Set in Philadelphia in 1974, director Sunu Gonera’s film “Pride” tells the true story of Jim Ellis (Terrence Howard), who started a championship team of inner-city swimmers for the Philadelphia Department of Recreation. Chicagoan Bernie Mac plays Elston, the facility’s janitor, who helps Ellis coach the team. Terry recently chatted with the 49-year-old Mac, who says he’s going to retire from standup to focus on his film career.
“Pride” might surprise people who are used to your work in comedy.
Mac: It’s not foreign for me, it’s foreign for people who I introduced myself to in comedy. When people see you in one place, that’s where they want you to stay. But my chops began way before that. I was 8 years old when I was introduced to drama, doing all these school plays and church plays.
At the Chicago screening of the film, people laughed as soon as they saw you on the screen.
Mac: That’s a compliment because that says people love you. As an artist, your job is to entertain. But if you want to better yourself and challenge yourself, you have to constantly reintroduce yourself to your fans. If I do comedy all the time, they’ll never know what I possess.
Why is this such an important film for you?
Mac: It’s because the only way we are going to make Hollywood give [African-Americans] scripts and films of substance is to support films like this. If not, you’re going to keep seeing “Girlfriends” and “Soul Plane.”
You cut your teeth doing standup comedy in clubs and bars in Chicago — major success didn’t come for you until much later.
Mac: I was on the road 47 weeks out of the year, doing two shows a night. I was selling out way before “The Kings of Comedy.” That was my bacon. That’s the bacon I had to fry. I run my own race. I don’t worry about who’s in front of me or who’s next to me. Bernie Mac does his thing so that when they call my name, I’ll be ready. When they called my name, I was ready.
You also were able to gain a wider audience, especially with “The Bernie Mac Show.”
Mac: When I started in comedy in the clubs in 1977, blacks couldn’t do certain clubs — not because they were segregated. They just didn’t want to put the [black comics] out there. In Los Angeles, the clubs would have a black night. People would say, “Why don’t you come by and do something?” I would say, “I’m a comedian — don’t put a title on me.” Don’t limit yourself. How you start is how you finish. If you let people put tags on you, you’ll never be able to remove them. You’ve got to make people respect you.
Respect is bigger than dollars and cents.