Right at the end, an interviewer asks the decorated artist a question: What have you not been successful at? Marriage, answers the artist. Laughter ensues.
Elsewhere, Quincy is seen receiving one of his multiple awards. Part of his acceptance speech includes the words ‘thank you for giving up your career in order to take care of me’. The scene cuts to one of the many wives he’s had in the audience; the expression on her face says more than words ever can.
If you can spend 2 hours telling us mostly non-revelatory things about a life that’s been documented extensively through the years, then you can obviously spend an additional 30 minutes exploring the fucked up ways in which he treated the women in his life, instead of redeeming yourself with a hot-take from the artist about how his relationship to his mother affected how he treats women…like doh bitch, it’s clear to the audience at that points.
And that goes for all the ‘greats’ — from Miles, to Hugh, and more. Women are always the side-pieces; the subservient maidens whose sacrifices are treated as necessary inconveniences towards the realization of a greater objective, which is to massage the egos of their ‘great’ men.
And nxa to all that bullshit, because way too many niggaz are left to perform their bullshit, repeatedly, until that one moment much later in their lives when they decide to go on this never-ending get my shit together charade.
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