For some people, movies are an escape. Whether it’s been a long day or even a long life, sometimes you just want to kick back and shut off your brain. For others, myself namely, movies hold a social responsibility to teach viewers. It is the most easily digestible, astute form of media that can convey new ideas, emotions, and cultures to anyone who watches. What I find to be most exalting and spectacular about movies is that when in the right hands it can possess both the ability act as an erasure of monotony or stress while still enlightening us. Zootopia is a perfect example of that ability.
Not only does Zootopia possess insanely gorgeous animation that is clean, textured, and coated in bright vivaciousness, but it carriers a large burden on its back; the desire to show the world simple solutions to our selfishness and fears. Screenwriters Phil Johnston and Jared Bush team up with animators, six other writers, and two other directors to create a world that is stunning food for the imagination. A world where anthropomorphic animals must learn to surpass prejudice thinking and critical self-doubt. Zootopia stages an array of adorable animals to play the parts of catalyst for change, most notable Judy Hops (Ginnifer Goodwin), a tiny bunny with big dreams of being a police officer— an unheard of achievement for a bunny.
The sheer number of land animals we get the pleasure to encounter is merited to the genius use of landscape and creativity. Zootopia, the metropolitan city of the story, is separated into 12 ecosystems. Easily accessible to any citizen, these ecosystems provide stable homes for polar bears needing colder climates, camels needing heat, and everything in between. This allows the animation department to let their ingenuity run rampant creating a landscape of rivalry systems that substantially complement one another. The integration of these different animals’ lives is hilariously ingenious. There’s an Acacia juicing store with tubes tall enough for giraffes. There are miniature lanes on the road for the rodents that commute from their tiny, rodent city in to Zootopia. Banks are run by simple, singular minded suit-wearing lemmings that follow and copy each other’s every move. Zooptopia is filled with diversity and wonder, but as Judy learns a big city houses bigger problems.
When 12 Zootopian citizens go “savage”, that is reverting back to their animal instincts and out of the civilized clothes wearing society they are used to, it’s up to the Zootopian police force to solve the case. Soon, Judy learns there is a larger conspiracy preventing the case from being cracked. Despite her upbeat gumption she finds herself butting head with her superior, Chief Bogo (Idris Elba). Along the way Judy must face her own inbred prejudices about predator animals, more specifically towards Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman), a sly fox she finds herself in cahoots with. Meanwhile, Nick must battle his own emotional demons that tempt him to lead a life as society has branded him.
Kids and adults alike will enjoy Zootopia because of its cut and dry silly humor. Regardless of its humorous nature, Zootopia’s gaping social reality check looming throughout the film is unmistakable. It’s not hidden or shrouded in allegory that may get lost on its viewers. Instead, it is refreshingly poured into your consciousness with direct intent. One of the first scenes of the film shows how the negative thought serves as a hindrance when a young Judy gets constantly reminded by her parents and neighbors that she’s only a bunny who shouldn’t aspire to be anything else except a farmer like her folks. Her parents even explain the importance of settling in life. Judy’s farther reveals to her that “if you never try you never have to be disappointed”.
Many shenanigans take place sending Judy, Nick, and the citizens of Zootopia on a wild journey of self-evaluation across the city. We meet an array of funny characters and witness some silly mishaps. Nevertheless, it’s the message that the film leaves viewers with that I responded to the most. Zootopia reminded me that change starts from within. It seeks to have every conscious body that views this film take responsibility for their actions as well as their thoughts in order to confront prejudice, small-minded behaviors. My hope for the future is that all films will highlight elements like this in some fashion, but I’m glad that at least one animation film in our time attempts to open our eyes to the truth.
SEE IT.
Food, Clothing, & Shelter (2013); An Atlanta Resident’s Journey to Combat Homelessness and Hunger
A couple of months ago, while walking around Atlanta’s trendy district, Little 5 Points, I walked past a jewelry merchant making copper bracelets and necklaces. I stopped to glance at the wondrous variety sprawled out on a clothed table outside of a small shop. The merchant making the jewelry asked me if I knew of the benefits of copper. I admitted I did not. He then began to relay their beneficial properties. The conversation soon led to a discussion on sustainability and the plight of homeless in Atlanta. This man and I embarked on an intense conversation about the topic for a while as we both passionately bounced our thoughts off of one another.
He revealed to me that he was a filmmaker whose work explored the topic at hand. I told him that I was a film critic looking to highlight films of that nature. He then took me into the store where he showed me a copy of his film, Food, Clothing, & Shelter. It was finished, packaged, and ready to be sold though he admitted he lacked the funding for proper distribution. I grew curious to the content of his film and he offered to sell it to me for a price that at the moment I couldn’t afford. I had no cash on me and his credit card machine was down. He then did something spectacular. He gave me a copy of the film for free and suggested that if I returned to the area I could give him whatever I had. I felt unsure about taking his prized possession, one that he admittedly spent 10 years making along with the copper jewelry he was selling to help finance the distribution. But, he insisted. My only form of payment to him at the time was some cash I ran and borrowed from a friend and the promise of reviewing his film.
That night I watched his film, but life happened as it usually does. I cooked dinner, hung with friends, the next day watched other films, worked, and continued my every day business without ever reviewing or writing about Food, Clothing, & Shelter. That was about six months ago. A few days ago while in my car on the way to meet a friend I heard his voice over the radio as the ignition clicked on. He was on a local radio station discussing the very film I had watched and its upcoming sequel coming to a local theater. My ears perked and I stopped in shock. I had almost forgotten my promise to him though I had never forgotten his film and its message. I remembered my promise and am keeping good on my word.
Food, Clothing, & Shelter is not a professionally made film. It is riddled with amateur mistakes, faulty sound editing, padded moments, and rudimentary direction. This is not a film that will win awards for its technical prowess. Nevertheless, this is a film that is memorable for its message and heartfelt desire for change. Food, Clothing, & Shelter is a passionate look at what plagues our society: growing homelessness and a disparaging lack of healthy food accessible to those who need it. Ebrima Ba, or the street Journalist as he is known to Atlanta residents, narrates, directs, and features interviews with a host of urban farmers in the city as well as homeless members affected by this issue. These people discuss the problems brought on by lack of basic necessities along with offering probable solutions.
Ebrima told me of his awakening and how his impassioned crusade began when I talked to him months before. Born in West Africa, Ebrima’s life has always been wrapped in a sense of healthy community. He grew up using his hands to farm providing food for his community as they did for him. He didn’t know poverty or homelessness until he came to Atlanta. He recalled his culture shock at seeing people sleeping in the streets with no access to food. He was determined to fix it by reminding people of the importance of farming. Ebrima teamed up with a number of local urban farmers further expanding his reputation as the “street journalist” informing those around him about the ease and benefits of farming.
Food, Clothing, & Shelter’s message is simple: utilize our community so that it grows and prospers, therefore, benefiting us all. The experts featured throughout the film talk of humanity’s intrinsic connection to the Earth. They remind viewers of our ability to give life with our hands. They install the very simple truth that we can rebuild the wreckage around us. Ebrima passionately argues for individual’s to rise up and commit themselves to helping one another in the simplest way possible, growing food for all.
It is embarrassing and shameful to exist in a society where some can choose completely vegan lifestyles and others are forced to indulge in hydrogenated foods that weaken the immune system and destroy the body over time. We should all possess the same access to fresh foods and healthy options. The day we can all individually agree with this fact is the day we can finally change our ways to inhabit a symbiotic relationship with each other, rather than one based on exploitation and disdain. Ebrima Ba is not done with his work in Atlanta. Part two of his film will screen at the Plaza Theater to further enlighten the populace, bring change to the city, and furthermore, benefit the greater good.
Support the fight and hear the message July 18th at 7pm.
I began taking swim lessons for the first time ever last month. I finally decided that I was done living a life where I only wade in pool waters and get barely knee-deep in ocean water. I finally developed the will to learn to swim for once and for all. Time has passed and I’m only a moderately decent swimmer. I still have a few more lessons that allowances won’t grant me at the moment before I can confidently call myself a swimmer. I’m currently more of a glider able to skim across the surface of water occasionally with an independent stroke or two if I’m facing a wall or stopping point. My fear of swimming is due to a mental barricade, one that developed in childhood and has been very difficult to chip away at. Making my way across water can only be done so confidently with a particular tune on repeat in my head, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”
Finding Nemo’s breakout star, Dory, taught me, and a world of others, a very fundamental element of getting through any ordeal in life: just keep swimming. This is how I get myself from one end of a pool to the other. This is how I’ve convinced myself to preserver through not so pleasant moments. All because 13 years ago Pixar created one of the most lovable characters in animation; a blue tang fish marred by her short-term memory. One who still manages to bring joy and optimism to any situation because it’s just in her very nature to do so.
When Finding Dory was originally announced as a sequel to Finding Nemo, I was immediately reticent. There was no way a sequel could match the greatness of Finding Nemo. Surely, Finding Dory was only a cash grab like so many other films clamoring to make their millions first and produce actual substance or heart later. My initial judgment may have been harsh, but not too far off from expectations sake as previous (and possibly future) Pixar sequels can attest to. Thankfully, Finding Dory excels its duty as a sequel and becomes an admirable companion piece to Finding Nemo. It feels organic and brings Dory into new a level of inspiration and wonder.
It has been one year since the events of Finding Nemo and Dory finds herself living happily with her friend’s Marlin and Nemo. She even attends Nemo’s classes with Mr. Ray every day. Only when Mr. Ray’s class learns about family origins does Dory’s haphazardly short-term memory breaks the cycle of forgetting. She remembers that she too has a family and came from somewhere. But where? Dory becomes rushed with memories of her childhood remembering that she’s always been on a mission to find her parents, she just forgot. Dory becomes hell-bent on a reunion while new friends and old help her embark on a life-changing journey.
Dory is perhaps one the most lovable characters in recent film history, which is owed mostly to Ellen DeGeneres who gives Dory a piece of her own charm. DeGeneres has become synonymous with Dory, fusing her amiable personality so well into the character that the two seem one in the same. Dory’s sweet, kind-hearted nature gets amplified during flashback scenes where we watch Dory as a doe-eyed child with a bad memory, but infectious zest for life. She means well hating to impose and inconvenience people due to her own shortcomings. The heavy focus on family and community begins with the flashbacks of Dory’s precious childhood before branching out to show how others in the past and present are willing to help Dory when she needs it.
While Finding Dory’s message on the importance of working together simplistically shines through, I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable by the undertone of exploitation due to mental disabilities. There are a number of characters that openly take advantage of and taunt characters with deficiencies. There’s the seal, Gerald, that gets verbally abused for comedic relief along with a mentally unbalanced loon that gets taken advantage of by any character who knows how to imprint themselves and benefit from her. I was disturbed and a bit disappointed by these moments which felt cruel and unnecessary to the story. Nevertheless, there are moments here and there when these actions cause the characters who manipulate others to look inward or get called out about themselves.
For a moment, Dory’s amnesia becomes an encroaching burden on Marlin. Nemo is there to remind Marlin, and perhaps more viewers, to have faith in others and let go of the attempt to control everything. I wish that Finding Dory would have explored these moments of mean-spiritedness or manipulation of mentally unstable characters a bit more, but alas it’s not up to Pixar to save the world. Or is it? Finding Dory most definitely has weak elements and parts that could have used pruning, like the hundreds of plot twists and silly conundrums that continue to unravel.Nevertheless, Finding Dory is an adorably hilarious film that gives focus to these difficult topics in ways not seen in children’s films.
Finding Dory manages to stay entertaining and emotionally cathartic. While I want to say that it drops the ball on an opportunity to remind audiences of the importance of acceptance, it, in fact, does a phenomenal job reminding audiences to trust themselves and share trust with others as well as the importance of working together. Those who love and embrace Dory constantly attempt to build her confidence. They remind her that she can do things she isn’t even aware that she can. Dory’s loved ones work past her limitations, instead showcasing the very strengths in them. This acts as a very important reminder to our current divided, separatist reality.
SEE IT. Then assess the way you handle those with disabilities.
Read why despite a dismal box office opening, you need to drop everything and go see Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping!
SEE IT.
Sometimes the gods of cinema wants you to watch a specific film but are well aware that the timing has to be just right. Back in the day my family and I used to frequent Blockbuster on a near weekly basis. I often rented the same handful of movies over and over again rotting my brain to the like of Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie, Mortal Kombat, Idle Hands, and Wild America. Yet, there were two films that always lined the shelves over the years catching my eye every visit – The Incredibly True Story of Two Girls in Love and Just Another Girl on the IRT.
Although I was young, curiosity along with a rental visit with my brother and not mother, allowed me to check out Two Girls in Love. The brash, cocky look of the girl on the box of Just Another Girl on the IRT always intrigued me I never surrendered to my curiosity for it. The cinema gods knew what they were doing. Some 20 years later and I finally watched Just Another Girl on the IRT for the first time. The appreciation I have now of and for this stand-alone trailblazer wouldn’t have been realized had I chose it over Two Girls in Love all those years ago.
Just Another Girl on the IRT is not an easy film to watch, for me anyway. 17-year-old Chantel’s arrogant attitude and idiotic decision-making skills is infuriating. Throughout the film I repeatedly wondered if I’d even be able to make it through because of this. She’s loud, rude, quick to anger, irrational, and lacks any kind of awareness. Chantel is, however, book smart and makes the best grades in her class. She’s so smart that she’s on track to graduate early as dreams of college dance in her head. Chantel’s downfall, and the crux of the plot’s allegory, is her own hubris. She’s so sure of herself and the bubble that she exists within she ultimately suffocated herself in it.
Julie Harris writes the character of Chantel almost too well though credit must be given to Aryian Johnson for a performance that pumps vibrant life into Chantel’s veins. Harris captures the confusion and impulsive tendencies made by hormones and an evolving teenage brain. The script falls into a pit of ad nauseam at times as Chantel seems resembles a snake eating itself from the tail circumnavigating through a pattern of poor decisions and blissful ignorance. It’s made worse by the legion of friends and lovers who surround Chantel and allow her to treat them piss poorly. Nevertheless, the dialogue among these people and the film’s backdrop of school acts as a reminder of why these people are so damn dumb sometimes.
It’s more than their age that keeps them repeating the same ridiculous patterns—it’s their environment. These people exist in the very real ghetto of Brooklyn in the 1990s and not the trendy, gentrified haven it is today. They live in neighborhoods abandoned by their government. Death by guns is expected on their block. Schools don’t teach them anything relevant to their lives. Parents work far too many hours to pay attention to what their children are doing. Stress manifests through shouting and hot tempers. Material goods are their only relaxing comforts pushing the youth to find solace in the fantasy of doing well based on the clothes they wear.
The team of production and costume designers help paint a time period filled with vibrant color and creativity. The 1990s may have had some atrocious stylings but overall the ideas translated through clothing were simply put, dope. Johnson is absolutely enchanting throughout the film embodying the enigmatic light and magnetism of her character. Johnson is a natural popping her gum, smacking her lips, rocking her bangles and bamboo knockers with poise and grace. A fashionista with a big personality and lover of fun, Chantel makes decisions and does things that makes you want to scream at her, still Johnson possesses the ability to give Chantel liability and charm. The upbeat nature of the colors and bright aesthetics contrasts with the grimy backdrop of Brooklyn, New York, the complexes its houses, and the cramped quarters the families inhabit on a daily basis.
Just Another Girl on the IRT takes an unexpectedly dark turn towards its climax one that puts viewers into the reality of the time period and how the shame and stress of being young, pregnant and black affects the decisions Chantel makes. But, Harris doesn’t allow the film to linger too much on the negatives neither does she allow the pregnancy angle to define the film either, or Chantel. Chantel still remains herself even going as far as to teach her class about the misrepresentation of Africa to her peers. Harris makes Just Another Girl from the IRT a film that celebrates the strength of women who must preserver in their environments regardless of how rough and unforgiving it may be. While this lesson would have been warranted in my young life, it speaks volumes in my adulthood.
SEE IT.
A Royal Affair (2012); And Notes on Human Nature
When will we as a society learn from our faults? Although our recorded history reminds us of our ancient roots as human beings, we continuously embrace our livelihood with a childlike zeal by letting fear and superstitions control our decision making. Anyone with a message that is outside of the confines of the mass belief system have not only been deterred, but brutally silenced even if that message carries universal truths. If the message isn’t delivered through the socially, unconsciously agreed upon packaging the presenter of said message is treated to a barrage of punishment for their delivery. We don’t have to go too far throughout history for the brutal examples. A Royal Affair is a snapshot into a time period where this timeless anomaly arises through an English girl’s marriage to the King of Denmark and her affair with his German doctor during the 1700s.
Caroline is a young lady in waiting before her marriage to the soon to be King Christian VII of Denmark. Caroline is intelligent and innocent of life’s ills. She’s wondrous of her husband to be, giddy with excitement even until their paths finally converge. Immediately things seem off. Christian is awkward and apathetic about his new bride. When he hears whispers and praise of her enchanting, talented nature he reminds her that he is in control and that she is merely a background showpiece meant to have his babies and tolerate his eccentric behavior.
Years pass and Caroline slips into depression and contempt for her husband and life. Christian continues to rule the land through impulsive sex in brothels and drinking, all the while his small council delegates decisions for Denmark and it’s people. A shift takes place when a German doctor, Johann Friedrich, catches the admiration of Chrisitian by understanding his eccentric behavior. Unbeknownst to the men whom hire the doctor during Christian’s mania, Johann is a philosopher with grand, blasphemous ideas and he begins to bond with Caroline over French Enlightenment philosopher Voltaire’s words and American thinker John Locke’s musings. Together the two embark on a hidden relationship and figure how to pull the strings of Christian to change the order of Denmark. Change never comes easy though and those on the small council who’ve lost their power will stop at nothing to get it back igniting a simmering uprising to boil to the surface.
Through muted, soft tones and glows of the period Nikolaj Arcel illuminates the predictable story with an air of uncertainty and surprise. A Royal Affair moves with the grace of the period, a charm from its characters, and jostles with a dramatic punch delivered by the situations they find themselves in. A Royal Affair’s story progresses with a gentle lag, but that’s not to say that the film gets tedious, in a general sense that is. The pace of the film could definitely have used a swift kick here and there and editors Kasper Leick and Mikkel E.G. Nielsen could have shaved off some lagging parts to help the film drive its message with more power. But, the story is captivating and it’s easy to slowly ride the low tide of what takes place before the gut wrenching ending makes its mark.
There are liberties taken with the story of the real life figures of course, but the crux of the story is real and its pulsating message still stands ground which is what affected me the most about it. A Royal Affair bummed me out for the better part of a day after watching. It lingered with me playing over and over in my head. Nikolaj Arcel and Rasmus Heisterberg’s script unravels the tattered stitching of the royal social fabric, furthermore, humanity’s complex modes of thinking and governing. The normality of marrying off young girls to men with abusive, despondent, idiotic, unfaithful tendencies is still astounding to witness happen even in our current time. Still this notion that a woman must show grit through her situation and her bear husband’s children with no care for her personal happiness is a jaw-dropping, atrocious reality.
No choice or voice exists for these women. Alicia Vikander highlights Caroline’s gloomy life filled with angst and depression while her husband openly shames her without consequences. You can’t help but feel miserable for Caroline whose soft, dainty persona is quickly rattled by her cold, harsh reality. Her choice to elude into an affair isn’t a choice, it’s a must for her sanity. Like all women, nevertheless, delegating themselves to a man’s level, she is punished for her unfaithfulness to him. Her fate along with Johann’s is gut wrenching sending me into a dazed depression.
Sure they falsely assumed power and maybe hubris was their biggest sin, but ultimately they are retributted for merely being thinkers in an age when thinking wasn’t widely accepted. And how could it? Most peasant citizens likely couldn’t sit around and meander with thoughts on the human condition and the natural rights of man. They were wondering how to care for their families and how they’d received their next meals. Free thought is a privilege, but one gilded by the general beliefs of an already established society. Caroline makes the astute observation when she quotes Rene Rousseau that every man is free yet “everywhere is in chains.”
These chains still bind us today and is what holds our society back from breaking ground in technology and advancing our species to higher frontiers. We are still bound by tradition, a false sense of morality, and discrimination. Over four centuries since the story of this film’s existence and women are still struggling to have their ideas respected and heard on par with that of men. We still have citizens getting punished for attempting to shine a light on injustices and ridiculous behavior in our world that separates us by physical make-up and personal doings. We still refuse to move forward as a group because we allow ourselves to get so hung up on archaic ideologies. A Royal Affair begs to question, now in our current political climate more than ever, will we ever get it right or will continue to make the same mistakes until we destroy ourselves?
SEE IT. Then question what social boxes you choose to stay in and does it affect the greater good?
My Life and Night with Prince Ƭ̵̬̊
I’ve never known life without Prince. Since I was able to formulate and retain memories Prince Rogers Nelson has always been a constant in them. My mother is a long-time fan of the Purple God(dess), so since toddlerhood his music and aura have engulfed me. Purple Rain had become one of my most watched films by the time I turned eight years old, and over the years I often laid on couches in various homes we lived in watching Under the Cherry Moon with my mother. However, my Prince immersion wasn’t just my mother’s doing. I grew up in an era where Prince continually bathed in popularity and prominence.
I remember laughing until my stomach hurt at “In Living Color’s” riff on Levi jeans and Prince’s infamous ass-less pantsuit that he rocked so effortlessly during his 1991 VMA performance of “Get Off.” Batman’s release in my youth allowed the film to flood my television in repeated showings during my adolescence. To this day I consider the original Batman paramount to any in the series, although Batman Returns is arguably the better film. The reason for my loving clutch of the original has always been due to Prince’s combined musical arrangements with Danny Elfman’s score filling Tim Burton’s lifeless aesthetic with a pulsating beat. By the time I reached high school Prince manifested back into my life as my best friend’s obsession. There were two things my newest friend at the time loved, The Little Mermaid and Purple Rain which would prompt late night rides around the city in her truck as we’d blast “Purple Rain” and shout lines like “I never wanted to be your weekend lover” out the window into the stale night air.
I was a tomboy in my youth constantly pressured to act more like a girl, then to act more like a woman as I got older. I listened to rock music and spoke properly which made me a target for ridicule that I was “acting white.” I dressed the way I felt comfortable dressing and not the way others who looked like me were supposed to. I never gave into the social pressure to fit into anyone else’s ideas of who I should be or how I should act. It wasn’t always easy and effortless. It still isn’t. Nevertheless, the strength to define myself the way I want to is owed to icons before me who smashed barriers and became legendary for being themselves. Icons like Prince. Prince was always around somewhere doing something whether it was controversial, evolutionary, or just straight up strange. He was always there inadvertently encouraging me to find comfort in my own skin even when others fought to make that difficult. Prince helped connect me with myself, but the biggest connection I owe to him is the one I have with my mother.
No other celebrity figure has had this sort of deep-seated influence in my life. Michael Jackson is a close runner-up who again because of the time period and being in the African-American community became a staple in my life. Michael Jackson’s death was an complete shock to me. I remember rushing to my mother’s room when CNN broke the news with wall-to-wall coverage. I opened her door and told her “ma, Michael Jackson just died!” She looked at me and asked “really?” Then responded with slight intrepid apathy by saying “well, it’s not Prince. That’s my boy you know?” In that moment I was reminded of her devotion for an icon. That moment always stuck with me which made Prince’s passing all the more painful. My immediate thought when I got bombarded by texts the day Prince passed was “does mom know? How is she taking it?”
My mother and I never shared icons. I have friends who can connect with their parents through musicians like Led Zeppelin, or the Beatles, or Elvis, or David Bowie. But, my mother’s tastes align true to her age and her surroundings just as mine does. I grew up loving the soul music we listened to in the car along with gospel and R&B at its pinnacle in the 1990s. But, while there was a mutual love for certain songs there was never a bond over an artist between us. When she fell in love with Joe, I was listening to Hanson. When Tank was her favorite artist I had discovered the Beach Boys. Even when growing up and Prince was her boy, I was a Michael Jackson fan (music alone). There was always a disconnect which is what made my evolution into Prince fandom a few years after Michael’s death a more rewarding experience.
It began on the last day of my longest running job. On that day, the duties of myself and co-workers was to clean and rearrange classrooms for the upcoming school year. This annual task had always been accompanied by music and on this day Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover” came on the radio. A good friend and I bounced along mumbling the words in falsetto before she asked, or maybe just mentioned always being thrown off by the fact that Prince tells his lover, “I wanna be your mother and your sister too.” We joked about the insane possession of it, but that line got stuck in my head. I went on to listen that song about 30 times over the next few days falling more and more in love with Prince’s conviction to be everything important to this one person. It was obsessive, it was insane– it was so hot. This man pining for a woman with such vulnerability was raunchy poetry that I had never paid attention to before. I called my mom and told her about my desire to listen to more Prince and inquired about which albums I should check out. She named a few before admitting wherever I started would be a good place, so I went down the road of Prince, The Revolution, The New Power Generation, the Artist Formerly Known as, then back again and my love for that man swelled to new heights.
I began to picture my mom at my age. She had seen him numerous times growing up. She conjured those memories in my childhood as I’d listen with wide eyes and a grin as she recounted seeing Prince at his dirtiest and sexiest in Macon. She claims he got banned from the Coliseum for ultimately being Prince and slutting up the stage shocking squares of the city. I longed to be like mom, I wanted to see a legend countless times. Live music has doubled as religious experiences for me over the years and I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to see nearly every major musician I’m a fan of including legends that I love. Prince, Neil Young, and Paul Simon are the trio of those left if Sly and the Family Stone or Talking Heads never get back together. Paul Simon tickets came into my possession before Prince did, but they finally arrived and I knew with no doubt that I’d see him. I got lucky and did.
I went to the last show Prince ever performed. I was among the sea of ecstatic fans in utter amazement that this little man jamming on the piano was Prince Rogers Nelson at the Fox Theater. The woman sitting next to me at the show talked with me about her past Prince shows. My mother got to enjoy Prince in the onset of the 1980s while this woman got his glory in the 1990s and told me all about it. She was kind enough to let me view this galactic being with better vision from her binoculars which allowed me to see the source of speckled colored lights on the stage. Those dazzling glimmers emerged from his pumps any time his feet hit the floor on beat. He shmoshed us all. We cat-called and sang with him and he led us in hymn after hymn. There was an unmistakable feeling of mutual love that filled that venue that night. He knew we loved him and we knew he loved us. Especially when he broke out “Purple Rain” on the encore, a treat the show before us didn’t even receive and we all sang in connected harmony.
Not a single person could have expected what would happen a week later. I was shell-shocked when I heard the news. I had plans to be like my mother. I longed to have stories about multiple Prince shows. My desire was to tell my future children about the times I saw Prince. I wanted, more than anything to experience a Prince show live with my mother. Now my story will always have an air of grief to it. I’m lucky, I understand that and am immensely grateful for it. It had been difficult getting tickets for the Fox show. I know so many people who tried but didn’t succeed and yet my partner and I got a pair. While watching Prince from binoculars, yelling out songs, and dancing in my best outfit I thought for a second “if I never see him live gain that’s ok, at least I get to see him this time” thinking that luck wouldn’t always have my back to secure tickets in the future. So, that night I made myself go crazy in celebration of that amazing deity in human form. I drank in every minute of that show, the messages he promoted, and the love he showered. His memory will be honored for the rest of my life and I intend to give to others what Prince gave me.
Rubble Kings (2015); And the Power of One
Urban decay is an ongoing economic issue of the 21st century. Poorly planned political decisions often serve as major contributions to the detrimental circumstances citizens of heavily populated cities encounter. The South Bronx, New York during the late 1960s into late 1970s became a case study that unearthed what happens when a city gets torn down then neglected. Rubble Kings exposes that grimy, horrific reality of 1970s South Bronx by showing viewers a city that became the embodiment of a living hell within contemporary America. A city ignored and left with nothing for its citizens except remnants of rage, fear, and disparity. At the same time Rubble Kings manages to hone in on how these lower-vibration feelings got transformed resulting in an uplifting of the community brought on by a handful of individual’s fight against barricades and systematic ailments whether intrinsic or manufactured.
The South Bronx went from an average New York borough to a hell-hole depleted by white flight, middle class dissipation, and little to no options for the residual lower classes of mostly African-Americans and Hispanics. This lifestyle takes away comfort and security from an individual resulting in a desire for that individual to take away from another out of revenge. The South Bronx literally crumbled around its citizens resulting in the uprising of an unprecedented plethora of gangs looking to provide for each other what the government could and would not. Rubble Kings touches on these incidents briefly chronicling the origins, but leaving the main bulk of the film to focus on the gangs themselves.
Rubble Kings breaks apart the too frequently used narrative of a “white savior” who comes to save a group of troubled minorities. Instead Rubble Kings fortifies the power of the individual, more specifically a group of minorities in a destitute area of America that rose up to bring light and hope to their community. In a time when groups of gangs by the dozens (arguably hundreds) ran the streets and owned colors that condemned outsiders as targets, Benji and his gang, The Ghetto Brothers, changed the tides by fighting for truce and harmony among their peers. A politically and socially charged gang, The Ghetto Brothers helped change the scenery and bring self-awareness to the South Bronx’s youth by manifesting a community of artful expression.
New York native John Leguizamo narrates Shan Nicholson’s visual pairing of interviews, video footage, and photographs from those directly involved in the make-up of the South Bronx gangs in their heyday along with its preceding movement in the 1980s. Rubble Kings does nothing aesthetically that is unique or astonishing as a documentary. In fact the film lacks any powerful punch that contemporaries of the genre haven’t already contributed. But of course, like with any good contemporary documentary, the power lies in its story and its ability to excite and inspire viewers.
At times I was honestly distributed by Rubble Kings bubbly aesthetic that delivers a jolly score and high-key lighting that sets the mood for its ultimately uplifting end. My questionable resolve was initiated by how Rubble Kings manages to contrast joyous moments of interviewees joking and light-heartedly recalling their past with the very real danger and pain these men caused innocent people among others in their youth. Though the men and one woman featured throughout film were lucky enough to grow older and move out of the conditions that plagued them in their youth, many real life bodies were punished, tortured, and harmed by the hands of the interviewees and the gangs they rolled with.
That’s not to say that I don’t understand that this isn’t the film’s job or desired interjection. Rubble Kings looks to unveil how a few individuals during his time made a change within themselves which ushered in major changes around them to squash beef and help produce a new movement that the South Bronx would become renowned for— hip-hop, graffiti, and breakdance during the 1980s. These men and women involved in the initially violent circumstances went on to become Band-Aids and healing tools for their communities instead of cancers and diseases. Rubble Kings makes this point loudly and effectively.
We exist in a time where the power of the individual seems forgotten. Instead politicians like Donald Trump are calling for an “us vs. them” mentality from the people. This urging of separating ourselves from one another and shunning those who aren’t like us out of fear does nothing but repeat the same twisted patterns of the past that history books, films, and individuals themselves have been preaching against for years. Rubble Kings is a swift kick in the backside to jolt the memory of what happens when we separate into opposing groups. We kill and harm each other while destroying the people around us. We must alternatively fight for peace and harmony, as Benji did in a time when no one else wanted to. It’s up the individual to find internal peace before we’re able to calm the troubling chaos around us. By simply remembering we are all one on this planet together, only then can we uplift ourselves and each other to promote a world of expression and art.
SEE IT. On Netflix, then contemplate your place in the greater good of society.
The Cinephiliac 