8. The Matrix (1999)
As Keanu Reeves' spiritual mentor, Laurence Fishburne isn't nearly as mild-mannered, deferential, and aimlessly selfless as the average cinematic magical black man. But he still fits the archetype in far too many ways. He turns up out of nowhere with all the answers, he focuses all his energies on helping Reeves, even though Reeves seems like an ungrateful, useless, vapid schlub, and he has powers that no one else can match, but that essentially only get used to help a white boy find himself. Once said white boy does start finding himself, Fishburne immediately becomes an utterly disempowered victim, desperately in need of his former student's aid. But none of that is as annoying as the degree to which Fishburne, initially the Matrix series' strongest figure, really has no past and no character of his own. Unlike most magical black men, he does have desires, but they're all sublimated into Reeves' actions. For all his talent, Fishburne is utterly powerless.
9. In America (2002)
One of the more bafflingly two-dimensional magical black men in recent cinema history, Djimon Hounsou's In America character is a howling boogeyman who initially terrifies stressed-out, grieving illegal immigrants Samantha Morton and Paddy Considine and their daughters. But then Hounsou proves that he's all bark and no bite. Or personality. Hounsou is a terrific actor, but he can't do much with a role that can mostly be summed up as "artist with AIDS, meant as poignant piece of human iconography." As Morton and Considine gradually recover from their grief over the child they lost in their Irish homeland, Hounsou proves a selfless spiritual advisor who literally dies away as they need him less and less. He's a grand representation of the immigrants' pain—initially monstrous and alien, he diminishes just as their dislocation and grief diminishes. Eventually, he fades away altogether, conveniently dying just as Morton's new infant quickens in her womb. Reincarnation, or just more evidence that he's more symbol than man?
10. Big Momma's House 2 (2006)
In the belated sequel to 1999's Big Momma's House, cross-dressing FBI agent Martin Lawrence and his magical fat-suit of joy move in with an uptight white family so Lawrence can get closer to a suspect. Lawrence then uses his proximity to crazy-ass honkies to teach the entire family valuable life lessons, when he isn't instructing the lady of the house in how to "put some stank on it" when busting out funky-fresh moves. Oh, Martin Lawrence, is there any dilemma your patented brand of sass-talk can't ameliorate?
11. Song Of The South (1946)
Farley can't blame Eminem-listening ignorant white Hollywood executives for this closeted classic. But he could certainly take Walt Disney to task for laying the cornpone on extra-thick in the live-action segments that link animated versions of Joel Chandler Harris' Uncle Remus stories. Those folktales are generally sly and subversively funny, but Disney's film puts them in the mouth of shuckin'-an'-jivin' friendly fellow James Baskett, who apparently doesn't have anything to do but pop up whenever troubled white boy Bobby Driscoll needs a helping hand, a friendly face, and a life lesson. But no matter how beatific and selfless Baskett proves himself, Driscoll's mother doesn't want her son hanging around him. Nonetheless, in the end, Baskett's magical healing presence not only saves Driscoll from death, but also fixes all the rifts in his angsty broken home.12. Silver Streak (1976)
The clever Hitchcock homage Silver Streak is famous as the first pairing of Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder, but it's worth noting that Pryor's wisecracking thief doesn't even show up until the film is half over. Wilder springs Pryor from the back of a cop car, and Pryor spends the rest of the film paying Wilder back many times over, saving him repeatedly even when it means placing himself in constant peril, and when he has nothing to gain. While many movies feature magical black men metaphorically teaching Caucasians to channel their inner soul brother, Silver Streak does away with metaphor altogether: Pryor convinces Wilder to don blackface, then instructs him in the nuances of "acting black" to evade capture by the police.
13. The Kentucky Fried Movie (1977)
Of all the powers black men possess, none holds more supernatural awe over the white man than the threat of their sexual prowess. While films like Mandingo stirred controversy for playing to racist fears of black men seducing white women, the idea that black men are more sexually potent (and have bigger equipment) than white men is a common stereotype. This is particularly true in comedies, where black men are often regarded as sexual superheroes—sometimes even literally, as in this early effort from the Zucker brothers. Here, fictitious linebacker Big Jim Slade (Manuel Perry) is like a priapic Kool-Aid Man, bursting through the wall to save the day when a wimpy premature ejaculator finishes too early during a Joy Of Sex record, leaving his partner unsatisfied. Wearing nothing but a Speedo and a confident grin, Slade scoops up the lesser man's girl and hauls her off—kicking and squealing with pleasure—to satisfy her in a way that only a large black man possibly can. As he does, he gives her lover (and the audience) a wink that says, "Don't worry, my penis will take care of this!" The Zuckers dodge any uncomfortable racist subtext by making the cuckolded man black too—but would the joke have worked as well if it were "Big Adam Silverstein"?
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