middle-class girl from Kansas, the promise of another life: warm, sensual, exotic, different.”
And this movie, and his mother’s undiminished rapture at it, was to be the subject of fierce self-questioning about his relationship with her: “The emotions between the races could never be pure; even love was tarnished by the desire to find in the other some element that was missing in ourselves.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2009/feb/02/barack-obama-black-orpheus
Ayres at his best? Bridge for sale, slightly rusted; cheap.
That revolting excerpt by Ayers verges into sick porn.