Seeking Mavis Beacon

Bluesky

What did a computer user look like in the mid-1980s? The gaming revolution was in its early stages then; the idea that there might reasonably be a computer in every home was only just beginning to take off. Some people saw the beginnings of an industry in which great fortunes would be made; others saw the whole thing as nerdy and essentially pointless. Either way, it was associated with men – and, almost exclusively, with white men.

Mavis Beacon changed all that.

To the financial backers of Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing, the idea of putting a Black woman on the cover seemed so absurd that about half of the money put into the launch was withdrawn. In fact, the program went on to become a best-seller, and is believed to have educated more than six million people. It’s a powerful thing to suddenly see oneself represented in a sphere of life which seemed to belong only to other people. Beautiful sophisticated, professional, Mavis was a world away from the images of Black women that Americans were used to seeing. She became an icon – never mind that she was fictional.

There’s a lot going on in the early stages of Jazmin Jones’ Golden Gate Award-winning documentary. She and co-presenter Olivia McKayla Ross are both part of the Mavis Beacon generation and have been fans for as long as they can remember. They want to know the full story behind her creation and track down the model who played her, Renée L'Espérance. They also have ideas around AI-generated personalities, robots and social justice. On top of this, they’re tracking the progress of their own investigations, seeking to expose some of the barriers they experience as filmmakers and exploring the familiar form of this type of documentary from a decolonialist perspective.

These various strands are not particularly well woven together and as they just jump in without much by way of introduction, it’s easy to get lost. Fortunately the film tightens up about a quarter of the way in and becomes much more interesting, so if you struggle at first, bear with it. Jones and Ross are both strong personalities and the personal aspect of the film is one of its strongest suits. We track them both over time through changing hairstyles, mental health crises and a lingering struggle with Covid. Their personal sense of style infuses the film, enhanced by some wonderful choices of costume and décor, lovingly exaggerated by Yeelen Cohen’s cinematography. A fabulous assortment of interviewees, from the sweet but perhaps duplicitous creators of the original program to a Hollywood star and all manner of regional celebrities, share their recollections of L'Espérance, even as the mystery surrounding her whereabouts deepens.

Should people have a right to be forgotten? That’s the central question that emerges as the intrepid pair begin to realise that L'Espérance might not want to be found – that fame doesn’t appeal to everyone. It raises a lot of issues about the practice of documentary-making. If we interrogate the matter of who is telling the story, shouldn’t we also ask whether the story should be told at all? How do we balance the needs of history – especially in resource poor contexts like African American history – with the needs of individuals? In order to truly separate ourselves from colonial practice, do we need to find a new, more ethically-centred approach to storytelling?

This is where the film gets really interesting, especially as Jones and Ross wrestle with what the project means to them emotionally and try to avoid their strong feelings – including the love they feel for Mavis – getting in the way of a clear analysis of the ethical issues. In all, the film is fairly evenly divided between the two parts of its title: celebration of the iconic Mavis Beacon and exploration of the process of seeking. It’s particularly important viewing for other filmmakers, journalists and creative individuals working in this area, but has a lot to offer for anyone interested in ethics or in the history and connotations of Black visibility.

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