It's stuffed with some of Spike Lee's more grating indulgences: less well-developed female characters, preposterous (even bougie) character names like Bleek, Indigo and Shadow, and unnecessary asides about contemporary sports.
But viewing it now, just over 25 years after it was first released, it's hard not to be in awe of its audacity -- particularly its bravura final minutes which beautifully portray a burgeoning family with little dialogue and lots of heartwarming imagery.
The movie was almost destined to disappoint back in 1990; despite the presence of then rising star Denzel Washington, the story doesn't have the scope or the significance of his previous masterwork, Do the Right Thing. But it's not supposed to. What may have been lost on many viewers over the years is that this may be (aside from Crooklyn) Lee's most personal film.
His father was a dedicated and struggling jazz musician after all, and the main character's alienating genius could easily be seen as a stand-in for the director's own. And the movie, which is often improvisatory and visually striking is a lot like Lee's id run wild.
Do some of the music sequences run way too long? Absolutely. And does Lee present us with a truly problematic portrayal of Jewish characters? No doubt about it. But we are so rarely treated to films that are so teeming with vitality and style, that as Lee fans we forgive it.
It's such a pleasure to watch Denzel go toe-to-toe with a young Wesley Snipes as both his friend and nemesis, to see the late Robin Harris do his peerless insult comic routine or the unsung character actor Dick Anthony Williams working wonders with a small role as Denzel's proud father.
This is not necessarily a realistic film -- it's hyper-real. The whole movie glistens. It both seems of its time and a period film. And the structure -- like a great jazz song itself -- is nontraditional. Some scenes meander, others diverge, and in the last few minutes they reach a crescendo which has an unexpectedly poignant impact.
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| Denzel & Spike |
I miss the Lee of this era tremendously -- although I feel like the following year's Jungle Fever collapses under its own ambitions -- he seemed less self-conscious back then and more willing to explore the nuances and grey areas of his characters. Denzel's Bleek Gilliam isn't an altogether likable or sympathetic character for much of the film, but is always watchable.
In later films, Lee seems not to trust his audience to interpret the work for themselves -- so subtlety and wit go out the window in exchange for sermonizing and defensive self-aggrandizement. His movies almost always look amazing and usually are at least interesting (setting aside his truly dreadful Oldboy remake). But with the exception of Inside Man and When the Levees Broke, I've been bummed out by most of his work over the last 15 years or so.
Mo' Better Blues, however, now stands out as Lee in his prime. Not only is he an endearing and amusing screen presence himself, but he had the good sense to showcase some of the best and more unique young black actors of his generation and let them strut their stuff.
His partnership with Denzel Washington in particular is deservedly the stuff of legend. Two years later they would re-team for quite possibly the best film of both their careers -- Malcolm X-- and they would reunite again for He Got Game and Inside Man.
I've been on record in the past, praising Denzel as one of the best actors of all time. And I am a voracious consumer of the "Denzel Washington Is the Greatest Actor of All Time Period" podcast. But there is something really kinetic that happens when he works with Spike Lee, that doesn't happen when he is directed by anyone else.
Lee brings a humor and eccentricity out of Denzel, as well as a looseness, that you wish the movies would exploit more. As one of our most successful and well-liked movie stars, Denzel certainly has earned the right to diversify his on-screen persona.
I only hope that he and Lee get the chance to make sweet music together again soon.
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