For my part, I was beginning to cultivate an active, and very enjoyable, dislike for Berry after "X-Men" (Storm? She was more of a drizzle) and "Bulworth" (featuring Warren Beatty as "her nigga"). And who could forget the horror that was "BAPS"? Her irrelevant flasher job in "Swordfish" -- for which the NAACP Image Awards saw fit to honor her -- almost sealed the deal. Then I saw her multilayered performance in "Monster's Ball," and I was floored. Berry owned that role, body and soul. It recalled the promise she showed in some of her earliest work, such as "Jungle Fever" and "Losing Isaiah."

In the hoo-ha over the politics of Berry's jungle-fever role in "Monster's Ball," I feel people are missing the subtleties of a film that shows how racism is not innate, but transmitted like an infection. It's easy to cry bigot, but the film constantly asks you to look beneath the surface, challenging you to reconsider Thornton's character as a three-dimensional human being. Maybe the scenario is not completely plausible or realistic, but since when did film have to be factual to convey truth?

As for Washington, the man could read from George W. Bush's Teleprompter and make it come alive. As Alonzo in "Training Day," he was convincing long after the script lost credibility. And in my opinion, playing it safe in films like "The Preacher's Wife" was more damaging to his career than showing his range by playing a bad guy. Besides, must he be so damn worthy all the time? Why should black actors be limited, not just by white casting directors and scriptwriters, but by black audiences' narrow parameters for what constitutes the black experience?

"You know how dogmatic we can get, when it comes to the gospel of black art," says Christopher Kess, a writer and drama student in Baltimore. "You know we're all supposed to 'uplift the race' with each and every artistic endeavor we engage in."

It speaks to how starved we are for accurate representation that we place such high expectations on our finest candidates.

"I believe that it is ultimately a good thing that Halle and Denzel won for playing roles that are part of the black experience," says Angel Kyodo Williams, the author of "Being Black: Zen and the Art of Fearlessness and Living with Grace." She continues, "It sits better with me than if they had won for roles that sought to present black folks in terms of white cultural norms and acceptability."

When Hollywood gets it wrong so often, maybe we should stop looking to the big screen for versions of our story, say some critics. Perhaps it's time we got our priorities straight and focused on more important realities. "Ultimately, we're all overanalyzing an industry that's too self-congratulatory and self-absorbed," says Tatum. "I can't believe folks were ready to protest if neither Halle or Denzel won. 'No Justice, No Peace?' Come on, folks! The Rampart scandal and other police-misconduct cases are still a sore spot in Los Angeles but you're gonna 'Burn, Hollywood, Burn' if Denzel doesn't get his second statue?"

Still, there's no point pretending we don't care. Maybe the Academy Awards are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, but you could say the same about Super Bowl. So Tom Cruise came over all Scientology on us, and Woody Allen trotted out a few lame jokes? At least the Academy didn't wheel out the ex-presidents to impress upon us the awesome weightiness of the occasion.

It's impossible to overlook the fact that the Academy Awards is the biggest night for a billion-dollar industry, and the world is watching. Winners raise those trophies like dumbbells because Oscar signals power. The triple whammy of Berry, Washington and Poitier made an undeniable impact, although few black people are naïve enough to call it a revolution.

"I don't think any of us really expect doors to be open -- or stay open -- for black Hollywood," says Rose "Bams" Cooper. "They're going to have to keep kicking them in. But maybe these wins will give their kicks added strength."

Rev. Frank Garrett, a Baptist pastor and radio host from Austin, Texas, is one of many who think it's ridiculous to call Oscars 2002 a "sweep." "Not when there are no black producers, directors or technical nominees in the mix," he says. "Oscar night was a glass-ceiling-buster before the camera, but we are still behind in the areas of real power: off-camera, where the deals are made and framed. This won't happen until black money is underwriting the entire project."

The general consensus is that if there are any immediate benefits, they'll go directly to Berry and Washington. We'll probably see them headlining together soon, if someone wants to cough up a fat chunk of change (Denzel is now part of the $20-million-per-movie club.) But wait a minute; aren't Berry and Washington already among Hollywood's most blessed? These are actors whose box-office appeal, for whatever reason, transcends race.

Fellow nominee Will Smith falls into the same bracket, as middle America sees him less as a strong black man than a live-action Mickey Mouse. As for Poitier, he's always been safe to bring home to dinner. No wonder so many white folks were surprised by all the focus on race. Some might argue that throwing gold eunuchs at safe bets like Berry, Poitier and Washington is one thing, but the Academy (much like Oscar) still doesn't have the balls to broaden its vision of the acceptable black face. But others, like Angel Kyodo Williams, have a more expansive take on the event.

"My impression was that an historic shift took place, that had more to do with the way they won than just the fact of their winning," she says. "Halle and Denzel's roles speak volumes to the range and diversity of who black America is, can be and what we have been able to transcend. We are neither this needy, broken, confused country gal, nor that pearly white-teeth perfect movie star. We're neither, we're both, and we're everything in between. You cannot point a finger at any single model, ideal or construct and say that is what a black person is or isn't. What is increasingly apparent is that we are limitless."

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