‘When I was little,” says Spike Lee, “my father hated Hollywood films, but my mother was a cinephile. And since I was the eldest sibling, I was her movie date. She loved James Bond and took me to see Goldfinger. The theatre was packed. Those Bond films have explosions and shootings, but there was a lull in the action and everything was quiet. I said: ‘Mommy, why is that lady named Pussy Galore?’ And the whole audience heard me. My mother grabbed me by the neck and said: ‘Don’t say another word!’” Lee cackles, clearly tickled. “She was so embarrassed.” He pauses. “Pussy Galore,” he repeats, laughing.
Although the film-maker’s grasp of cinema has come a long way since then, there is still something in him reminiscent of that six-year-old boy: curious, unafraid to speak his mind, keen to ask awkward questions. After a career spanning more than 30 years, the 65-year-old has developed a reputation as Hollywood’s conscience. His films have chronicled black lives and challenged assumptions about race, class and gender; in interviews and speeches, he has thundered against social injustice, police brutality and the entertainment industry’s problems with representation.
