Why I still think 'The Birth of a Nation' deserves to be seen

After considerable hype and controversy, I finally got a chance to see Nate Parker's Nat Turner biopic The Birth of a Nation tonight.

I've written about the film and the debate over past rape allegations against Parker extensively, so it was hard for me to not view it with some baggage, but here are some of my initial thoughts.

While I respect the motivations for someone wanting to boycott this film, I personally don't agree with that position and I'm not sure what good it actually does. That said, important conversations about consent are being had because of the fallout, and that is an unassailably good thing.

I understand why people have problems with some of Parker's past statements and behavior, but I also happen to believe he's made a terrific film and a provocative piece of art that is worth consideration on its own terms.

That being said, in the wake of 12 Years a Slave and Django Unchained, two films that I thought were superior, I worry that audiences may have become numb, if not desensitized to cinematic portrayals of slavery. The violence, the cruelty, is something we're all familiar with and I am not sure that this film tells us something new about the dehumanizing and debilitating nature of America's greatest sin.

Still, Parker delivers a fantastic lead performance -- one which simmers to a boil -- and for a first-time filmmaker he shows an incredible facility with visual storytelling. Even though the film occasionally lapses into some heavy handedness, he can't be faulted for aiming for the epic when it comes to a story like Turner's.

The Birth of a Nation

The second half of the film succeeds better than the first, when the relatively passive Turner emerges as a more defiant hero. It's a bold choice to sidestep the more queasy aspects of the Turner story (his slaughter of women and children, specifically) to elevate his stature to that of a martyr.

There are allusions -- more emotional than literal -- to modern day fury over the victimization and abuse of black bodies. And most fascinatingly, there are some interesting explorations of the interpersonal relationships and self-images of slaves, as well as the impact the institution has on the whites who profit from it.

But the thrust of this film is more in broad strokes -- its depiction of the horrors of slavery is relatively tasteful but appropriately visceral and while the film takes license with history, it doesn't feel inauthentic at all.

I walked away from this movie curious to see Parker's next film -- if he indeed gets the opportunity. The movie's tepid box office performance, critical re-evaluation that has veered negative (I suspect in part because of the backlash against Parker) and the generally toxic atmosphere surrounding the film pretty much guarantee that it won't be a player come awards season.

My hope though, is that when the furor dies down about Parker -- and it will -- that this film, on an incredibly important and worthwhile subject matter, will be rediscovered on its own terms. It's not a perfect film. But a powerful one.

Ava DuVernay's '13th' may be the most important film of this year

It's still early in awards season -- there are always films that come out of nowhere to shock and amaze us, so I am withholding some judgement here -- but, without a doubt Ava DuVernay's acclaimed and blistering new documentary 13th deserves to be in the conversation when it comes to movies that speak to the moment we're currently in.

With the backdrop of the election looming, the film -- which is streaming on Netflix and opening the New York Film Festival (a first for a documentary) -- is a stunning indictment of this country's for-profit prison system, the lack of empathy of many elected officials and the implicit bias of many members of law enforcement.

As I wrote in my review for NBC News, the film also doesn't spare Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, the two top contenders for the White House, both of whom played a role -- during the height of crime anxiety in the late 80s and early 90s -- of trafficking in harmful stereotypes about young men of color.

Clinton, at the very least, has taken responsibility for her conduct, apologizing repeatedly for her use of the racially-loaded term "super-predators," but that, of course, does not erase the legacy of her husband's crime bill (which she supported), now credited with exacerbating an already unfair cycle of mass incarceration.

Meanwhile, Trump, is featured in the film fear-mongering about the Central Park Five -- black and brown youths accused of beating and raping a white female jogger in New York City. These young men confessed to the crime after being coerced by the NYPD. Their convictions were later overturned by DNA evidence and a confession from the young man who actually committed the crime.

Their story is brilliantly told in a book by Sarah Burns and an accompanying film co-directed by her father, the legendary Ken Burns. Trump just this week has refused to acknowledge their innocence, adding further insult to the injury that they have endured for over two decades.

Ava DuVernay

But at the end of the day, 13th isn't about any one candidate, election or party, although it does hold elected officials across the board to account. It is both a historically rich and undeniably infuriating look at how this country has rigged modern-day slavery into the system cynically, while doing away with the "peculiar institution" that at least half this country knew and loved.

It also heralds DuVernay as one of the most vital filmmakers working today. After the success of Selma, I am sure she had her pick of projects both prestige and commercial -- and she chose to make a nonfiction film about a decidedly unsexy subject.

Sure, lots of politicians have been out there calling for criminal justice reform -- but as DuVernay's film points out -- there is even a profit motive for that.

It makes a pragmatic point about the fact that this country's desire to maintain a racialized social order never dies, it just metastasizes -- and it will require constant activism and resilience to beat back the forces of oppression.

It's a film that -- regardless of your political persuasion -- needs to be seen, and hopefully, it can force a real discussion of this issue. We need more than reform, we need a revolution.

'Luke Cage' provides some valuable lessons for the Marvel Universe

Luke Cage

The hilarious online critic (and deadpan comedy genius) Mr. Plinkett is back with one of his typical harsh, but insightful, critiques -- this time of blockbuster Star Wars sequel The Force Awakens.


Now, I love that film -- and have written about it far too much probably -- but Plinkett does have some salient points about how the most recent Star Wars film was fun but also, at best, safe, and, at worst, the result of cynical corporate strategy.

The same criticism has been leveled by many people, including me, at Disney's other treasure trove -- the Marvel Universe. It's not that the films aren't good, or sometimes even great, but they often aren't really about anything or certainly not relevant with regards to anything that takes place in the real world that we actually inhabit, even though nearly all of the Marvel movies take place here on modern day planet Earth.

Captain America; Civil War came close. I found its central conflict -- which split the Avengers, albeit temporarily ingenious. And I also thought their positions -- acting unilaterally vs. acting within an organization with checks and balances -- had obvious philosophical parallels with arguments that we are currently having about our military and place in the world as a super power.

But, ultimately the movie was more interested in delivering its fights scenes than substance.

As a great new piece from Vulture points out, the brand's Netflix shows are liberated from that need to satisfy a multiplex audience that expects or demands a bombastic brawl every fifteen minutes.

I must admit I've yet to delve into Daredevil and Jessica Jones, but I have been working my way through the first season of Luke Cage and I've been blown away.

Mike Colter as Luke Cage

The show is helped immensely by the fact that although the Cage character has superhuman strength and is impervious to bullets, his conflict is relatively small-scale and intimate. His Harlem is one that we recognize as realistic, and his antagonists are authentic human villains -- who possess no supernatural elements whatsoever.

Cage is a reluctant hero -- and for a good reason. And not only his arc compelling, thanks to Mike Colter's charismatic performance in the title role, but its incredibly timely because it speaks to the national dialogue we're currently having about race, poverty, profiling and policing.

Yes, our hero wears a hoodie, and the symbolism should be lost on no one. Sorry racists.

Not only are the accolades this riveting crime saga have received well-deserved, they are evidence that Marvel is capable of making projects that are entertaining and fun, but also have some genuine gravitas. The whole series makes me especially hopeful for Ryan Coogler's upcoming Black Panther, since he has shown previously that he can mix commercialism with complexity.

Also, as far Plinkett's take on The Force Awakens is concerned -- I love his comparison of George Lucas to Cam Newton after the last Super Bowl, and like him, I am hopeful that Episode VIII isn't just a remake of The Empire Strikes Back (which can't be improved upon). But I think his take on the new series' diversity is really off the mark,

His argument is that the diversity, while not a bad thing, is really just there to assuage special interest groups and progressive minded Hollywood execs, and that kids don't care what race the characters are. But that overlooks the fact that for children of color this representation does matter, and can be inspirational.

Hence my lifelong admiration for Lando Calrissian and Winston Zeddemore.

Michael Cimino and the missing culture of movie re-evaluation

One of the things I lament the most about movie consumption now is that the value (or lack thereof) of many films is determined almost instantly. A bad Rotten Tomatoes score or a poor performance at the box office can seal a film's fate, and often great films are written off indefinitely.

There are rarely, if ever, word of mouth hits anymore or legit cult classics. And more importantly, few forgotten films are rediscovered and re-appreciated because of their considerable merits.

What do Blade Runner and The Big Lebowski have in common? Besides being two of my all-time favorite films -- they were both box office bombs, and not exactly critical darlings either.

But both films are incredibly iconic and beloved now, largely due to the culture of home video, which helped them take on a life of their own, as fans spread the gospel on their virtues long after their theatrical runs ended.

Today, without video stores or even many people who still rent or watch DVDs, it's simply harder to recommend movies. There is a whole generation of audiences who feel like if it isn't streaming it isn't worth seeing -- yes, I recognize that I am sounding like one of those folks who is about to go on an anti-millennial rant. But the thing is, I am a millennial (barely), although I am unapologetically an old fashioned one.

I miss watching certain movies repeatedly and giving them time to grow on me. For instance, I hated Zoolander the first time I saw it. But then I kept quoting it and quoting it, until I came to appreciate how hilarious it was. I thought Step Brothers was more silly than funny at first, now I believe it's one of Will Ferrell's best. I could go on and on.

Director Michael Cimino, who recently passed away, is a major beneficiary of cultural re-appreciation. Long deemed a one-hit wonder, his work has started to be re-evaluated in recent years.

Now, his biggest critical and commercial success -- The Deer Hunter -- is still widely viewed as a classic, albeit a historically inaccurate, somewhat culturally insensitive one.

Meanwhile, the big budget Western that essentially tanked his career -- Heaven's Gate -- has been redeemed by film geeks who have come to appreciate its gorgeous cinematography, glacial pace and epic sweep. I count myself among the film's growing cult of fans.

Last night, I was pleasantly surprised by Cimino's first film -- the decidedly smaller-scaled 1974 heist movie, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. It has some of Cimino's hallmarks -- stunning cinematography, surprisingly intense bursts of violence -- but it's much more lighthearted than most of his other work, suggesting that the director's career could have gone in a completely different direction.

Although Jeff Bridges became the film's breakout star (and scored his second Oscar nomination for it), this movie's real revelation is Clint Eastwood, who delivers a surprisingly sophisticated turn in one of his rare roles as a hoodlum instead of a straight hero.

This weekend I also gave Fort Apache, The Bronx another look. It's a relatively forgotten Paul Newman police drama -- which was viewed as racially insensitive when it was first released in 1981 -- but if you look under the surface it's actually a more sophisticated take on the inefficacy of inner city policing, especially when there is no real cultural exchange.

Not every "bad" movie is truly bad -- sometimes they are ahead of their time, or their complexity reveals itself over time. The older I get the more I like most movies I see, because I look for the good or great in everything I see. I find that I get more out of the experience that way. I rarely regret spending my time watching something.

I get that nowadays we are always "on to the next one" -- but sometimes we miss something worthwhile as we speed through life. And I think that's a shame.

'Juice' and what might have been with Tupac Shakur

Tupac Shakur in Juice

Revisiting the 1992 urban crime thriller Juice, twenty years after the death of its breakout star Tupac Shakur, is an edifying experience -- particularly for fans of the late hip-hop icon.

This is blasphemy in some circles, but I've always sort of agreed with the character Chris Rock played in Top Five when it comes to Shakur.

Sure, he may have morphed into a revolutionary political hero, but he also just as easily could have been the dark-skinned villain in any number of Tyler Perry movies.

It's easy to project a lot on to him, he certainly had a lot of potential both as an actor, rapper and just as a culture force to reckoned with. Whether has was actually the greatest rapper of all time is certainly debatable, but he may be the genre's most distinct star.

His unique and compelling charisma are on full display in Juice, a movie he not only steals but owns from the moment he appears on screen. Re-watching it I was surprised to see how far down he's billed -- especially since he is so prominently featured on the poster and because his manic character Bishop tends to set most of the action in motion.

Directed by longtime Spike Lee cinematographer Ernest Dickerson, Juice was one of many gritty, urban-themed crime films (Boyz n the Hood, Menace II Society) to come out of the early-1990s. They were not really exploitation films, and, if anything, these violent, profane movies were very much a reflection of times.

Today, some of the more crude aspects of the storytelling may not hold up as well, but there is an undeniably authentic energy that powers this film. It stars Omar Epps as Q, a teenage wanna be hip-hop DJ caught between his desire to pursue a legitimate career and his friends who seem to be drifting towards criminality.

The most volatile among his crew is Bishop (Shakur), who seems to have a death wish. He watches the James Cagney classic White Heat and actually romanticizesCagney's choice to burn alive rather than surrender to authorities, and he takes sadistic pleasure in the notion that he has the ability to take life.

In one famous scene he tells Epps' character that "I'm the one you need to worry about," but really he represents the kind of violent youth -- black or white -- we should all fear, the one who has nothing to lose.

And rather than present this character as a purely one-note bad guy, Shakur lends him a gravitas and vulnerability that might not be altogether evident on first viewing. But there is a wordless scene early in the film -- a moment Bishop shares with his shell-shocked father (its implied that he was a felon himself) -- that speaks volumes about his self-image.

Meanwhile, while Bishop is a bully, he too is bullied himself, and his madness is really a byproduct of his environment, not necessarily the result of some kind of inherent inhumanity.

"He knew different stuff from different facets of life," hie friend and Naughty by Nature frontman Treach recently said. "That's what made him be able to get into that character like that and make that character seem so real, because he had his own life experiences that made him phenomenal at bringing that out through the music and through the film."

Shakur would go on to act in a few more films, some more forgettable than others, but he always was eminently watchable on-screen. Who knows if he would go on to give Oscar-caliber performances, but he was a star for sure, and Juice is a true testament to that fact.

When Chevy Chase was cool: A 'Fletch' movie marathon

Fletch definitely influenced my personal fashion style (see above)

Last night my wife indulged me with a marathon of one of my all-time favorite movie characters and cinematic heroes -- Chevy Chase's Fletch. We watched the hit 1985 original and its underrated 1989 sequel back to back, and for me it was a welcome walk down memory lane.

These movies were a huge part of my childhood  -- I don't think I even appreciated how funny they were back then, but something about Chase's laconic deadpan style spoke to me and I've been emulating it in my real life ever since.

Sadly, Chase's career has largely become a case study in 'what ifs.' To see Fletch now is to see him at the peak of his comedic powers; he would make other funny films after this, but he would never push himself to work with directors who could get him outside of his comfort zone.

Had he done that, as Bill Murray eventually did, he might have had more longevity, but instead he retreated to horrendous family movies. Even his stint on the hip sitcom Community largely revolved around how clueless and out-of-date he was.

Chase deserved better. His apparently less-than- charming real-life persona aside, he had a unique and engaging style. Cocky, but not obnoxious. Smart, but also capable of clumsy slapstick.

Fletch provided Chase with the best vehicle for his rebellious WASP persona, and with director Michael Ritchie he had a collaborator who understood his rhythms and skill.

Ritchie is one of those great, unsung filmmakers. He did sillier mainstream fare like The Golden Child, but he also is responsible for some acerbic, interesting films like Prime Cut, The Bad News Bears, The Candidate and Downhill Racer, the latter two starring Robert Redford in two of his most complex roles.



Both Fletch films have sturdy narratives to hang their gags on -- they are mystery films that take advantage of some terrific character actors and locales -- through which the dry-witted Fletch must spin lies, dodge bullets (or angry dogs) and, usually, get the girl.

Films starring Saturday Night Live veterans got increasingly lazy and stupid in recent years (with Will Ferrell and some of the recent female breakout stars being a very prominent exception to the rule). It's hard to imagine Adam Sandler attempting anything as sophisticated as Fletch (although he was terrific in Punch-Drunk Love), but then again his appeal has always been more narrow.

It may be hard to believe now, but for a brief period Chase was being pitched as a modern era Cary Grant. His role in Foul Play certainly suggested he could be a plausible romantic lead. And his turn in Caddyshack is a marvel. But by the late '80s he seemed only interested in cashing paychecks and nearly all of his 90s output is unwatchable.

He also did plenty to tarnish his own reputation, by all accounts being a bully and a grump behind the scenes. But none of this detracts from my fanboy worship of his "cool" years -- when he was the fastest guy in the room with his quips and had the air of a true iconoclast.

This character -- who sticks it to everyone: the cops, the wealthy, his bosses-- is the guy I always wanted to be growing up, and sometimes, on a good day, am.

Chase was famous for his line, "I'm Chevy Chase, and you're not." but he'll always be Fletch for me.

'Magnificent Seven' isn't a game-changer, but it delivers the goods

Critics will likely say -- and perhaps already are -- that the new Magnificent Seven doesn't need to exist. It adds next to nothing new to the classic original (itself a re-imagining of The Seven Samurai) other than welcome multicultural casting, a lot more deadly shootings/stabbings and a more throbbing soundtrack.

They may have a point. Director Antoine Fuqua has never been known for his subtlety and he hits virtually every western cliche right on the head. And despite being stylishly made and well-acted, it's not really "about" anything.

And yet -- I really enjoyed it. Denzel Washington is at his badass best, showing more flashes of humor and warmth than he has in some of his disappointing recent work (like The Equalizer, also directed by Fuqua). Chris Pratt does a great star turn opposite him. And the rest of the cast is charming too, although some characters get more developed backstories than others.

It is a throwback western, very traditionalist and a little less fun than the original -- SPOILER ALERT -- they only break out the classic, rousing theme score in the closing credits. But that's only because the movie doesn't depart in any significant way from its source material.

It very violent -- in a way, westerns can get away with massive carnage like this, not so much because its cartoonish but because it's far enough removed from our reality that we can watch it with a bit of detachment. And it also maintains the original's semi-realistic streak -- SPOILER ALERT -- for instance, not every hero survives until the end.

Probably the most striking thing about the film though is the image of a town of mostly white people rescued by a multiracial crew of heroes led by the one-and-only Denzel. This is a major movie star role for a man that has earned every inch of his close-ups. Playing the hero fits him like a glove.

He is a little more portly now, and his once intimidating good looks have weathered. But, in his early 60s now, he is still a remarkable presence, and he always elevates the material and keeps it interesting.

There are missteps. Does the female lead have to wear cleavage baring tops throughout almost the entire film? A subplot involving Ethan Hawke is never fully justified or resolved sufficiently -- although it's nice to see him in one-on-one scenes with Denzel again, bringing back memories of their first pairing in 2001's Training Day (also directed by Fuqua). I liked Peter Sarsgaard's performance as a particularly sniveling villain -- but I do think the movie would have been better served by a more truly intimidating bad guy.

But this is rousing, audience pleasing entertainment featuring likable actors doing what they do best. Although this film is not a masterpiece, I am not sure that it could have been