In the mid-1990s when my sister and I were nursing an A-list star's film project through what I came to term "Hollywood Nightmare No 1" and I, the writer, became daunted by the madness, my sister sought to steel my nerve by quoting sacred text from the La-la Land bible: "Remember, it ain't show art. It's show business."

As we consider the trajectory of Quentin Tarantino's much-anticipated Django Unchained this is a, if not the, salient thought to keep in mind. Irreverent, B-movie and grotesquerie devotee, n-word bandying, sometimes brilliant, usually outrageous, Tarantino directs his talents towards slavery. Cue the claque and all the usual suspects. From the film's announcement in early 2011, when copies of the 166-page QT-annotated script first began to circulate in the film blogosphere, controversy was guaranteed. Controversy was banked upon, and to the immense satisfaction of its distributing Weinstein Company, box office-generating controversy is just what we have.

The story: in 1858, three years prior to the American civil war and five years prior to the Emancipation Proclamation, German dentist turned bounty-hunter Dr King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) purchases Jamie Foxx's Django from a chain gang of half-naked, scarred-back slaves walking barefoot through a bleak winter landscape in order to find the criminal Brittle Brothers. Django, who desires reunion with his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), far more than sight of the next day's sun, shows an uncanny talent for the game, so Schultz suggests a pact: Django helps him collect a season of bounties for one-third of the loot and he will help Django liberate his true love. As punishment for chasing freedom with Django, the proud, beautiful Broomhilda has been sold to Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), owner of the notorious Candyland plantation, a devotee/breeder of slave-on-slave Mandingo fighting and an all-round nasty piece of work. Candie's greatest ally, and "house slave" par excellence, is Samuel L Jackson's magnificent Stephen (Stepin Fetchit if he'd ever been very smart and very, very mean). Wagner's Ring cycle is cited. Not without reason. The journey is mythic in its challenges, and very bloody.

Spike Lee … 'Slavery was not a spaghetti western.' Photograph: Getty Images

The controversy

First offence Trash-talking, know-nothing, wannabe-hipster white boy dares focus his sleazy sensibilities on the American holocaust of slavery. Predictably, first to the post is fellow filmmaker Spike Lee, who declares Django disrespectful of slavery. "Slavery was not a spaghetti western," he says, steadfastly refusing to view the film. Close behind Lee stands a phalanx of tried and true veterans of the 20th century's culture wars, who chime in with expected though often highly entertaining tropes, such as writers Ishmael Reed – "[Django] is a Tarantino home movie with all the racist licks that appear in his other movies"; and Cecil Brown – [Django] is "Hollywood's nigger joke" [which unintentionally] "reveals the inner game of how the Hollywood studio and the plantation slave institutions [have] exploited black people".

While discomfort with the idea of Django among those who follow and care about such things was multi-generational prior to the film's release, determined distaste for the film after viewing has been dominated by those of a certain age, who fought honourably and with reasonable success to change all aspects of African American degradation, who, out of necessity, pride and territoriality, remain ever vigilant for crimes against African-American dignity. Slavery was not a joke and shouldn't be treated as anything remotely touching on such, especially when the study of history is so pitifully neglected in American public schools, especially by a white boy, and especially by this white boy, who wouldn't know respect if it kicked him in the head … to no avail, for African-Americans of all ages have been attending in droves, with box office receipts exceeding all expectations. Reputable white voices are parsing their words carefully.

Once of the controversial Django dolls.

Second offence The N-word. There are those who count these things and Django's N-word count has been given as 110 (while in the once-notorious Jackie Brown it was a mere 38). Actor Leo DiCaprio has spoken of his discomfort at having to use the word, giving himself over to his character's hideousness when colleagues Jackson and Foxx counselled that only thus could he descend to Calvin Candie's depths, where the word was common currency. Washington describes herself and Foxx creating a psychological "N-word shield" during days of shooting when usage was at its peak. The fact that the word's usage was era-appropriate holds little sway with those who'd rather it be disappeared for all time.

Adding-insult-to-injury offence This week's release by National Entertainment Collectibles Association (NECA) of six Django action-figure dolls, for sale on Amazon.com. Eight-inches high, with moveable limbs, fabric clothing and "authentic" weapons, age recommendation 18 years and older. The full set yours for $299.99. NECA has done the same for Kill Bill, Carrie and Friday the 13th. This is fanboy/girl stuff – think the Big Bang Theory's desperate nerds – hitting the marketplace just as, 10-days after release, the furore was beginning to fade; and, like clockwork, attention reignites. A midwestern academic accuses the dolls of "killing what is left of our dignity". "Leaders" organise a boycott. Fans pull out their credit cards. The Weinstein Company smiles.

The movie

I first learned of Django in Spring 2011 via black film blog ShadowandAct where opinion was divided between tap-dancing excitement and "Lord, save us please ..." Though I'd much enjoyed Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown, I'm not a QT fan, primarily because of his predilection for blood. I dearly love a good action movie, but the chop-socky, spaghetti, B-movie viscous cascades so central to QT's film nerd-directed oeuvre are not my thing. My disposition was towards the "Lord, please" camp but as the Christmas release date approached, I decided that seeing the film was a zeitgeist obligation. The Connecticut school shootings prompted several days of hesitation, for I grew up and write now in Connecticut, not far from the tragedy (and continue to search my soul in regards to the entertainment industry's influence on America's addiction to violence). However, as a voting member of the Directors Guild of America (and as a minor black-film pioneer), I didn't think I could post an informed list of nominees without having seen Django Unchained. I went in expecting to be cringing and angry, deploring QT's arrogant ignorance. Hoping to tolerate it at best. Wrong. I found Django wonderful, often thought-provoking and fun.

I thought the spaghetti-western references – in music, colour saturation, use of titles, costuming, set design, buckets of blood, mythologising – an entertaining hoot. Though the violence of Django's revenge was grand guignol in its excess, the two places most emotionally fraught in terms of the brutal true nature of slavery, the flogging of Broomhilda and the Mandingo fighting (at the end of which I admittedly had to shield my eyes) were dealt with in a manner far more Coppola than Peckinpah (or Tarantino for that matter). I am the proud descendant of Georgia slaves, and as the director himself states, "the violence of slavery was far worse than anything [he has] put on screen". Amen.

I did not find offence in QT's use of the word "nigger". In earlier films one could sense the man's romance with the word was akin to that of a small child taking rapturous joy in being potty-mouthed. That tendency is not present in Django. In 1858 the word was used for black people in both North and South, by both black and white, by "men of good will" like Mark Twain and evil racist sons of bitches. I submit that, given Django's circumstances, the word was used with restraint. A film about slavery with any verisimilitude would be absurd anachronism if the word was avoided to soothe modern sensibilities. To those who fear that any usage of the word confers it legitimacy, I say that those wishing to join their vocabularies and destinies with the likes of Candie are already far gone down the road to perdition and diagnostic tools to ferret them out are always helpful. Presently the word is in the closet, not the grave. Serious discussion and soul-searching demands saying the word.

But, most of all, I thought Foxx's Django a film hero for all times, a "one nigger out of 10,000" who transitions from flogged and chained ignorance to avenging angel of withering intelligence. I'd certainly like to see more of him – and Broomhilda, his princess – something I didn't, for the most part, feel about 1970s blaxploitation heroes. (The first film I dropped out of film school to work on was the legendary Super Fly).

Following Hollywood Nightmare No 1, I was confronted with a choice: if I wanted more scriptwork in LA I'd have to spend months in a town where the vast majority of produced "black" work was the half-hour comedies I called "coon shows", the stuff of horrible buffooning stereotype. These shows brought a lot of work to a good many African American actors; but I wanted no part of that continuing degradation so turned my hand to the novel and later the essay. There are some who have suggested that the black actors working for QT are part of that sorry, powerless tradition. I don't agree.

I was a de-segregator in Connecticut growing up, the one dark face in all my schoolrooms; and when lessons turned to slavery, all faces turned to me. What I wouldn't have given in that day for a Django and his prancing horse (the actor's own by the way) to hold to my heart and shore up my soul? His poster would have been on my wall and – though I took leave of dolls at age six – his action figure on my desk.

• Candace Allen is the author of Soul Music: The Pulse of Race and Music, published by Gibson Square Books