I’ve been back in L.A. for about three months and I’ve had several random networking encounters where I tell people I’m a filmmaker and they tell me, as a black female director, that I should “hit up Tyler Perry.” Because it’s a first encounter and I don’t want to sound super bourgeois, I say “Oh …yeah” and then they proceed to tell me how great he is for black film and how great it is that he’s shown Hollywood that he doesn’t need their approval and blahblahblah.

NOW, he’s producing, directing and adapting one of the greatest, most influential pieces of female theatre in history and THAT is just a travesty. My writing partner got her hands on the script and she is absolutely devastated by what he’s done to it. BUT … I digress …

After he completed Madea Goes to Jail, Tyler Perry mentioned that he wished that he could kill Madea off, because he was tired of playing her. He had PLENTY of opportunities in this film to do so, but he didn’t. I don’t think I laughed at any of Madea’s jokes throughout the entire film. It felt like it was written to entertain middle-schoolers and even TECHNICALLY, it was ALL bad. Come on Tyler Perry, as much money as your films made, you can hire editors who know who to handle transitions correctly? You can’t hire a cinematographer that has an EYE for awkward angles? Of course the technical mistakes of a film can be forgiven if the STORY is at least good, but with Tyler Perry … that NEVER happens.

This review is not meant to entirely rag on Mr. Perry. What I will say about him is that the man has a GIFT for putting eye candy in his films. He’s not out yet, but he CLEARLY has great taste. EVERY dreadful film he’s put out has at LEAST had some fine men to look at, i.e. Shemar Moore, Michael Jai White (have you seen his bawwwwwdy?), Adam Rodriguez, Lance Gross, Rick Fox, the list goes on and on.

EXCEPT in this film. Really? Derek Luke? You’ve taken away the ONE thing that makes your films tolerable to watch. Derek Luke is a fine ACTOR, but he too suffers from “dumbed-down, over-acting” syndrome in this film. His sobbing breakdown scene, where the story is supposed to come to a climactic revelation is LAUGHABLE at best. I watched this with my friend who kept rewinding the part repeatedly and crying laughing. Her crying was more warranted than his.

And Keshia Knight Pulliam? Good Lord don’t let me get started on her. I highly doubt this film helped to resurrect her career. Tyler Perry, nobody buys Rudy from “The Cosby Show” as a cracked out prostitute, especially not with that proper accent. Her wardrobe looked like a bad Halloween costume.

All in all, if you couldn’t tell, this movie is a complete waste of time.

Aaaannnddd we’re back!

Do you remember a time when people still wore Jheri Curls? When women loved Allen Payne with a passion? When Chris Rock had his original teeth and crack body, and looked like he had 15 cents to his name? When Stoney Jackson was still occasionally working (Theresa Randle too)? When Charlie Murphy was not even close to being as funny as Eddie? When Khandi Alexander looked 20 years older than she does now? When no one knew who Deezer D was (nothing’s changed on that one, btw)?

Well I do. And all of that comes together in the 1993 hip-hop/rap spoof  “CB4″. When this first came out, I was totally unimpressed—it starred Chris Rock , who I thought was unbearable to look at at the time, and was  directed by Tamra Davis, whose ghetto pass has always been a constant source of wonder and disappointment to me.  People were still completely enamored with the South Central phenom Dr. Dre (“The Chronic”) and “Doggystyle” by Snoop Dogg was still absolutely HUGE and a must have and play in everybody’s car. It was also written by Nelson George, whom I still till this day don’t understand why was deemed the voice of  hip hop culture.

So of course, no one was tryna see or hear a project that dissed that whole genre. Everyone was buying into into it, so if you were going against the grain, you were instantly wack. And I think that is the exact reason it did not do well on all fronts at the time…it was too soon to make a satire of the scene. It just seemed like a weak, uninspired diss (but probably not to those who knew better). Like I said, no one was trying to hear that, only Dre’s beats at maximum bass and treble capacity.

But not having seen it since it came out, I realize that is was an amazing statement on the fakeness of gangsta rap, and the whole concept of the “South Central” culture, which,  if you are truly living that life, is absolutely nothing to be glorified. There is even dialogue alluding to that in the film. But it also skewers commercial sell-out rappers (a la Hammer), video hoes, slimy record execs, so-called hip hop early staples like 40 ounces, and so-called “militant” rap (a la Public Enemy and it’s offshoots).

It is the story of a group of 3 buddies, toiling in their ordinary dead end lives, decide to form a rap group, going through several different transformations (one a hilarious PM Dawn-like riff), until they hit pay dirt with a not too thinly veiled imitation of the ghetto super-group NWA. They go through their breakup and eventually reunion, learning life lessons along the way, with the inevitable YT groupies hanging on to every detail.

This film was ahead of it’s time, and I actually laughed out loud a few times, something that definitely didn’t happen the first time around. Some of the ideas were just so absurd and funny to me; Wacky D and his parachute pants and one leg in the air dancing, the musclebound sidekick talking through a voicebox, the heightened sleaziness of Khandi Alexander’s Supahead-like groupie. It was all so ridiculous and on point all at the same time.

This is a spot on spoof of what was really going on in that scene in the early nineties, but we were too mesmerized by the head nodding to notice. I hope films such as this have a chance to come back in a real way, cause they  actually have a sharp eye for human comedy and tragedy melded into one– it’s all the same parts of the pie, and what lies beneath in Black love and culture is much more than meets the eye.

Madame Invisible is presently lamenting all the Black writers, directors, and projects that were given visibility in the 90′s, and seem to have disappeared of the face of the planet. Can someone please help?

I couldn’t find the trailer, so here is the scene of Dead Mike in his pseudo-Chuck D video “I’m Black Y’All”, and that’s all he says, over and over again…hilarious!

OK. Some housekeeping issues–please forgive the lack of posting, cause Issa Rae is in Africa (go girl!) and has been gone for 3 weeks and will be back in about two. As for yours truly, I am moving to Los Angeles again, and being a typical diva I have waaaaay too much sh*t, and it has required my full attention.

Anyhoo—on my other blog I said I was about to review “Panther”, which I still will, but I took a little detour off on the DVD “Kiss And Tail”, which starts off being about video girls and groupies for about 15 minutes, then veers off into a bombardment against Superhead, aka Karrine Steffans, author of “Confessions of a Video Vixen” and “The Vixen Diaries”.

I want to make it clear that I have ZERO love for Karrine, and it’s not because of her sexual exploits. It is because of her as of late consistent ‘holier than thou attitude’ that I have read about and seen in interviews. I also have no respect for those who want to be famous and known at any cost whatsoever.

You see, I used to be heavily involved in rap on the business side. These dudes would come at you every day, every which way till Sunday. I don’t believe they even cared about who you were or what you really looked like, as long as they felt you were even semi-attractive. They just wanted to see if they could get it. For Karrine to act like she cured cancer or something just by getting these guys that practically anyone could get, then blabbing about it to the whole world and acting like she did something special is just so f*cking ridiculous to me. Add that to the fact that she always refers to herself as “A New York Times bestselling author”. Oh really, Toni Morrison? Talk to me when you write a book about something besides whose peen you put your mouth on.

Let’s just say that it is welcoming to see her get a taste of her own medicine. The folks in this film are for reals, for reals, and they don’t hold back, which I absolutely love. It is not speculation, but from the horses’ mouth based on actual experiences and interaction with her.

Save the comments about “you have to respect her hustle!”. I don’t respect anyone that lies about having a baby to get money (see Ma Barker), lies about having been pregnant numerous times (see Darius McCrary aka Eddie Winslow), lies about not having sex with Jay Z (see her own words in her first book) lies about doing porno (see Mr. Marcus and some Samoan porn star dude whose name I forgot) lies about being married, lies about how long she was doing said activities, and lies about almost everything except f*cking, from what I can see.

She has the audacity to say that the things she did things like getting paid $200 by Murder, Inc. to give blow jobs to everyone for the day was “Like being in college.  I had just got a divorce, so I got a little wild. I deserved that” Ummm….noooo, that is not like college, sorry.

Also this: “I had to do these things. It was L.A., L.A. does this to you. If I didn’t do these things I would have died”. Whatever, B. I have lived in L.A. off and on for 20 years, and guess what? I never had to s*ck a d*ck to pay the rent, no matter how hard it got. You know why? Cause I didn’t want to!

Though the film can get repetitive, and really won’t hold a lot of interest unless you know about Karrine Steffans or the folks she juked, it is nice to see a woman that is a complete psycho and has ruined so many people with her ugliness get her comeuppance. You can tell narrator Wendy Williams is loving every minute of telling all of the salacious details as well.

Everyone in this film pretty much agrees that this woman could not have any friends–and I could see all of the anger and hurt of betrayal from those on film that testified. Like Ja Rule said, “Yes, you are famous, but you are not a star. A star is someone you want to emulate, someone that has something you wish you had. I don’t think anyone wants to be like Karrine”.

Amen.

Is it possible to do a review when you haven’t watched the whole movie? I don’t know, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.

While looking at the new releases on another site, I decided to pick up “A Day In The Life“, mostly because of the cast. We have a round-up here of many urban drama staples; Omar Epps, Mekhi Phifer, Sticky Fingaz (who wrote and directed), Fredro Starr, Faison Love (Big Worm from Friday), Bokeem Woodbine, Michael K. Williams (Omar from The Wire), Wee-Bay from The Wire, Micheal Rapaport, Clarence Williams III, Tyrin Turner (Caine from Menace II Society; where’s he been?) and Ray J (!!).

With a cast like that I settled in to see some real hood rat stuff. Even if it wasn’t good, at least it would be interesting to see what the cast is lookin’ like, I thought.

It opens with a home invasion shoot em up, a robbery of drugs and cash by phoney cops. The whole thing was rapped! It was actually quite well done and interesting…creative to say the least. But after the opening credits, there was more rapping. And some more. And more. Oh hell no! I thought, this whole movie is rapped like a rap opera?

And so it was. Though it has it’s moments (like when the corny YT hospital doctor had to rap his lines), the concept got old. Really fast. By the time Sticky Fingaz was hittin’ his girl from the back (ifyaknowwhatimean) and they were rapping back and forth about how good it was, I had enough.

I did not even get to see the comeback appearance of the great Bokeem Woodbine as Bam Bam. Oh well. I must say, however, that this is the perfect movie for those that live on a steady, or semi-steady, diet of blunts and 40′s.

Here is the trailer…one thing I wanna know is how these Negroes were posted up all in the Sunset and Hollywood Hills in mansions, with Hummers, Porches, Bentleys, Rovers and guns all day long, but there is never a policeman in sight? Hmmmmm. (warning-some graphic violence):

While watching “Rotten Tomatoes”,  a TV show about movies that I always watch but don’t really like that much (I know, stupid right?) they had a countdown of Eddie Murphy’s worst 5 films. For some reason that is completely unfathomable to me, “Meet Dave” and “Daddy Daycare” were not on that list, but this one was.

I’m not saying that this is a great film by any means, but on the list of Eddie’s nuclear bombs I don’t think “Vampire in Brooklyn” should be counted in the wreckage. For one, it had an interesting premise–Eddie as a vampire named Maximilian who comes to New York looking for a mate or he will die. Why a vampire’s life is in peril without a wooden stake, I don’t know, but we’ll leave it at that.

It also stars Angela Bassett, and was written by Eddie and his brother Charlie Murphy, who we all know can be a funny dude sometimes. It was directed by  horror film great Wes Craven, and set in one of the best cities to shoot a film. With all of these elements one would think that at the very least you would have a film that would hold your attention for 2 hours right?

Well, it does, but doesn’t really go much beyond that. I hate to sound like a broken record, but this is another 90′s film that if it were released today, would probably be a hit at the box office, but in the 90′s kind of came and went. I mean, these days all we get is Tyler Perry or some dumb Ice Cube produced movie as far as commercial film, and Eddie’s vehicles that come out now aren’t even worth mentioning.

This one has a little bit of everything; vampires, romance, New York, John Witherspoon (bang bang bang!), Allen Payne when he was still kinda hot, and a funny secondary story with Kadeem Hardison as Eddie’s undead sidekick who keeps losing a different appendage with each new scene.

Angela Bassett is waaaay overserious, as usual, but she keeps this lightweight film from completely floating off with her hearty groundedness. It was, however, a bit disturbing to see her with pounds of too light pancake make-up and lipstick on, very distracting in fact. But not more distracting than the fact that she and her secondary love interest, police partner Allen Payne (Eddie being the first) have zero chemistry. She almost seems like his mother, and age is not even the reason, just attitude. Anyway, turns out she’s been half vampire all along and never knew it–the only signs being that she is a “night person” and somehow “knows things” everybody else doesn’t notice, which helps to make her a decent cop. Eddie comes along and sweeps her off her feet, even though he is an unusual looking dude to say the least. Plus he wears a freakin’ cape. The viewer knows that he has very selfish ulterior motives, namely keeping his legacy alive.

It is a good looking film, and Eddie does his signature multiple characters–besides the vampire, he also morphs into an Italian small time hood, and a sweaty Al Sharpton-like preacher. The thing is, the movie is not particularly scary, or funny, or action packed, or romantic, or sexy, or anything else. It is an amusing way to spend two hours, though, and I always love to see a Black cast in a horror genre film. Always. No matter how trite. And trite this one is.

Still,  better than any Black film I’ve seen at the theater this year–here is the trailer:

Sorry about the lack of posting. Sis-Star Issa Rae is moving from East Coast to West, and my laptop went kablooey. I know my excuse is not that great, but for some reason I detest blogging on a desktop. My delivery isn’t until tomorrow, but I didn’t want another day to go by without a post. See the sacrifices I make for art? lol

It was a bit of a sacrifice initially to watch the 1998 film “Why Do Fools Fall In Love?” as well, cause I didn’t remember it fondly. This is another film from the 90′s that I saw, but only remembered sketchy details. I think part of why I took a while to rewatch it is because of Lorenz Tate. Tho he seems like a pretty affable guy in real life, I usually have a big problem with the way he is cast. He just looks like a little kid, no matter what. It makes it hard to take him seriously. He is earnest about his acting, no doubt, but I feel that he was a major flaw in two films; “Dead Presidents” and “Love Jones”. Love Jones is a perennial community favorite, but I could never buy him as a sexy, romantic figure, and think it would have miles away been a better film with someone else in the lead. The same with Dead Presidents.

Not so with this film. For those of you that don’t know, Why Do Fools Fall In Love is the story of Frankie Lymon, a singer whose popularity reached it’s peak in the early 60′s. He was a kid when he hit, and died very young at the age of 25, a drug addict with his short height and baby face intact. For this reason Tate is made for for the role of Lymon. It seems like paperlight material, and it is to a certain degree, but it gets an added dimension that when Frankie died, he had 3 wives all claiming to still be married to him, all clamoring for a piece of his royalties. It was much more compelling to me this time around.

The standouts in this film are between the wives. It starts off gangbusters, with Vivica Fox in prison, who shortly gets sprung only to have a showdown with another wife, Halle Barry. And yes, Clifton Powell is in this movie too, as Berry’s attorney. I think the scenes between Vivica and Halle are just about the most interesting I’ve seen either one of them. Vivica is certainly at the top of her game (what happened?) as Lymon’s first wife, a serial shoplifter hardened by her criminal life and her hardships with Frankie. She is the 180 polar opposite of Berry, who plays glamorous singer Zola Taylor, a member of the legendary R&B group The Platters.

Add to this another complication–a third wife played by Lela Rochon. Rochon is not much of an actress, but even she is well suited for the role as a schoolteacher who doesn’t say much, but is nice to look at. Perfect.

The film fleshes out the backstories of each one of his three marriages, and how they all feel justified that each one of them is really the true wife. What we learn about Frankie is that he was basically a flash in the pan, on the very last vestiges of Doo Wop before music was taken over by The Beatles and psychedelic pop and rock. Somehow he could never quite let it go and move on, which left him a self-centered, selfish drug addict, that for the most part seemed to live by impulse and whim. Strong evidence of this is that he never made completely sure he was divorced from one wife before moving on to the next.

During the ending credits they show the real Frankie Lymon, who resembled something of a mutated Gary Coleman gremlin. Why would 3 women worth their salt be bothered with such a dude for 10 minutes? He absolutely destroyed each one of their lives individually, from which they never seemed to completely recover. Well, a conversation between the 3 of them at one point in the movie reveals why, and they all heartily mutually agree. Being p*ssy and d*ck whipped is the devil incarnate, folkses.

On a sidenote, this could very easily be “The Lil’ Wayne Story”, who is Frankie Lymon 2.0. Cast that chick Toya (one of Wayne’s baby mamas) who has that show with Tiny on BET as the Lela Rochon country good girl. “Singer” Nivea, who at this writing is pregnant with his baby in the Vivica Fox hoodrat role, and the beautiful Lauren London, who I am very sad to say is pregnant with Wayne’s baby at the same time as Nivea, completes the dysfunctional circle in Halle Berry’s beautiful Hollywood girl role.

And of course in the middle of it all, not losing any sleep and substance abusing it up all the while is gremlin-like Lil’ Wayne, who probably never thinks or reflects for a second on all the havoc he’s wreaked.  But I have heard that he can definitely put it down, ifyaknowwhatimean. *sigh* The more things change, the more they stay the same Here is the trailer:

There has been an influx of Black Cinema on cable recently, and I have taken full advantage of rewatching films, something I normally don’t do. A lot of these films are from the 90′s, and I marvel at how spoiled we were then.  We were used to seeing Black films in the theatres, and weren’t so thirsty that mediocre Tyler Perry films would be the only game in town. Most of these films would do very well today in this market, and would definitely make more money and get better reviews than before. Unfortunately, 1999′s “In Too Deep” is not in that realm.

Let me begin that organically, this film had a few too many superficial distractions, ones that Rocky Horror focuses a bit too much on–namely Omar Epps’ huge frog eyes and the massively bad wigs he wore, from bright red nappy fro, to some kind of semi-dread twist lacefront, all looking fake as hell.

But I digress. The plot is this:

Rookie officer Jeff Cole (Omar Epps) works his way up the ladder as an undercover officer. He goes undercover into a large drug empire run by a man who calls him self God (LL Cool J). Acting as J. Reid, Cole works his way up the ranks and soon becomes close friends on the business and personal side with God. Cole’s superior officer fears that he has gone too far in and may not be able to go back to his real self.

Now mind you, this rookie has done nothing to prove, right out of the academy, that he can go undercover and get close to the number one drug gangster in Cincinnati,  except yell at folks saying “You know I am the only one that can do this!” This seems to sum up the whole of Epps’ acting style; whenever he feels anger, or hurt, or fear, or whatever, because I can’t really tell from his face what he’s feeling, he gets realclose in someone’s face and shouts them down. In Hollywood, this device seems to work, cause no one seems to question him about anything, ever, except for his love interest–Nia Long named Myra (?!), who ain’t going out like that. When he tries to strongarm her, she bounces, and with her goes any ties to a movie with real actual depth. On another superficial sidenote, her make-up is truly on point.

Anyway, Epps gets in good with the gangster “God”, LL Cool J, (who does just a serviceable acting job),  and figures that God is not such a half bad dude, cause he gives block parties and gifts at Christmas to the neighborhood poor folkses (what a bad guy with nugget of a heart movie cliche’!), and drives around with his infant son in a carseat in the back of the car. This, despite the fact that he calls himself “God” (a serious red flag), beats people half the death in front of said infant son, and rapes his right hand man of many years with a  poolstick, then kills him, then put him in a dumpster naked because he heard that he flirted once with his baby mama. That’s just a minor flaw anyone could have, yes?

That is my biggest problem with this film–the situations are so disingenuous, and to be honest, downright stupid. You never believe Omar Epps’ performance no matter which side of the law he’s on–good or bad. Epps had the acting range of a spoon, and as a result, you don’t really care what happens to him or anyone else. Well, except for Pam Grier, who was lookin’ pretty foxy in this film. She is one of Epps’ police associates, and trust, this would have been a much, much, better film if they would have focused on her for more than 5 minutes. Catch this one on cable if you can’t sleep, or are inebriated with friends, so you can catch parts with Hill Harper in a bleached blond fro, Mya, Wee-Bey from the Wire, Aunjanue Ellis, Sticky Fingaz, and Stanley Tucci phoning it in.  Any other situation is a waste of 2 hours of your life.

This film was actually given some semi-decent reviews back in the day; the only explanation I have for that is the infamous YT guilt kicking in. Here is  a small part of the movie, I couldn’t find a trailer…be forewarned; this part makes the movie look much, much more interesting than it actually is:

Even though this movie was highly anticipated when it came out, and I did indeed see it then, there were only a few details I remembered…the beautiful clothes, how pretty everyone looked, slightly crushing on Wesley Snipes (long gone, of course). But watching it again brought me a bit past my original superficial thoughts on the film.

For those of you who don’t know, the plot synopsis is this (from IMDB–not a very good one, sorry):

Opens with Bleek as a child learning to play the trumpet, his friends want him to come out and play but mother insists he finish his lessons. Bleek grows into adulthood and forms his own band – The Bleek Gilliam Quartet. The story of Bleek’s and Shadow’s friendly rivalry on stage which spills into their professional relationship and threatens to tear apart the quartet.

Like many of Spike’s films, I found parts of Mo Better Blues to be pretentious and cartoony, edging on corniness–the dialogue of the children in the scene where Bleek Gilliam, the main character played by Denzel Washington was a child, the overly studied and propped shots of “the hood” that would even be too much  for a photograph, the very familiar moving dolly shots that were part of Spike’s trademark.

For some reason this time around they were endearing to me, maybe because it was a woeful reminder that there is a severe absence in trademarks or style in today’s Black Cinema. There are some up and coming directors that are notable, to be sure, but none of them have established a familiarity of like, say, a Spike, Tim Burton, or Wes Bentley. Earnest Dickerson, the cinematographer on this film, was also on top of his game here–the colors, the crisp, professional look of the film, the surreal atmospheres, the intimacy of the jazz club, the way he made everyone look so lush and beautiful…even Spike almost had a handsome look in this one.

I got lost in the beauty of the movie, and wondered why I never crushed on Denzel back in the day. When I worked for The Studio That Will Henceforth Remained Unnamed, Denzel’s production offices were right downstairs, and I was never even remotely curious. After viewing this film, I wondered for the rest of the day what planet I must have been on….yes, he was deserving of the sex symbol hype he garnered in the 90′s–Denzel was hot as fish grease on the sun in this.

If this film were made today it would do gangbusters–the different moods of the film, from brooding, to comedic, to romantic flow very well together. The storylines–Bleek’s sometimes acrimonious relationship with his right hand and sax player Shadow (Wesley), the shenanigans and gambling issues of his manager, Giant (Spike), the two timing love relationships that he had with his women, Clarke (Cynda Williams) and Indigo (c’mon, really, Indigo?) played by the one mega-weak link in the film (besides Cynda’s anticlimatic “big” singing debut), Joie Lee, Spike’s sister…the storylines mesh and never overwhelm each other. 

I understand Spike has love for his sis, but I believe this would have been an infinitely even better film if a stronger, or at least more interesting actress would have been cast in her role. Joie’s personality (and I use that term loosely) seems to fade into the background; her look is different and while attractive in it’s own right, is not particularly big screen worthy. In her love scenes with Denzel she has zero sex appeal–she made kissing on him look like a chore…what was up with that? Maybe she was uncomfortable with her brother shooting her that way…if that was the case, someone really should have let the Assistant Director step in.

I must admit, because of the dearth of interesting Black film (interesting to me, anyway) I have found that lately, rewatching film that are 10, 20, 30 years old, that I have a much deeper appreciation for the work, time, and creativity for movies such as this one. Mo Betta Blues has moved up more than a few notches in my book–if you haven’t seen it, rent immediately–if only to reminisce on the comedic stylings of the late Robin Harris, the house comedian in the jazz club and to enjoy the jazzy score. Here is the trailer:

I was NOT ready.

Watermelon Man is about an obnoxious, racist white man who wakes up one morning to find that he is black. The film came out in 1970 and Melvin Van Peebles directed it; these two facts alone should give you a general idea of what to expect, but I shall continue.

First of all the actor, Godfrey Cambridge, was hilariously convincing as an obnoxious white man. You know the kind that even other white people despise? The overly comfortable, corny joke-telling, in your face, smart ass bigotty type. He’s married with two kids and his “liberal” white wife is essentially bored with their relationship. In other words, he has just enough going against him to make you anticipate his impending fate.

Because this film was directed by Melvin Van Peebles, it didn’t take the stereotypical turns that I would expect from say, a white director. The character is not originally WHITE in BLACKFACE. No. This isn’t Soul Man. And when Cambridge’s character turns black, his penis doesn’t magically enlarge, his accent doesn’t change and he doesn’t become a superstar athlete. No, Mr. Van Peebles wasn’t about to let us go out like that. In fact, the film plays more on white fear of blackness than anything else, which says a lot about the time during which it was made.

I laughed outloud a couple of times during this movie, because some of the one-liners and simple actions are KILLER. When Cambridge’s wife first discovers her new “black” husband after he emerges from an 8 hour shower to try to scrub the blackness off, she asks: “Should I hide the money?” And the main character consistently drinks and BATHES in milk in hopes of turning white again. It is Mr. Van Peebles interpretation of whites’ perspective of blacks that makes this film so funny at some points.

On some technical shit, Watermelon Man is QUITE bootleg. I know it’s the 70s, but Mr. Van Peebles, why is your loud ass, offbeat score overlapping important dialogue? In fact, the score was out of place during SEVERAL parts of the movie and it was distracting as hell. Also funny were some of the odd transitions, camera angles and editing choices. At one particular sequence toward the end, the movie randomly turned into a PSA, with a random, but lyrically relevant song break and big titles interrupting the scene.

Aside from the clear experimentation evident by Mr. Van Peebles throughout this film, I have to say that I actually appreciated the movie. In some ways, the film was ahead of its time. The “white face” make-up, for example, was clearly tapped into by Dave Chappelle and the Wayans Brothers. The ending sequence, as the main character begins to accept his fate as a black man was actually really well done and if I was a movie-goer during this time period, I would definitely appreciate the empowerment.

See this movie if you’re in the mood for a militant laugh.

thank you jah that there was no 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5

I debated on whether I should attend the Los Angeles Film Festival this year, but decided against it–I need to save my scrilla as I am moving back down to LA after my lease is up at the end of July, then I will be in film fest heaven all year round.

I was slightly bummed about not going, so to appease myself I have immersed myself in watching movies all weekend, both Black and YT. Since this blog is only about the Black kind, I’ll share with you the gem *cough* I saw yesterday on cable, the 1987  film “Leonard Part 6″, starring the must-have-been-drugged-and-beaten-to-do-this-movie, Dr. William H. Cosby, Jr. aka Bill Cosby.

You can best believe that a movie is going to be beyond a complete and total disaster when the star of it goes on national TV to tell you not to waste your time or money to go see it, which I read he actually did at the time. Why he even considered doing this project for even 10 seconds during a time when he ruled the world with the “Cosby Show” is a mystery parallel to the alien crop circles;  there is simply no rational or logical explanation. Maybe he was blackmailed by one of his many rumoured mistresses.

I read a review of it on DVD Verdict, which I will partially post here, because it sums up so very perfectly how I felt about this crapper of a movie–I guess Bill without Sidney Poitier in a film is like a Mercedes without an engine:

Leonard Parker (Bill Cosby, Ghost Dad) is a former CIA super-agent, now turned millionaire restaurateur. When he’s not in the kitchen of one of his mega-successful restaurants he’s languishing in his mansion, pining for his ex-wife.

Meanwhile, government agents are being systematically killed by seemingly harmless animals. The most recent death, that of a spy devoured by a maniacal rainbow trout, prompts the CIA to recruit Parker back into action.

Leonard resists, but when it’s made clear to him by his wife she hates his guts, he turns to his other love: tooling around his armored Porsche and causing large amounts of property damage. So he suits up and heads for the International Tuna corporation, a front for the evil Medusa Johnson (Gloria Foster) and her covert operation to convert the world’s population to vegetarians by using a device that turns harmless animals into bloodthirsty killers.

Chaos ensues, followed by lots of incoherent nonsense, then more chaos, probably immediately followed by the viewer place-kicking the DVD out the living room window, then falling to his or her knees and begging his or her Divinity to forgive him or her for wasting the past 85 minutes of his or her life.

The strongest part of the movie is the opening, where a rainbow trout consumes a CIA agent in his pool. And even that’s pretty stupid. The next 45 minutes or so are painfully slow and unfunny. Leonard meets with the CIA for some exposition. Goes home. Says hi to his daughter. Gets dressed up. And then has dinner with his ex-wife for an interminable amount of time. When he finally does suit up for action, we’re two thirds of the way done already. But the worst is yet to come. The Leonard-in-action sequences are not only unfunny and not the least bit entertaining, but nightmarishly surreal. He fights a bunch of guys in chicken costumes, then puts on some ballet slippers (?)—cut to obvious stunt legs—and next thing you know he’s shaving a chicken guy with an electric razor.

WTF?!

But wait, there’s plenty more to endure! There’s the whole incoherent, nefarious scheme that Medusa rattles off, the weird eunuch goons who cower before a piece of steak, the horrible special effects, the annoying butler/narrator, the ridiculous finale…look, the whole affair is a disjointed, nonsensical, unfunny rabbit punch to the spleen. I’d like to look for the silver lining, but I’m sorry, this a film that was better left locked in a vault filled with scorpions, lined with poison sumac, and launched into space. It’s not even in that “so-bad-it’s-amusing” category. It’s in the “so-bad-I-want-to-swallow-Liquid-Plumr” category.

From Rocky Horror: Word. If you are ever even remotely curious about this dogpile by seeing the listing on cable, remember you have been duly warned. Here is the trailer that they kept mega-short (30 seconds) so the viewer wouldn’t start to smell the stench of super flop:

And here is the infamous ballet/fight scene that says it all:

And here is the review from the mighty Siskel and Ebert; they are as baffled as I was: