a review of J. Robert Parks
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Writer / director – Craig Brewer
Director of photography – Amelia Vincent
Editor – Billy Fox
Music – Scott Bomar
Production designer – Keith Brian Burns
Producers – John Singleton and Stephanie Allain
Paramount Classics and MTV Films. 114 minutes. Rated R.
STARRING: Terrence Howard (DJay), Anthony Anderson (Key), Taryn Manning (Nola), Taraji P. Henson (Shug), Paula Jai Parker (Lexus), Elise Neal (Yevette), Isaac Hayes (Arnel), DJ Qualls (Shelby) and Ludacris (Skinny Black).
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In the days of Melvin van Peebles, independent film used to mean something, but the Hollywood Dream Factory has found a way to commodify and corporatize that world as well. If you ever have the misfortune to find yourself at the Sundance Film Festival, you’ll see that indie movies might have a different way of financing, but they’re usually telling the same old stories. On the other hand, Hustle and Flow was the toast of this year’s Sundance, but it actually has a different smell about it, one you can sense from the very first shot.
The opening five minutes of Hustle and Flow are the coolest you’ll see on the big screen all year. Anchored by a funk soundtrack that’s completely contemporary and yet screams authenticity, the scene opens on a close up of Terrence Howard as he talks to an unseen passenger in his car. “Man is like a dog,” he states, and it soon becomes clear that he’s doing his best to jive the young blonde woman sitting next to him. To take him back? Not quite. To forgive him for cheating? Not that either. To get her to keep on being the prostitute to his pimp. Yep. And as she gets out and climbs into a paying customer’s car, the song shifts to a blues singer screaming “Please please don’t leave me,” and Howard drives off.
DJay (Terrence Howard) is not the kind of pimp you hear about in rap albums or see on NBC crime dramas, however. His car might have fancy rims, but the rest of it is a container of Bondo away from the junkyard. His house looks just as run down as every other one in his dilapidated neighborhood. And his stable of prostitutes consists of the young-looking (and poorly dressed) blonde named Nola, a loud-talking black woman with a screaming baby, and the quiet and pregnant Shug. That all three live with him and basically run his life turns the normal idea of a pimp on its head.
Hustle and Flow undercuts the gangster stereotype in other ways as well. Instead of the flashy strip club that’s become the setting du jour for hip hop videos, the club DJay visits has a roof that leaks. In fact, there isn’t a single location in the film that’s glamorous in any way. The entire story takes place in the poor neighborhoods of south Memphis, and it’s telling that this movie about Memphis and music doesn’t feature a single shot of Graceland.
The music in this case is a style of hip hop that writer and director Craig Brewer describes as ‘crunk.’ DJay got his name because he used to spin records and make mix tapes in high school. But those days are long gone, and the only reason he thinks about them at all is that an old acquaintance has hit it big as a rapper. Envy, arrogance, and a looming mid-life crisis come to a head when he bumps into another high school chum named Key (Anthony Anderson). Key makes his living recording depositions and church choirs, but he too has a dream, one that’s sparked when DJay asks him to help record a song.
The best scenes in Hustle and Flow occur in the middle of the movie as we watch DJay, Key, and a musician played by DJ Qualls try to capture an elusive burst of creativity. Working in a small room in DJay’s house, the three even rope a couple of the ladies to help out; and it’s not hard to imagine this view of low-budget songwriting was inspired by Brewer’s own low-budget filmmaking roots. So when all the hard work comes together in a groovy and very catchy song called “Whoop That Trick,” it’s a genuinely inspiring moment.
It helps that, by this time, we’ve grown to like these characters. DJay is an obviously flawed man, but we see and appreciate his hopes and humanity despite his profession. We also come to care for Nola (Taryn Manning) and Shug (Taraji P. Henson). They’re not women who’ve thrown their lives away; rather, they’re struggling to find some kind of meaning in the midst of their difficult circumstances. Which means that we can’t ignore them like we usually do the downtrodden we pass each day. It also means that the moments of prostitution become harder and harder to take. When DJay pimps out Nola in exchange for some microphones, it’s a disturbing event, one that sheds light on the earlier moments we might have overlooked. Even the secondary characters are treated with dignity. There’s a hilarious scene when we first see Key with his wife Yevette (Elise Neal), where Yevette does all the talking and Key just mumbles and nods his head. But instead of making her a shrew and using her as a narrative foil, the film reveals her perspective and offers her a way into the story.
Making this work is the incredibly talented cast. Terrence Howard has shown his immense talents in movies like Ray and Crash, but this performance is of a different order altogether. He commands the screen with a presence and intensity that can’t be taught. I’ve mentioned before how much I like Anthony Anderson, so it was especially satisfying for me to see him nail such weighty dramatic material. And Ludacris follows up his surprising success in Crash with a role that’s closer to home, a successful rapper.
Craig Brewer is a relative newcomer, but he directs with an assured hand. His compositions are often striking, like a shot of Howard standing alone in a dark bathroom. More importantly, though, he digs into the movie’s central theme–the need we all have for meaning in our lives. But where do we find that? And why do we so often look for it in fame, money, and possessions? And what happens when we can’t seem to escape the choices we’ve made, the circumstances we find ourselves in? In a late scene, DJay asks Nola, “What do you want to do?” Her response is painful, “I don’t know, just not this.”
Inverting stereotypes and featuring a flawed and struggling protagonist doesn’t guarantee authenticity, though. And the movie’s conclusion, which struggles to stay true to the film’s downbeat tone and yet justify the tagline “Everybody gotta have a dream,” ends up striking a false note. Yet even that ending has more layers than most moviegoers (and critics) will notice. There’s a depth to Hustle and Flow that stands up to repeat viewings, and its story of regular people struggling and sometimes triumphing is a welcome independent voice.
Readers should be aware that a movie featuring a pimp and prostitutes will contain nudity and sexual situations, along with swearing and drug use. While the movie doesn’t glorify any of this, it also isn’t as judgmental as some readers would expect. As with every entertainment choice, use discretion.
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J. Robert Parks also publishes reviews at The Hyde Park Herald and The Phantom Tollbooth.