O.J.: Made in America.

Review #1980.3: O.J.: Made in America.

Cast (Part Five):

Interviews and archival footage of various individuals:

Archival footage: O. J. Simpson, Johnnie Cochran, Al Cowlings, Christopher Darden, Robert Kardashian, Robert Shapiro, among others.

Interview: 

F. Lee Bailey, Danny Bakewell, Carrie Bess, Yolanda Crawford, Marcia Clark, Carl Douglas, Bruce Fromong, Celia Farber, Mike Gilbert, Fred Goldman, Jim Newton, Tom Riccio, Jeffrey Toobin, among others. Directed by Ezra Edelman.

Review: 

"What people seem to want to leave off on are, "Oh, here are these images. Here are these images of black people cheering and white people crying and then white people are angry at black people." It’s like, "Okay, but why?" And it’s strange to be put in a position where you feel like you have to create some primer for white people to understand something that is fundamentally not that confusing."

Even if this film did not end up winning an Academy Award for Best Documentary, one would still consider this to be a grand movie in the art of setting a broad canvas that lives up to its title in ways that would make it a film version of a great crime book. It is always reactionary in its tempo and scope that paints an interesting question among the straight path of doom laid out by its timeline: what does one consider a proper balance of justice? It should be noted that one year after the release of the film, Simpson was released on parole after having served nine years of what was a sentence of 33 years for armed robbery (after having been granted parole in a few parameters in 2013), and in 2021 he was granted early release from parole that made him a "free man" (incidentally, you can now see him on Twitter posting about a variety of things, such as double murder trials, for example). Among the various things to say about the epic that is O.J.: Made in America is the very fact that there are no weak parts of the film. It never slogs in its beginning, middle, or end when it comes to the mosaic that Edelman wants to portray. I will say though that my favorite part of this documentary is this fifth part, one that lasts roughly an hour and a half that encompasses the time spent from the verdict of October 3 of 1995 and 2008. It depicts Simpson essentially living a life in exile from the public sphere that he had so desperately craved, with the 1995 verdict essentially being a pyrrhic victory in all senses of the world. It shows a man now approaching his fifties moving away from California to Florida after the civil trial in 1996 (with Fred Goldman getting Daniel Petrocelli to represent the Goldmans, left unmentioned here) before the fateful events of a ill-fated robbery in Las Vegas. This is where the noted names of people from Simpson's past associations in acting or rich associates (such as Peter Hyams or Robert Kardashian) fade away from the background to see others arise from the shadows such as journalist Celia Farber (who profiled Simpson in 1998 that details the strange qualities that come with the nature of who Simpson is in the eyes of who wishes to seek him out) and Tom Riccio (a key player in the foolish robbery). 

No matter how one is aware of the OJ murder trial and the verdict, it still doesn't prepare you for how it all went down. As one probably knows, a trial of 253 days with witness testimony from over 156 individuals (notably not Simpson), the deliberation for a verdict took less than four hours. It probably doesn't reflect greatly on Clark that one of the jurors gave a black power raised fist salute right after the verdict was delivered (Lon Cryer, who actually is featured in a different miniseries about jurors in famous trials). One will never know how it feels to be part of a jury until they actually participate in one, which is basically all that matters to say about the perspectives from the jury members presented in the documentary (with memories of exhaustion and probable regret for their ultimate decision). The one thing that I observe most from the trial is just how many people felt the need to write books about it: Both Clark and Darden wrote books about their experiences as the prosecution while Shapiro wrote one that basically tried to pass himself off as not being big on the defense "playing the race card", while Mark Fuhrman also wrote one while trying to go from retired detective to crime writer. The most noted book of the trial may be Jeffrey Toobin's 1996 book The Run of His Life: The People v. O.J. Simpson (you could argue about if his appearance here represents a certain angle of privilege, but that is what I would expect from the most distinct type of person to treat with scrutiny: former lawyers trying to talk about lawyers). At any rate, yes, the verdict was a decision made by human beings that did what they could when faced with doubts that at least reasonable. But really the documentary makes the case before its end that Simpson may not really have ever left the cage that he set himself on when he was in that Ford Bronco all those months ago. In short: there is a clear difference between being a free man and being a free man in the eyes of others around you. In case one forgot how guilty Simpson sounded during the so-called trial of the century, the account of the civil trial (filed in 1996 by the Goldman and Brown family) reminds you pretty quickly. That trial was a non-televised affair with a jury that got to see Simpson in a new form: a charlatan on the witness stand. If there is anything to take about the life of O.J. Simpson beyond what you see in archival footage is that he was a man addicted to fame and adoration. It makes for a great irony when you consider the words of people such as Danny Bakewell and others about the ultimate legacy of Simpson being the distinct difference between his symbol of escape with the verdict and the man as a whole. In other words: Simpson flew to heights thought impossible that remind one of the myth of Icarus and became exposed bare to the world exactly as Icarus did, with the apparent injustice in 1995 being followed by a weirder sense of justice in 2008 (the civil trial was about finding liability).

Oh, right, here we are talking about Simpson. My interest in the documentary now and then comes from what you can gleam from someone that tried to transcend being black by "being O.J." that now finds attention from people that he forgot about. This is made pretty clear by the voice of Mike Gilbert (Simpson's former agent), who I should mention also wrote a book about his experience with Simpson, who not only seems to be a mere symbol for escaping the boot of white authority but also became a symbol for some sort of weird exploitation. Gone are the days of 1st & Ten and The Naked Gun, now here Simpson is talking to people about the good ol' days or trying to make a hustle out of the shell that we know is a pretty crappy person to select people. The charm shown in the earlier parts of a noted name is now one of a man on the hustle, made distinctly clear by footage shown of him from "Juiced", the pay-per-view video released in 2006 that sees him try to play a hand at improv and hidden-camera pranks. It is a gloriously surreal thing to be watching a guy who seemed at ease in TV commercials and occasional films in his "prime" flail hard while approaching his sixties (my favorite part in reading about the video is an article written about the show from a participant, which is amusing and sad in the ways expected from reading something you sure as hell aren't watching). The aspects covering his ill-fated attempt at profiteering with a book detailing "if he did the murders" are what they are for the viewer to think about for themselves, especially with an ever-present Goldman seen throughout (the children of Simpson and the Browns aren't interviewed at any point of this part, so interpret it how you like). The aspects covering the robbery in 2007 are swift and strange in dark humor. Think about it: a famous man of entertainment and alleged murder coming to believe that it was a good idea to scare alleged robbers of his stuff (which is where Fromong comes in) with the dubious help of hired muscle, a guy with a gun, and a strange figure in Riccio (who recorded the robbery and then, go figure, also wrote a book about Simpson). The ensuing trial and judgement leaves a fairly clear perception about the sentence given out, which is, well, yea, it probably was excessive (Carl Douglas contributes my favorite bit about equating it to a "Fifth Quarter").

Ultimately, it is a documentary of epic stature done in exquisite detail by Ezra Edelman. It utilizes seven hours to set an entire range of understanding the importance of the verdict of one of the most famous trials in America beyond the person on trial. The story of Simpson is one wrapped in the fiber of America in the context of race and privilege that might as well be the story of great irony, one where we tell it to our children to educate ourselves on doing better when it comes to possible blind-spots in perception but also on how to treat others regardless of fame. It shows the perspective of how people treat others with regards to skin that shows where we have come since the 20th century and where we still have to go when it comes to race in America. It skillfully tells the story of America within the lens of more than just its namesake when it comes to race and celebrity culture that might as well have its own shelf when it comes to exquisite documentaries that I highly recommend in every sense of the word.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

And so ends a 4,000-word review of a great documentary that I hope matched in some way the scope of the film. Thank you for enjoying another edition of Black History Month presented by Movie Night. I hope you enjoyed the attempt at broadening the scope of black actors or directors that I felt discovered a spotlight. Granted, one can spotlight great black presences all of the year, but it seemed appropriate to make this is a suitable third rendition. March is the time for Women's History Month, as you know. We shall see what is in store for the fourteen features of spotlight time.

O.J.: Made in America.

Review #1980.2: O.J.: Made in America.

Cast (Parts Three and Four): 

Interviews and archival footage of various individuals:

Archival footage: O. J. Simpson, Johnnie Cochran, Al Cowlings, Christopher Darden, Ron Goldman, Judge Lance Ito, Robert Kardashian, Nicole Brown Simpson, Robert Shapiro, among others.

Interview: Mike Albanese, F. Lee Bailey, Danny Bakewell, Carrie Bess, Yolanda Crawford, Marcia Clark, Carl Douglas, Mark Fuhrman, Gil Garcetti, Mike Gilbert, Fred Goldman, Tom Lange, Jim Newton, Barry Scheck, Ron Shipp, Zoey Tur, among others. Directed by Ezra Edelman.

Review: 

Part Three of O.J.: Made in America starts exactly where one knows it will go: midnight on June 13, 1994, where two bodies are discovered at 875 South Bundy Drive in the Brentwood neighborhood of Los Angeles. No matter the knowledge one has of the murder case of that day, it does not make the presentation of finding the bodies of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman (as photographed on discovery) any less shocking. The days that followed the murders on June 12 are the heart of the entire documentary in showing just what the Simpson case meant to the public eye in terms of seeing an epic fall happen on television to millions of viewers. Part Three isn't just an expression of showing the famous white Ford Bronco chase as the key step in forming reality television, of course, because one cannot have a chase without detailing the investigation that formed between all of that. You hear both the procession of information from detectives such as Tom Lange to the procession of shock and grief from Ron Goldman.

The June 17 chase shows the voices of the time and now in a mesh that manages to be distinct from the aforementioned previous ESPN documentary on the day that makes it keenly aware of how impactful the moment was in the eyes of those who saw it (which sees 1994 footage and current-day footage of Dave Gascon). This involves people such as Zoey Tur (who covered the chase by helicopter) that notes the carnival-like atmosphere that arose from the viewing of Cowlings and Simpson driving the Bronco across the city. The chase is the chase, a baffling display of just how absorbed people really can become in something. I think these two parts of the film spur the most discussion when it comes to the art of "talking to the screen as if you were there with the talking head". In other words, it is a very reactive center to the whole experience, one that arouses your senses to look back on the events of the past with useful context that makes what might seem routine when it comes to archival footage into the most captivating in interest. It runs the gamut of generating emotions from its viewer in the montage of voices old and new to the growing circus that was 1994. There will likely never be a chase on the scale left by the Simpson chase and there may never be a trial that consumed the American consciousness as the Simpson trial did in part because of how it stoked insatiable desire (others might say insatiable insanity) for the 24-hour news cycle. Hell, one probably already had it in mind when they saw how much people wanted to watch shows that featured real-life law enforcement with Cops, but the coverage of OJ and the trial took everything to a new level that still seems so freshly ingrained in our culture. It is as if the barriers of shame were suddenly ripped away and replaced with two paper-thin ones that both said "famous" on them. Anyone can be famous, but those definitions can only mean so much when people like Judge Lance Ito can be turned into a comedy bit for late-night television (with high-powered prosecutors and defense lawyers, he certainly comes off in the archival footage as seemingly overwhelmed but given that he allowed cameras for cases involving Charles Keating, it is not surprising). You could probably count on multiple hands just how many people involved in the case that ended up writing a book about the trial in some sort of form.

It should be noted that Christopher Darden did not wish to participate in this documentary. Nothing is really lost there, unless having another perspective of a prosecutor besides the lead in Marcia Clark (left unmentioned in the documentary is that Darden was brought in to replace William Hodgman as co-prosecutor because Hodgman had collapsed with chest pains after opening statements. Hodgman survived and is interviewed for this film). So, yes, one is fascinated in hearing the statements from people like Clark or Gil Garcetti (District Attorney of Los Angeles County) when it comes to the perspective of people who saw the case as they felt it was. This of course was the belief that the facts would result in one certain verdict and the resulting nightmare that came with the media circus that was the trial (which saw Darden make likely the most foolish decision in the history of televised cases with the trying of the glove, which no one, probably not even Darden, could defend). Clark may reflect well in terms of seeing like the kind of sharp tack in insight while relating the hell that was when it comes to trial that makes her perspective more than just being the perspective of the failed prosecutor. Moments are also spent with two jurors from the trial (Carrie Bess and Yolanda Crawford), which went through a long process of selection to try and select the ideal people that would have to be in a courtroom for months in downtown Los Angeles (keep in mind, the trial promising to go on for months resulted in a certain type of jury pool, which ended up seeing a jury sequestered for 265 days). Various people who testified in the trial are interviewed as well, namely with Mark Fuhrman, who casts a long shadow over the proceedings in the most evident of ways, one that certainly lends himself as an living example of the old saying "actions speak louder than words" (as much as one would say of the sacrificial lamb of the defense that got accused on perjury). This probably works as well to describe Barry Schenk, a co-founder of the Innocence Project (committed to exonerating people falsely convicted by using DNA testing) who went on to put the biggest display of speculation of flawed DNA testing in one case. 

And then of course there is the interviewing of certain surviving members of the defense, dubbed the "Dream Team" and headlined by in Carl Douglas, Barry Schenk, and F. Lee Bailey, for which one will see clips of Johnnie Cochran (who died in 2005) and still-living Robert Shapiro and Alan Dershowitz (although it is apparent even more so in 2023 that no one really wants to hear about or talk from Alan Dershowitz, which is saying something when hearing from once famous-turned-disbarred lawyer Bailey). You hear about their tactics to turn the case into an indictment of the whole Los Angeles Police Department with regards to treating evidence and so on. To relate this back to film for a moment, film director Milos Forman likely summed it up best when he once described O.J.'s defense as "Because you are not perfect, O.J. is innocent." Hearing about the exploits of Cochran as a civil rights defender prior to the case results in quite the interesting effect when snippets of his closing argument (which had moments such as equating Fuhrmann to Hitler) are shown to us. Douglas reflects well among most, if not all of the interviewees in terms of insight. Edelman lets the words of the speakers (1994 or 2016) speak for themselves when it comes to the power of high-priced (and clever) lawyers. Now more than ever, Americans consume entertainment on a wide scale, and it seems that we are consumed with following tragedy wherever it may lead. For people involved in tragedy, it is just their lives, but for others, it is, well, the new focal point of one's time. We do not lose sight of the people that were viciously murdered on that day in June 1994 or the people who found themselves at the face of the cameras (such as Ron Shipp, another surficial lamb to the defense). The trial may have muddled the victims into the background for spectacle, but that doesn't mean we forget. One might think that I am not talking much about Simpson with regards to this review, but it only goes to show the perspective that arises from that fact that the documentary is really not so much about him as it is about us, even as we see more examples of the facades that he put in front of the camera as opposed to when he is not on camera, as if he is wondering whether the metaphorical Faustian bargain is about to strike back in his face. Simpson has had a camera on him for decades, and the attention is more apparent from the eyes of the world, but at what cost now? (especially considering that he went so far as to sign parts of a jersey when in jail, which made for a strange booming market)

In the end, the third and fourth part of O.J.: Made in America is the heart of the movie when it comes to showing the America we live in now, since it essentially was the precursor for what we call reality television. It is the insanity of ourselves that is really put into display here more so than the actual case, but it is the most important thing to consider when dealing with a documentary that demonstrates the very nature of just how far one can go down the rabbit hole in connections by how intricate it weaves the events of 1994 and 1995. Sure, you can search contemporary articles of the time just to see the perspective of people becoming "junkies" for the trial, or you can see it for yourself with these two parts of the documentary.

Tomorrow: Part Five.

O.J.: Made in America.

Review #1980.1: O.J.: Made in America.

Cast (Parts One and Two): 

Interviews and archival footage of various individuals:

Archival footage: O. J. Simpson, Marcus Allen, Muhammad Ali, Howard Cosell, Al Cowlings, Roy Firestone, Robert Kardashian, Daryl Gates, Nicole Brown Simpson, among others

Interview: Mike Albanese, Danny Bakewell, Joe Bell, Tanya Brown, Booker Edgerson, Harry Edwards, Peter Hyams, Walter Mosley, among others. Directed by Ezra Edelman.

Review: 

“I could use that canvas to tell a deeper story about race in America, about the city of Los Angeles, the relationship between the black community and the police, and who O.J. was and his rise to celebrity. That’s the story I wanted to tell.”

I knew the film was going to be one for the ages when I heard of it being shown on television in 2016. O.J.: Made in America was produced and directed by Ezra Edelman for ESPN Films as part of their 30 for 30 series (started in 2009 as a series of documentary films that highlighted interesting moments and people in sports history). That series had done a documentary featuring footage of O.J. Simpson in 2010 with Brett Morgen that was called June 17, 1994, which chronicled the events of that day that happened to involve numerous sports events alongside the police chase of the famed football star that was comprised solely of footage of the time. However, there was still ideas to do a longer venture about Simpson, with Edelman being first asked about possibly being interested (which was pitched initially as a five-hour project). Edelman was born in Boston, Massachusetts to civil rights activist Marian Wright Edelman and Georgetown professor Peter Edelman. After graduation from Yale University, he started work as a director and producer for sports documentaries with HBO Sports, debuting in the former category with Magic & Bird: A Courtship of Rivals (2010). He first rejected the idea because he thought there was nothing new to say about Simpson, but he later came around to the idea of doing the venture for something that could encompass more than just Simpson. The resulting film was done over the course of eighteen months with 72 interviews that was shown in two forms: theatrically on the festival circuit with intermissions (one or two depending on the festival) to account for a runtime of 467 minutes (almost eight hours) starting in early 2016 and on television in the summer of 2016 as a five-part miniseries; the DVD release that I have of the film includes the "Intermission" subtitle after the end of Part Two and Part Four, respectively (in essence, Part One and Two combined make a runtime of three hours, which is the same as the combined time of Parts Three and Four). I saw the film on its original television broadcast, but I wanted to wait until it felt right to give the film (the winner of the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature in 2017) the proper review I felt it deserved. Seven years seems appropriate to return to this documentary and express my thoughts. Part One of O.J.: Made in America deals with the life of O.J. Simpson in his years as a football star (1965-1979) and the television presence that came with it that runs in parallel to the narrative of the city of Los Angeles within growing racial tension. Part Two covers the dissolution of his first marriage from Marguerite L. Whitley and his eventual marriage to Nicole Brown (who he had dated prior to his divorce) that saw children alongside Simpson pleading no contest to spousal abuse in 1989 and divorce in 1992. Basically, the football of Simpson takes the stage for the first part and his personal life takes the second part, with context running behind in tandem with each.

There have been numerous ways to tell the story of O.J. Simpson and the famous murder trial, obviously. The People v. O. J. Simpson: American Crime Story, a true crime anthology series based on a book by Jeffrey Toobin (interviewed later in this film, incidentally), premiered the very year of O.J.: Made in America came out. But this is a film that knows exactly how to pace oneself in the story of Simpson that has the benefit of archival footage of the man as people used to know him (a query letter written by Edelman to Simpson, by then incarcerated and approaching the age of 70, was left unanswered). Naturally, there is footage of others that knew Simpson in contemporary times or in the present-day here to go along with, one that shows Simpson and his triumphs (most notably the University of Southern California and the Buffalo Bills) that run in tandem with his reaction to the growing movement of the strong-principled black revolutionary athlete. Robert Lipsyte aptly describes O.J. in the film as essentially "the counterrevolutionary athlete white America is looking for." If one really thinks about it, the story of Simpson could also remind one of the Faustian bargain, since it seems that more than anything, he wanted fame (as quoted in one interview, he wanted people to say "hey, there goes OJ") and in return he traded his very soul. In essence, the first two parts remind the viewer of who Simpson was in the time before 1994 in all of its aspects: on and off of the camera; it also shares time on the city of Los Angeles before 1994 when it comes to the Watts riots of 1965 and the 1992 riots in the city that each sprung from tension of the city between black residents and the city's police department; one sees this from the reaction from the community to the release of the Rodney King beating tape and the murder of Latasha Harlins (the trial of the officers for excessive force on King resulting in a nonguilty verdict and a city-wide riot hours later). Regardless of how familiar one is of Simpson, Edelman presents a worthwhile canvas because it truly is necessary to know how the story of Simpson intertwines beyond the expectations one would expect. You see the many aspects of personality in Simpson from his ambition to his jealousy, one that might as well have had the talent to become a great actor with how he juggles the facade of having an actual conscience. Instead, the great television star fell at the risk of being a has-been with diminishing attention all because of himself, which certainly is ironic considering his desire of being not black but being O.J.

There are many fascinating voices to hear from when talking about Simpson or the city of Los Angeles, since he spent years living in the city in the neighborhood of Brentwood. You hear the voices of authority figures such as Mike Albanese, detailing the mood in some part of officers in the city within the riots that contrast with city residents such as novelist Walter Mosley or civil rights activists in Danny Bakewell. You hear from associates of Simpson such as childhood friend Joe Bell, who sets the stage of how Simpson grew to be the person that became Simpson in the housing projects of the Potrero Hill neighborhood in San Francisco in a family upbringing with an absent gay father, or with people that knew him during his marriage to Brown such as her sister Tanya that reveals the nature of Simpson beyond the public persona (which involved rage and jealousy, before and after the divorce); the use of footage with Brown shows her in the light that matters most: not simply listed as the wife of O.J. Simpson but a person with their own dreams and their own struggles that come out from the footage and diaries shown to us; the way we see domestic violence now as opposed to decades prior is made striking when it comes to the 1989 coverage of Simpson, made particularly clear with the interview of him with Roy Firestone. You see the differing perspectives of Simpson in regard to him as an athlete (such as from teammate Booker Edgerson) versus being an example of the socially aware black athlete (as noted by sociologist Harry Edwards and the aforementioned Lipsyte). You see the perspective of Simpson in his ascension to advertising pitchman and actor from people such as director Peter Hyams (who directed Simpson in Capricorn One in 1978) or Hertz Corporation chairman Frank Olson (whose company associated with Simpson for nearly two decades, even with the 1989 charges) when it comes to where Simpson's power worked when it came to being malleable for a consumer audience.

To list everyone would be to miss the point: you understand who O.J. Simpson was beyond the words that could always be used to describe him before 1994 and you understand the very nature of how that comes in parallel with Los Angeles of that time, where the burning of building in Los Angeles runs in parallel to the diminishing elements of Simpson's soul. One knows where the story will close itself by its opening shot with the Lovelock Correctional Center in the present day, but that doesn't mean the opening of the canvas of O.J. and others is diminished in fascinating quality.

The rating for this review will be displayed when the review is fully completed on February 28. Tomorrow is Parts Three and Four of O.J.: Made in America before the review is final, which will essentially make this the longest review in Movie Night history.

Why Did I Get Married?

Review #1979: Why Did I Get Married?

Cast: 

Tyler Perry (Terry), Sharon Leal (Dianne), Malik Yoba (Gavin Agnew), Janet Jackson (Dr. Patricia Agnew), Michael Jai White (Marcus Williams), Tasha Smith (Angela), Richard T. Jones (Mike), Jill Scott (Sheila), Lamman Rucker (Troy), and Denise Boutte (Trina) Written and Directed by Tyler Perry (#872 - A Madea Christmas)

Review: 

“First of all, the messages are very important to me. I don’t just want to do film for the sake of doing film. And it’s never been about money for me. It’s always been about “What can I leave to uplift and inspire?” Even when I was doing plays early on. So, that’s where it comes from, first of all. It’s about, “What message can I bury into a great story?” And I think it’s resonating with people because so many folks are looking for answers. So many people are searching. So many want love and hope and romance. In my own life, finding that forgiveness has been very important. And that’s where it seems to begin with me for a lot of what I do.”

The story of Tyler Perry is a story of persistent faith. He was born in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1969 to a household wracked in abuse. He was inspired by an episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show to keep a diary of his daily thoughts and experiences that set him on a path to become a writer, one that led to him to do a musical. I Know I've Been Changed was first staged in community theater in Georgia in 1992, albeit to little reception. He continued onward and refined it to eventual attention in 1998. This would lead to a litany of stage productions over the years with him as director, writer, producer, and actor. In 2005, he adapted his play Diary of A Mad Black Woman into a film as writer/producer/star, which featured him as his most notable character in Madea; he made his directorial debut with Madea's Family Reunion the following year. Ultimately, Perry has made over a dozen films and countless television shows that has a perception of audience appeal regardless of critical scrutiny (whether that involves film critics or filmmakers such as Spike Lee); he has a film studio that bears his name that is located in the heart of Atlanta.

Why Did I Get Married? was the third directorial effort from Perry, who also wrote, starred, and co-produced the film based his play of the same name with considerable changes. A sequel was done in 2010 along with a TV spinoff in Tyler Perry's For Better or Worse (White and Smith are the only two actors to act in both projects). Admittedly, one can see where the appeal lies in Perry's attempts at doing pop psychology with melodrama on the level of a soap opera or an off-kilter religious movie. For 113 minutes, the movie certainly labors in the elements of comedy-drama to various highs and lows that make it a fascinating mediocre movie. It is a very drawn-out movie, one that is best fit for a very long rainy day for those who like to roll with a movie for the sake of watching what they assume is obviously going to happen in the art of a soap opera, which means it is mildly entertaining to me but ultimately too hollow to really remember. That isn't to say it is forgettable, it just will be one of those movies that comes and leaves in the brain just like that. One can see the appeal of the film before saying "it's just not my thing". Strangely enough, it is the dynamic between White and Smith that sticks out the most in terms of entertaining quality, which is quite the feat in a cast that has a writer/director/actor and, well, singers with varying acting experience that include Janet Jackson. Of the four rifts in marriage portrayed here, they play their rift with the most energy and most charm that makes each side out to be as ridiculous as the other without making one lose sight of why they look like a couple. In other words, when the film is trying to be humorous or "dramatic", it is them who make it work to relatively interesting levels. Perry and Leal, as the "lead duo", don't exactly make this into high-strung drama, to put it nicely, which is amusing considering that Yoba and Jackson have as much tension in "close relations" as one does when quietly standing in an elevator. Maybe this is what happens if you made a religious movie but some of the opening pages out. Scott is probably the only other actor that makes the movie a possible focus point in terms of finding a sort of spiritual and emotional rebirth. When the film finds itself on the part of delivering certain secrets (because hey, one guy knows a whole bunch of their stuff), the movie probably illustrates its strengths and weaknesses quite well: its staged drama only becomes interesting when I actually care about what is going on screen without just riffing it as having the foundation of a three-legged chair. Again though, there are mildly interesting actors here, and I do find some of its take on marriage means in the modern sense to be compelling. It is a movie with a general sense of uplifting ambition that will work for those who are curious about its filmmaker and work less for those who believe there are better ways to use their time.

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: For the final installment of Movie Night's third edition of Black History Month with films, a review...in three parts.

New Jack City.

Review #1978: New Jack City.

Cast: 

Wesley Snipes (Nino Brown), Ice-T (Scotty Appleton), Allen Payne (Gerald "Gee Money" Wells), Chris Rock (Benny "Pookie" Robinson), Judd Nelson (Nick Peretti), Mario Van Peebles (Stone), Michael Michele (Selina Thomas), Bill Nunn (Duh Duh Duh Man), Russell Wong (Park), Bill Cobbs (Old Man), Christopher Williams (Kareem Akbar), and Vanessa Estelle Williams (Keisha) Directed by Mario Van Peebles.

Review: 

“Typically, in a gangster movie, you’re emotionally connected with the gangster. If you watch ‘Godfather,’ you connect with the gangster, but in ‘New Jack City,’ you connect, not just with the gangster, but hopefully with the cops — but even more with the victim.”

Cliche as it may sound, the story of a filmmaker in this case of like father, like son. Mario Van Peebles was born in 1957 in Mexico City, Mexico to a photographer mother and a filmmaker father in Melvin Van Peebles. The Van Peebles family moved around between the United States and Europe, although the younger Van Peebles dabbled first in acting in his teens (which included Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song, as you already may know). He studied and graduated in Economics at Columbia College (the oldest undergraduate college of Columbia University, located in New York); he had acted on the advice of his father, who told his son to work hard and advertise while getting a business education. After time spent in the City of New York Department of Enviromental Protection, Van Peebles re-entered acting in the 1980s, which included roles in films such as Exterminator 2 (1984), Rappin' (1985), and Heartbreak Ridge (1986). Van Peebles started as a director in television in 1988 before he got his chance to make a feature with this film. In over three decades as a director, he has done films of varying quality such as Posse (1993) and Baadasssss! (2003) along with countless television projects. The screenplay was done by Thomas Lee Wright and Barry Michael Cooper, while the story was done by Wright. Cooper was a writer for The Village Voice, going from music critic to investigative reporter for the New York City alt-weekly. He wrote an article called "Kids Killing Kids: New Jack City Eats Its Young" in 1987 that talked about drug trade (such as in Detroit). It spurred a meeting with Quincy Jones and eventually a job in re-writing a screenplay that was about a 1970s Harlem heroin kingpin in Nick Barnes (so you can guess how that plays into this film). In 1994, two of Cooper's scripts involving Harlem came out with Sugar Hill and Above the Rim. Wright had been an executive at Paramount Pictures that aspired to be a screenwriter and apparently made a script treatment for what a third film for The Godfather (1972, 1974) could look like. When Paramount was interested enough to have him do an early draft, Wright used experiences in interviews from New York's Little Italy and black kingpins that modeled themselves like the Mafia in Harlem...which was founded by Nicky Barnes.

When you are trying to do a slick piece of entertainment, most might wonder if a resemblance to Scarface (1983) is wise. But New Jack City is still entertaining for what it shows in the contradictions that come in making a film about the rise and fall of one pusher of crack cocaine that has many interesting players that engage with the action in comic-book style energy. It isn't just a movie all about a kingpin or the cops that try to bring him down but instead a film that encompasses both sides of the story that is a deconstruction of the drug trade. In a way, it a refining of what used to be called the "blaxploitation film", one with distinct music and characters that resonate with the flow of the story for what is basically a lyrical action-drama. Of course, it is also a movie that doesn't just roll only in action, because one can always sense the plight of unemployment, social inequality, and systemic racism within the seams. Snipes is the head of where the film works best, one that saw him rocket to further recognition as an actor beyond supporting roles (and for good reason). There is a devilish charisma to everything that he does in this film, one that the writers wanted to show to make one believe him akin to a vampire when it comes to the community. It works exactly to plan because of how much he resonates on screen in presence, sucking our attention as an angel of death, right down to one of the last sequences referring to "my brother's keeper", which is undoubtedly the most effective by the fact that it has lingered as an Internet meme for years (so yes, a somber sequence turning into a moment for humor is far better than you think); the inevitability of where things will lead doesn't degrade the overall experience when it comes to seeing Snipes in a leading role that matters. Ice-T (who got the nickname by his memorization and reciting of excerpts of Iceberg Slim novels) was better known for his music (hip-hop, rap, heavy metal) than an actor, and he apparently got the role because Van Peebles heard him mouth off while in a nightclub bathroom. It is apparent pretty quickly that he makes a quality counterpart to Snipes because of how he manages to hold his own in worthwhile conviction and energy, which makes for quite the pairing when against Snipes in cover or opposite Nelson. Payne and Rock (at that time a member of Saturday Night Live) are the other key aspects of the film that strike interesting chords in the effects of where the trade takes them, whether that involves the decay of brotherly devotion or the attempted decay of one's soul (incidentally, the film has inspired a live stage show that saw Payne return to the role in 2022). As a whole, the 100 minutes feel quite efficient in execution because the movie always seems quite "on", never lingering in unnecessary territory or becoming only just a cliche to pick at. It is a movie with a soul for the moment that still seems quite prescient now, which means that it still has worthy staying power three decades later that is ripe for celebration due to the efforts of Van Peebles and company to make it a worthwhile time to check out.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Tyler Perry...in a non-Madea movie with Why Did I Get Married?

Tongues Untied.

Review #1977: Tongues Untied.

Cast: 

Featuring Marlon T. Riggs, Essex Hemphill, Brian Freeman, among others. Directed and Produced by Marlon Riggs.

Review: 

"Tongues, for me, was a catharsis. It was a release of a lot of decades-old, pent-up emotion, rage, guilt, feelings of impotence in the face of some of my experiences as a youth. So in that sense, the documentary was therapy for me."

The story of Marlon Riggs, much like the films he made, should not be forgotten. He was born in Fort Worth, Texas but the nature of his family (civilian employees of the military) meant that he moved around for a good deal of his childhood, living in both Texas and Georgia; his family moved to West Germany when Riggs was 11, where he would live until he moved back to the States to attend college. He attended Harvard University with study in history and graduated with honors; it was here where he realized his sexuality as a gay man and also found his calling in filmmaking through the study of history in American racism and homophobia. He found a partner in Jack Vincent in Oakland, who he lived with to the day he died. He studied further at University of California, Berkeley in journalism and documentary film within graduate school. After that, he became a film assistant, editor, and/or post-production supervisor on indie documentary productions. His first professional documentary as a director came with Ethnic Notions in 1987, which aired on numerous public television stations that dealt with memorabilia involving black stereotypes. In late 1988, Riggs was told that he was HIV-positive after he had suffered kidney failure. Along with a couple of short films, Riggs directed two further feature-length documentaries after Tongues Untied with Color Adjustment (aired in 1992 which dealt with prime-time TV entertainment in terms of representation of African Americans) and Black is... Black Ain't (aired in 1995 that aimed to show the comprehensive commentary of the Black experience by showing its diversity beyond saying what it means "to be Black). Riggs died in 1994 at the age of 37 from AIDS.

The movie is a way for people like Riggs to let go, one to express the emotions felt about how they view themselves in the community of being both Black and gay, which for him was rage at the treatment that he called "as a pariah". For Riggs, what matters most in terms of revolutionary acts is learning to love oneself and others. Within a runtime of roughly 55 minutes, it includes poetry along with plenty to say about identity with Riggs leading the way as one of the various voices seen in the film. Of course, what is also remembered about the film is the controversy that came after it had made its run on the festival circuit. It was scheduled to be shown on PBS on the television series POV. Both the show and the film had received funding from the National Endowment for the Arts (in the case of Riggs, it came from a Regional Arts Fund that was funded by the NEA). The film received scrutiny from exactly who you would think would complain in the name of family values (in my opinion, when people like Pat Buchanan are leading the charge, its a clear sign to probably align with the opposing opinion; incidentally, he made an political ad about "values" by illegally using footage from the film). It is a time capsule movie, one that is still relevant to the very nature of identity and breaking the silences that may never go away among us. There were various writers for the film alongside Riggs, such as Donald Woods, Alan Miller, Steve Langely, Reginald Jackson, Essex Hemphill, Chris Harris, and Joseph Beam. The movie is candid in both somber and warm words about being someone that loves the touch of someone that is the same sex as they are that cannot stand oppression of any kind, whether that involves members of the gay community or Black folk. It presents this through various little stories such as the presentation of one's experiences growing up being hated by both blacks and whites (with various slurs recited). There are many words one could use to describe the film, but it is never boring in its singular pursuit of showing one particular way of life in all of its bare truths to realize just how much identity means to them without becoming a leap of lethargic loquaciousness. In the end, the legacy of the film is one to consider for all films: what it leaves behind for us to think and care about. Three decades have not softened the release of pent-up emotion that came with this film, which is a fascinating documentary in perspective and release in emotion.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: New Jack City. 

She's Gotta Have It.

Review #1976: She's Gotta Have It.

Cast: 

Tracy Camilla Johns (Nola Darling), Tommy Redmond Hicks (Jamie Overstreet), John Canada Terrell (Greer Childs), Spike Lee (Mars Blackmon), Raye Dowell (Opal Gilstrap), Joie Lee (Clorinda Bradford), Dennis Karika (The Trainer), S. Epatha Merkerson (Dr. Jamison), and Bill Lee (Sonny Darling) Directed, Written, and Produced by Spike Lee (#1255 - Do the Right Thing, #1543 - Inside Man, and #1643 - Malcolm X)

Review: 

"I'm a filmmaker. I know what I want to do. I'm not making movies to become famous or become filthy rich or to have 10 million beautiful women...I just want to present Black people as I know them-as I know they haven't been portrayed in Hollywood."

You know, for all of the attention I gave Spike Lee for classics such as Do the Right Thing (1989) and Malcolm X (1992), I do wish I actually started at the beginning with his career, if only because it is far more interesting to go from point A to point B with seeing how a filmmaker evolves (or gets better) over time. Well, that, and because without She's Gotta Have It, who knows if one gets the films that came later from Lee? Of course, the real beginning (as probably mentioned before) is Joe's Bed-Stuy Barbershop: We Cut Heads (1983), as it was his master's degree thesis at the Tisch School of the Arts, which attracted attention. However, he couldn't find a major studio that wanted to work with him and his ideas on his terms, so when he did She's Gotta Have It, his first feature-length film, he did all on his own with funding from various sources (grants, deferred payments, and personal favors). It was shot over a dozen days on a budget of $175,000 in Brooklyn (which is where Lee grew up after his family moved from Atlanta). Of course, it only took screening the film at places such as New York University of a rough cut that pushed the film to completion (with Lee pitching himself at these screenings, obviously). The movie was a fair hit for the independent circuit, which helped set the stage for Lee doing further films in consecutive years such as School Daze (1988), Do the Right Thing (1989), Mo' Better Blues (1990), Jungle Fever (1991), and Malcolm X (1992). Three decades later, a television adaptation of the movie was developed by Lee, who directed every episode of the two-season series that ran on Netflix.

Lee wanted to challenge sexual stereotypes that looked upon both African American men and women with frank honesty, which results in a distinct feature film debut. He took inspiration from seeing male friends of his boast about how many female friends they had and basically reversed it (while taking inspiration also from Rashomon (1950)). In fact, he came up with a questionnaire on the sexual habits of young women and asked women he knew about what answers made sense. In that sense, I think the movie works just fine as an indie comedy-drama that makes some steps forward in presenting distinct viewpoints in sexuality for a mostly compelling curiosity. With its black-and-white photography (except for one scene) and its habit of characters talking to the screen for 84 minutes, the movie is a lament for one's freedom to make choices on their own happiness, regardless of what the perception might be from others. This is the one defining role for Johns, a stage actress who had to be convinced over the course of months by Lee that he could make a compelling character. She does a reasonable job in portraying the dilemmas that come with one perspective of youth with hang-ups, a free spirit with agency. Terrell, Hicks, and Lee play the three suitors of distinct types: the high-class vain one, the "sensitive" one, and a joker.  Terrell amuses me the most in vanity, a stuck-up snob that has the timing required in showing just how much one really can (and in some ways, should) love themselves. Hicks and his vulnerable sensitivity is probably the one most relatable when it comes to seeing what really lurks behind the spoken and unspoken phrases, while Lee is fairly amusing. Probably the only scene that strikes a different chord from the rest is the rape scene, which Lee has expressed regret over, since he felt it made light of rape that he wishes he could take back. The movie is what Lee called a "free style" film, one that is a hybrid of narrative and documentary, one shot by future director Ernest Dickerson and edited by Lee. As a whole, the movie comes and go in trying to establish compelling points about true desires and expectations that will challenge the viewer the slightest bit, whether that involves them nodding their head or rolling their eyes the slightest bit (so yes, one either rolls with these folks or treats them amusingly). Lee wanted to present a compelling Black tale and I would say he succeeded in that respect considering what would come afterwards, which helps to shape plenty of reasons to give this a curious glance.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Tongues Untied.

Killer of Sheep.

Review #1975: Killer of Sheep.

Cast: 

Henry G. Sanders (Stan), Kaycee Moore (Stan's wife), Charles Bracy (Bracy), Angela Burnett (Stan's daughter), Eugene Cherry (Eugene), and Jack Drummond (Stan's son) Directed, Written, and Produced by Charles Burnett.

Review: 

"What people are really struggling for is to endure, to survive, to become adults and maintain some sort of moral compass."

The story of Charles Burnett when it comes to looking at filmmakers beyond the usual names comes with finding how one got themselves to become a director. Burnett was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi in the early 1940s, but the family (a nurse's aide and a military father) moved to Watts, a neighborhood in the southern region of Los Angeles, California; his experiences in Watts, which included transplants from the South just like him, influenced him deeply. He first studied electrical engineering at Los Angeles City College before taking a class in writing that convinced him to explore ambitions in that field. He went off to study at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) in 1967, where he studied writing and languages before moving onto the university's film school. One of his instructors and a key influence on him was documentarian Basil Wright, who lent "a certain humanism to my way of seeing things." Burnett first shot films in 1969 with his Super 8 graduation film for UCLA in "Several Friends". The movie was shot in 1972 and 1973 that Burnett shot as his Master of Fine Arts thesis, although the film was not screened for the public until 1978. In addition to serving as director, writer, and producer, he also shot and edited the film, which was shot with friends and colleagues for a cast with a handheld camera. It premiered at the Whitney Museum of American Art in late 1978, and while the movie did ride the festival circuit for a time, there was no general release of the film until 2007 due to Burnett not being able to secure rights to the music (which included music from famous names such as Dinah Washington) that was present in the film. Hell, the Library of Congress preserved the film in their United States National Film Registry over a decade before anyone could see it on home video. Finally, in 2007, the music rights were purchased to help clear the way for the film, which had a limited release and DVD release that year thanks to the help of people such as Ross Lipman (preservationist at UCLA Film & Television Archive) and Steven Soderbergh, who made a considerable donation with the effort to turn 16mm prints into 35mm restored prints that could be on DVD. A fierce independent filmmaker, he has completed over a half-century of filmmaking with varying levels of attention, which has included films such as To Sleep with Anger (1990) and Namibia: The Struggle for Liberation (2007).

In a way, the details of what the film is in a nutshell is both a blessing and curse. If one is here for escapism in their film, one should look elsewhere, because the plot of the film is best described as "nothing happens if you only look on the most basic levels". But, if one really is into films that remind them of their times spent in the neighborhood or are connoisseurs of movies that remind them of Italian neorealism, this may very well be the movie right up your alley. To look further into a movie filmed and set in Watts, California with little vignettes that are loosely connected with one other is to find life in the most cut-and-dry sense. That could be haunting in bleakness or joyful depending on what one sees in the film, which never seems ultra-cheap or exploitative, because you are too busy focusing on the seams that tie these people together rather than cheap seams. It is a movie about a man who is trying to keep his dignity while his sensitivity is slowly slipping away from him, which reflects upon the family around him (since Burnett got his sense that the most important thing was to survive from his experiences in the community). You see this through the eyes of Sanders, an Army veteran-turned-actor (in his first major role in a career filled with character roles) that we see the movie from when it comes to the depiction of life. His anguish (such as his degrading sense of self from the long hours as, well, a "killer of sheep") is our anguish and his attempts to see joy in the small things is our joy, which works out to generally interesting moments in the human condition. Moore is no slouch of course, because she braces him and the withering sense of self that comes from trying to maintain order is not a one-way street, which results in dutiful timing. The movie wanders wherever it feels the need to go, whether that involves kids being kids (read: unpredictable in cruelty or other emotions) or vignettes such as trying to carry a heavy part to a location that goes about how one expects it to go. The movie begins and ends essentially at the same place: adrift without easy resolutions or ideas but always ready with questions. As a whole, it isn't the easiest sit at 80 minutes, but it is a worthwhile film that manages to hit most of the marks it wants to accomplish in telling a story with Black Americans that should merit at least one conversation about why it still means so much to those who saw it or lived through what the film wants to show.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: She's Gotta Have It.

The Human Tornado.

Review #1974: The Human Tornado.

Cast: 

Rudy Ray Moore (Dolemite), Lady Reed ("Queen Bee"), Jimmy Lynch (Mr. Motion), Howard Jackson (Himself), Gloria Delaney (Annie "Hurricane Annie"), Jerry Jones (Pete), Sir Lady Java (Herself), J.B. Baron (Sheriff Beatty), Jack Kelly (Captain Ryan), Herb Graham (Cavaletti), Barbara Gerl (Mrs. Cavaletti), James R. Page (Jimmy), and Ernie Hudson (Bo) Directed by Cliff Roquemore.

Review: 

"I wasn't saying dirty words just to say them... It was a form of art, sketches in which I developed ghetto characters who cursed. I don't want to be referred to as a dirty old man, rather a ghetto expressionist." - Rudy Ray Moore

I'm sure you remember Dolemite, the 1975 blaxploitation crime comedy directed by D'Urville Martin that saw Rudy Ray Moore as cowriter/star. As the story goes, Moore took the idea for the character from stories he had heard from a man that was around the record store Moore was working at, who did them in rhyme. Moore took the idea and did it himself to the tune of jazz and R&B music for comedy albums, which he distributed from word-of-mouth. The movie that came from it was one that (to put it mildly): kicked ass from all sides of the street. Granted, it was ridiculous in execution to see a hero with sexual prowess and kung-fu fighting skills with profanity galore in a movie that couldn't even keep the boom mic from being seen (at least if one was watching it on a VHS or DVD). Moore would appear in a starring role in four further feature roles after Dolemite: The Human Tornado (1976), The Monkey Hustle (1976), Petey Wheatstraw (1977), and Disco Godfather (1979). Moore has been cited as an influence in rap, as cited by noted icons such as Snoop Dogg, and Moore was the subject of Dolemite Is My Name (2018), which had Eddie Murphy play him in the process of making Dolemite, and the 2009 film Black Dynamite (a parody/homage of the blaxploitation era) even honors the first film with visible boom mic shots. As for the director of the sequel, Cliff Roquemore was behind the director's chair.  The Detroit native studied theater at Wayne State University and directed a variety of regional productions before becoming involved in film, for which he was behind the production of a handful of blaxploitation features, with him directing Moore in this film Petey Wheatstraw. Jerry Jones wrote the script for this film just like he did for Moore's last film, albeit without Moore serving as a writer this time. 

You know, this may actually be slightly a better-made feature than Dolemite, but that isn't exactly saying much. Saying random highlights might be a disservice when one could see it for themselves, really. The original film was sheer ridiculousness in the level of things it wanted you to go with when it came to general staging. The sequel isn't quite as ridiculous, but there are still various little moments of "of course that happened" here and there, such as trying to pass off the opening as taking place not in California when you can see the Hollywood sign and then find yourself looking at Bronson Cave, the familiar cave of countless B-movies. Hell, Dolemite is shown doing a routine in various clothes, as if they could only film some the funny bits of Moore's act and have to come back on random other days without regard for if the clothes matched or not. The "kung-fu" action is just sped-up regular moving (complete with funny noises), which somehow is sillier than when Dolemite was blowing people away the first time around (since he had a stable of women that were trained in kung-fu). Hell, now you have scenes of Dolemite doing a scene of lovemaking in, uh, a trippy sequence where the "bed" is first seen as building blocks. It even has an "Instant Replay" scene right before the character rolls down a hill (naked, I might add).  It is a weird movie that sees Moore talk mostly in rhymes (which seems more noticeable this time around than the previous film). The actors that return from this film aren't any different than before, which sure says something when one deals with a plot involving kidnapping and brief appearances from folks best known for either Maverick or Ghostbusters. The villain this time is just a bunch of weirdo white folks, which is a bare change from the minimally developed villain of the last film (well, at least when you consider that the first film not only had hustlers as adversaries but crooked cops). Hell, the climax is scattershot to the max, considering it ends with our hero having a bullet taken for him only to see him minutes later trick the villain into shooting him in the back due to his convenient bullet-proofed vest (considering all of this started because of adultery, you would think the man would check for more than five seconds about a man he just shot). Calling this a sleazy B-movie is like calling your dumb friend a dumb friend when they do something dumb: what do you expect?  These were movies made for audiences that wanted to see Moore and some fun action, which works to the benefit of a viewer who knows what they are going for with Moore: silly weird fun that is clearly of the 1970s. That doesn't mean I endorse the movie as "good", but there isn't anything here that is reprehensible (unless one really expected a "film" rather than a "movie"). A man unlike no other in terms of vibrant ambition, Rudy Ray Moore made a worthwhile second feature after Dolemite that continued the entertainment value found within a persistent and distinctive personality that clearly has a place within black cinema, or cinema in general when it comes to movies that might as well qualify as outsider art. 

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

Next time: Killer of Sheep.

Gordon's War.

Review #1973: Gordon's War.

Cast: 

Paul Winfield (Gordon Hudson), Carl Lee (Bee Bishop), David Downing (Otis Russell), Tony King (Roy Green), Gilbert Lewis (Harry "Spanish Harry" Martinez), Carl Gordon (Luther "The Pimp"), Nathan Heard ("Big Pink"), Grace Jones (Mary), Jackie Page (Bedroom Girl), Chuck Bergansky (White Hitman), and Adam Wade (Hustler) Directed by Ossie Davis (#1635 - Cotton Comes to Harlem and #1802 - Black Girl)

Review: 

"Directing calls for a vision and an itch, a dedicated focus, energy, the ability to be mean and stubborn if you have to, and at times, a little devious. Qualities I thoroughly understand, but do not have."

Gordon's War was the third feature film directed by Ossie Davis, who you might remember from films as interesting as Cotton Comes to Harlem (1970) and Black Girl (1972). As was the case with his other efforts, he directed it with a different studio, with this production being released by 20th Century Fox. Technically this is a blaxploitation film, in that it does involve folks literally declaring war on drug pushers. But it is also a film about what urban decay can do to a community along with seeing just how much commitment means to sticking to a mission regardless of the costs if the leader is strong enough. The movie was written by Howard Friedlander and Ed Spielman (I recognize him due to having seen the TV show Kung Fu, which he co-created). The movie was shot in Harlem and Davis allowed the actors to choose their own wardrobe. Davis directed two other films: Kongi's Harvest, a semi-obscure 1970s Nigerian film based on a play of the same name by Wole Soyinka (who starred in the production), and Countdown at Kusini (1976), an American-Nigerian production that he served as star along with his wife Ruby Dee.

Man do I wish I enjoyed this film more. It almost looks like a film ready to burst out of the seams in weirdness. This is a movie where one guy recruits three other guys to turn their prior experience in the green jungle of Vietnam into a fight of the concrete jungle, but somehow it all comes off as just very average material, one that doesn't quite reach the heights of the aforementioned Cotton film. However, being the possible lesser of three features made by an actor/director isn't the worst thing in the world, because there is still fairly solid ideas here for entertainment. Winfield, fresh off showcases of his talent in films such as Sounder, does quite well in making a captivating lead character in terms of "Nothing to lose", one clearly interesting enough to lead people on a crusade without turning it into fanatical hammy acting. Lee, Downing, and King play the accomplices (read: devotees) to our lead with interesting patience that is semi-interesting, albeit not exactly on the level of The Dirty Dozen (or something), but mostly on the level to what is needed. Grace Jones made her film debut here (years before she became noted for her music), albeit a small role as a "drug mule". The movie doesn't have enough juice to justify lacking a quality adversary, since Gordon and Lewis can't quite cut it when the movie tries to play "the real threat" that seems ripped from a silly formulaic crime book. Yes, it is a movie that talks about the decay of a town that comes with drugs, and one at least sees it in a movie that isn't reeking of "After-school Special", albeit on a small scale, one that shows a bleak mood. A chase scene ripe in inspiration from The French Connection and cardboard predictability is not quite enough to make a fun movie, but I at least understand the appeal for those interested in overlooked movies, since it took several years to even garner a DVD release. As a whole, it is an inconclusive film, one that can't quite hold itself to doing anything grand with a vigilante film due to it lacking a center to hold things together despite a suitable lead. But hey, some movies work better than others in having a good time in action, so pick carefully.

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: The Human Tornado.

Sounder.

Review #1972: Sounder.

Cast: 

Cicely Tyson (Rebecca Morgan), Paul Winfield (Nathan Lee Morgan), Kevin Hooks (David Lee Morgan), Carmen Matthews (Mrs. Rita Boatwright), Taj Mahal (Ike Phillips), James Best (Sheriff Charlie Young), Eric Hooks (Earl Morgan), Yvonne Jarrell (Josie Mae Morgan), Janet MacLachlan (Camille Johnson), Sylvia "Kuumba" Williams (Harriet), Ted Airhart (Mr. Perkins), Richard Durham (Perkins' Foreman), and Jerry Leggio (Prison Guard) Directed by Martin Ritt (#1411 - Hud)

Review: 

There were many types of films released in the 1970s that dealt with Black folks besides "blaxploitation" (which to be clear, had plenty of good films), ones that seemed to be a breadth of fresh air for making a quality family film for the whole audience. Given the notice of films such as Gordon Parks' The Learning Tree (1969), it shouldn't be too surprising to see features such as this one, which is an adaptation of the 1969 young adult novel of the same name that was written by William H. Armstrong. He had been inspired by an account told around the kitchen table by his family as a youth along with the story of Argus, a dog in Homer's Odyssey that awaited its master after twenty years (so yes, the title of the movie and book refers to a dog, but the movie is the only one that gives every character a name). Lonnie Elder III, an actor and playwright best known for his play Ceremonies in Dark Old Men (produced by the Negro Ensemble Company in 1969; by coincidence, one of the co-founders of the Company was Robert Hooks, father of Kevin Hooks) wrote the screenplay for the film, the first of four screenplays he did in screenwriting (which included the obscure Part 2, Sounder in 1976); he wanted to keep the film accurate in historical context without going off on "any present-day fantasies." Elder III became the first African American man to be nominated for an Academy Award for screenwriting, while this film became the first to have two African Americans nominated for Academy Awards with Tyson and Winfield. Made on a budget slightly under $2 million, the film was shot in St. Helena Parish and East Feliciana Perish in Louisiana. 

There is a clear sense of dignity and struggle that is shown throughout a mostly unsentimental 105-minute feature that is pretty good at the goals set out by its filmmakers (Ritt, who had directed a flop in his previous film adaptation in The Great White Hope (1970), took a massive pay cut to do this film). It manages to exceed comparisons one might have to other period dramas (such as the aforementioned Tree feature) that earns its emotional highs without strain. Whether favoring rural living or the big city, the movie works well for everyone without selling itself short in a tale of survival. Tyson was only cast for a lead role rather than a supporting role when Ritt erased his doubts of her being "too pretty" when she convinced him of her talent. She had acted in a variety of supporting roles in plays, film and television since the late 1950s after moving from acting from her first job as a fashion model (one would not suspect Tyson was fifteen years older than Winfield). She provides dignified presence in all the ways that matter in expression, one that leads the film along in eloquence you would see for a family film without artifice. Winfield had a handful of television roles and minor roles since the 1960s, but the Dallas native got his most notable moment with this film, one that shows him in warm strength that proves quite striking when seen before and after his key action in theft that doesn't erase our curiosity for him. Hooks provides the eyes of what we see for a good chunk of the film as the lead child actor of the film, which he handles quite well. when it comes to the expression of love for a pet, the love of reading or in general the love for striving for better things. It is a movie that we feel the heat and beauty of in its setting of the mid 1930s that isn't beholden to dull moments or artifice, such as when Tyson's character diffuses how the family minus Winfield will do what is needed to sharecrop. The scene where Hooks' character sees a school with all Black students and hears about the writings of W.E.B. DuBois is also an important highlight when it comes to the final decision set out by the main three involving the importance of using one's time for decision-making rather than letting things stay as they are. No matter what taste one has for films (action, suspense, you get the idea), the movie works for each side of the moviegoer, as evidenced by its staying power a half-century later. Ultimately, Sounder is a worthwhile period film of conviction and entertainment from top to bottom that shows worthwhile perspective of a Black Americans that shows compassion on its sleeve without blatantly requesting your pity.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Gordon's War.

Trouble Man.

Review #1971: Trouble Man.

Cast: 

Robert Hooks (Mr. T), Paul Winfield ("Chalky" Price), Ralph Waite (Pete Cockrell), William Smithers (Captain Joe Marx), Paula Kelly (Cleo), Julius Harris ("Big"), Bill Henderson (Jimmy), Wayne Storm (Frank), Akili Jones (Billy Chi), and Vince Howard (Preston) Directed by Ivan Dixon (#1804 - The Spook Who Sat by the Door)

Review: 

Admittedly, I should have covered this film by Ivan Dixon before I did his most famous one in The Spook Who Sat by the Door (1973), which will celebrate its 50th anniversary this September. As mentioned earlier, Dixon became a director in 1970 after a handful of acting roles, with the most famous role being Nothing But a Man (1964). He had graduated with a degree in drama from North Carolina Central University in 1954 (the theater troupe of the historically black college now bears Dixon's name). He also studied drama at Case Western Reserve University and the American Theatre Wing before he had gotten into acting. It was his five years on the sitcom Hogan's Heroes where he honed his interest of directing, doing so by asking questions about the process of directing and editing when on set due to not having time for film school. The movie was written by John D. F. Black (who had co-wrote the 1971 adaptation of Shaft with Ernest Tidyman), who also served as co-producer with Joel Freeman. The movie was released by 20th Century Fox, albeit with a cheap budget. This was the first major film role for Hooks, who had a few supporting roles in previous films such as Hurry Sundown (1967) along with a regular role in the TV series N.Y.P.D (1967-69); he was also the co-founder of the Negro Ensemble Company. The music was done by famed singer Marvin Gaye in his one and only soundtrack.

The movie was not a major hit upon release, but I would argue that it deserved better than just being thought of as being in the shadow of Shaft (I kid you not, there was a book written by alleged film writers that called this one of the worst films of all time in 1978 - I say "alleged" because it is clearly obvious how times have changed with taste). Both films featured cool lead characters - one that is "hip" and the other being a benefactor to the community. Shaft had a cool leather suit, and T drives a Lincoln Continental. Shaft just happened to strike the perfect note for the perfect moment that even its sequels couldn't reach, but Trouble Man is dedicated to being a hardboiled adventure and mostly succeeds in that goal. For all the naysayers that came with films in the so-called "blaxploitation" genre, film viewers know one thing: cool movies come in all shapes and sizes, and Hooks for an unflappable pillar of coolness. If it wasn't meant to be replicated with sequels, Hooks sure gave his all in terms of steely charm that is both detective and fixer of the best type, one who isn't merely a "West Coast" Shaft, but instead a man with distinctions and timing that we are always curious through and through.  Both of the adversaries gained notice for feature roles in media besides this film: Waite starred in The Waltons, which premiered on television a couple of months before this film while Winfield gained an Academy Award nomination for Sounder, which premiered the same year as this film. At any rate, they make for capable natural foils to Hooks, conniving without becoming cardboard, while Harris provides the necessary "big bad" energy when required. Jones provides a bit of energy to counter Hooks, while Smithers makes a quality authority foil. The best crime thrillers come from how convincing they seem in actually wanting to show something interesting on screen, and I believe this fits most of the steps needed worth checking out for 99 minutes. Under looked for the time, Trouble Man is a feature with plenty to offer for those looking for a mostly-developed crime thriller with a worthy lead actor and style to go along with it.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Sounder.

Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song.

Review #1970: Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song.

Cast: 

Melvin Van Peebles (Sweetback), Hubert Scales (Mu-Mu), Simon Chuckster ("Beetle"), John Dullaghan (Commissioner), with West Gale, Niva Rochelle, Rhetta Hughes (Old Girl Friend), Nick Ferrari, Ed Rue, and John Amos (Biker) Written and Directed by Melvin Van Peebles.

Review: 

“I made the picture because I was tired of taking the Man's crap and of having him define who we were to us. Sick and tired of watching the parade of jigaboos, valets and tap-dancing cooks on the big screen, I felt we had the right to define who we were ourselves. I am most proud of the fact that I decided to do something about it.”

Well, what can you expect from a movie that was written, co-produced, scored, edited, directed by one man in Melvin Van Peebles? The Chicago native studied in literature at Ohio Wesleyan University, graduating with a bachelor's degree in the mid 1950s. He served in the United States Air Force almost immediately after graduation, doing so for three years serving as a navigator and bombardier in the Strategic Air Command. Afterwards, he moved to San Francisco and worked as a cable car gripman, where a passenger suggested for him to be a filmmaker (he also wrote during this time). His short films didn't attract Hollywood, but it did attract French favor, and he spent a variety of years there writing before his first feature film came with The Story of a Three-Day Pass (1968), the story of an African American soldier stationed in France in an interracial relationship. The success of the film (made in France with French and English dialogue) inspired curiosity from Columbia Pictures, who hired him to direct a film for them with a script by Herman Raucher (the studio wanted to do the film, but only with a black director). Van Peebles did not enjoy the experience of what became Watermelon Man (1970) too much, considering that he wished to change the script from a satire of white liberal America to a black power movie. The movie was a hit, and Columbia offered Van Peebles a contract for three films. Van Peebles chose to do this film instead. A free spirit, Van Peebles directed seven films (one for television and one that was shown at the Cannes Film Festival before getting a video release) from 1968 to 2008; he also spent his time with work in the theater and trading on the floor of the American Stock Exchange. Van Peebles died at the age of 89 in 2021; his son Mario became an actor and director himself, and he made a film depicting the struggle of making Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song with the 2003 biodrama Baadasssss! Incidentally, Mario had played a younger version of the title character in the 1971 film and then he starred as his father in this film.

Technically, this is the first "blaxploitation" film, because it came out a few months before the release of Shaft. Both films ended up with their own type of cultural impact, with this film being cited as "required viewing" for members of the Black Panther Party (as decreed by its founder Huey Newton). The musical group Earth, Wind, and Fire was behind the music of this film, as composed by Van Peebles, who released the soundtrack months before the film to attract attention. I can't really call it the father of that genre, because Cotton Comes to Harlem was released a year before it, and Sweetback probably shares more similarities to Billy Jack (released the same year as this and self-distributed by its title star to roaring success) more than the other big 1971 hit Shaft, in that I feel it is more of an offbeat fable of what Van Peebles envisions empowerment to be. Think about it: both Billy Jack and Sweetback involve a lead character who speaks lightly, both involve characters spurred to action by seeing someone get assaulted (whether hippies or activists), both movies involve a family member being cast for things usually not done in movies (one had their wife play a character that goes through a sexual assault, the other casted their son as a younger version of the title character being depicted as having their way with a prostitute), and both have a lead trying to get their way across an oppressive authority that leads to some sort of moral victory (i.e. "The Man" doesn't kill them). A series of vignettes is either a series of loose connections with varying levels of filmmaking success or a series of vignettes that make a jumbled mess: it is up to the viewer to decide what the hell they are watching. It is a fragmented, odd, and incendiary movie that you have to figure out what edges work out best for 97 minutes. It is a movie where a man got gonorrhea from doing a sex scene and used it as a way to get compensation from the Directors Guild for being "hurt on the job" before needing a personal loan from a once-famous comedian to keep the movie rolling, which was shot in under three weeks. The camerawork is a mixture of hand-held shots, montages, split-screen effects that all goes for a film "dedicated to all the Brothers and Sisters who had enough of the Man". The most striking scene is probably the one that gets things started in loose plotting: our passive lead not being able to take it anymore when he sees (white) cops taking an activist out of the car to beat. Well, that or the scene where he argues for the activist to be taken by motorcycle rather than him because of the importance of the activist for the future. The cops taking things out on a random black man sleeping with a white woman regardless of how much he looks like Sweetback is also another striking scene whether for 1971 or 2023.

So yes, the movie is a success in terms of delivering perspective that isn't numbingly hypocritical, but that doesn't mean I have to call it a great classic. The Spook Who Sat by the Door, released three years later, crafted a far more interesting story of taking back the system in perspective (which incidentally was a movie suppressed by the studio behind it), but I digress. Granted, the criticisms of the film lie similar to ones made at films labeled part of the "blaxploitation" genre when it comes to presenting African Americans in stereotypes. But you know, there is one thing to mention when it comes to film and giving it a spotlight: if it is consistent enough for me, it is a winner all the way. The only one who should judge a film for themselves when it comes to spreading "ideas" is the viewer, not others trying to allege a moral high ground in authority (incidentally, this argument for worthwhile action films works just as well for horror films, since I guess ratings boards and family groups love to pair up). With that in mind, Melvin Van Peebles made a picaresque film that might as well pass for fable in the best way possible for what it means to him to be a Black man in America, one that doesn't stand passively when someone gets shelled, and one that finds the importance of not letting anything stand in the way of who they are. Whether thought of as a revolutionary classic or not, the world was left a better place with films such as this rather than left out in the cold. It might grow on you the more you watch it, but the impact is still there to talk about when it comes to Black cinema.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Trouble Man (1972).