By Warren Curry
I went to a screening of “Black Snake Moan” last week, the new film from “Hustle and Flow” director Craig Brewer. A friend was supposed to join me, but he fell ill at the last second and opted to skip it (presumably he’s not suffering from the same “sickness” that afflicts Christina Ricci’s character in “BSM,” although there’s no guarantee he’s not currently chained to a radiator in some strange man’s house). After the film, I was tempted to call his sudden illness the kindest stroke of luck he’ll receive this year, until I remembered that, largely due to an infatuation with Ms. Ricci, this friend will still end up seeing “Black Snake Moan.” Upon further review, I don’t know anyone unluckier than poor Ryan.
Instead of trying to find a replacement to attend the screening with me, which would’ve been my wife had she not been working (and may have lead to a divorce), I decided to go it alone. I arrived at Hollywood’s Arclight Theaters 20 minutes before show time and quickly discovered that a local dance/R&B/Hip-Hop radio station was hosting the screening. I took a seat in one of the two roped off rows reserved for press and stared directly in front of me at a large speaker, placed in front of the movie screen, that was blaring some song I’d never heard. With the theater only about half full, a young man from the radio station grabbed a microphone and attempted to rile the crowd up with the promise of t-shirts, posters and other swag to whoever could be the most raucous audience members. Some of the crowd responded to the challenge, and soon t-shirts were flying through the air into the awaiting arms of various people who love free stuff (don’t we all?). The pre-movie festivities reached its apex when the host broke into an impromptu dance to the delight of…uhhhhh…someone.
The radio station people cleared out and more viewers filed into the theater, gradually filling it to capacity. The reserved rows were relatively empty, so eventually non-press people sat amongst us, including a man next to me who appeared to have been dragged there by his girlfriend (or maybe it was is his wife, though they looked a little young to be married). It would turn out, judging by his restless body language and the fact he checked his watch approximately 20 times in the movie’s final half hour, this guy might have been the only person in attendance who liked “Black Snake Moan” less than me. Maybe.
I’m sure you’ve seen an ad or two (or 50) for the movie. Ricci plays a poor Southern nymphomaniac whose promiscuity reaches new heights when her boyfriend (played by Justin Timberlake of Color Me Badd fame) leaves for Army duty. Ricci prowls her hometown’s dirt roads clad alluringly in Daisy Dukes (but skimpier) and tiny t-shirts that reveal an alarmingly malnourished stomach. She’s there for any man’s taking until one of Justin CMB’s friends smacks her around after she observes that his manhood is not even half the size of a local African-American drug dealer/pimp who frequently scratches her itch. Say what you will about Brewer, but he manages to fulfill three racial stereotypes in one character! How’s that for economy? But back to the story…Ricci is left bruised, bloodied and unconscious on the side of the road.
Lazarus (played by Samuel L Jackson of “Loaded Weapon 1″ fame), a farmer whose wife recently left him to be with, of all people, his brother, finds Ricci, nurses her back to health, and chains the young lady (at this time she’s covered in only one of those tiny t-shirts and panties) to a radiator in order to cure the “sickness.” Lazarus learns about the “sickness” when the aforementioned well-endowed, drug-dealing pimp provides a clinical diagnosis of Ricci’s condition in the corner of a pool hall. Late in the movie, we find out the root of the “sickness,” which, if you’ve seen even one other movie featuring this sort of masochistic character, you can probably deduce before finishing this paragraph. Oh yeah, Lazarus is also a blues guitarist who’s reluctant to play these days…but if he can cure Ricci of the “sickness” then anything might be possible. Perhaps even every existing copy of “The Man” can be destroyed.
In “Hustle and Flow,” Brewer taught us that it was hard out here for a pimp, a valuable lesson I won’t soon forget. I owe a great deal to Brewer since I had weighed the pros and cons of an entry-level position in the field just prior to seeing the film. In “Black Snake Moan,” he teaches us something even more important. He instructs us how to cure the “sickness.” Our previous Brewer hero was a dickhead low rent pimp turned dickhead rap star, and this time it’s a farmer who receives critical medical information from a drug dealer/pimp/pool hall therapist, which leads him to hold a mostly naked girl hostage, shackled to his radiator. Is it too late to start a “Free Gary Heidnick!” campaign? The answer is yes; he was executed in 1999. Where were you then, Craig Brewer?
Beyond everything mentioned above, the movie’s biggest failing has to be how interminable it is. “Black Snake Moan” is probably the most painful experience I’ve had in a movie theater in the past year. Sure, I’ve seen worse films, but they at least had the courtesy to be shorter. “BSM” runs nearly two hours, but feels twice that length. The only backhanded compliment I can pay the film is that while it’s never interesting, it’s not really boring, either. In fact, boredom would’ve been preferred, as it may have allowed me to drift off to sleep for a bit. But nope, the movie was just engaging enough to keep me awake, which is another reason I resent it. I know, I know, “why didn’t you leave?” Well, my most glaring bad habit is that I never walk out of movies…unless it’s an extreme circumstance. Like when I feel a sudden twinge of the “sickness.”
It’s been brought to my attention that Richard Roeper and his guest critic, “Jersey Girl” auteur Kevin Smith, raved about “BSM” on their television show. I understand Smith’s position. It’s definitely not every day he gets a nationally televised forum to talk about a movie bad enough to make his own look good by comparison, but I wonder where Roeper is coming from. I searched out a few online reviews, and much to my surprise, the film’s early Tomatometer rating is high. One critic called the film “entertaining.” I feel the exact opposite, but it isn’t an opinion you can really argue. Another critic claimed that “BSM” answers all the naysayers who bashed “Hustle and Flow’s” misogyny. Let’s see, this movie is about a weak-willed, hedonistic young woman headed down a road to self-destruction until an older man imprisons her in his home thus saving her from herself. Yup, leave it to Craig “Gloria Steinem” Brewer to keep pushing women’s rights forward.
It’s not my place to tell you how to spend your time and money, so go ahead, be like Ryan and see “BSM” if you’d like. While you’re at it, stay for “Music and Lyrics” or “The Number 23″ afterwards, then go home and have your own personal “Grey’s Anatomy” marathon while you eat a hot dog and drink warm Bud Light. You’ll be the anti-Warren. And given that I, on the other hand, will be sitting in front of my computer, watching the “Norbit” trailer for the 800th time, that may not be a bad thing.
“RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”
It never gets old, I tell ‘ya. It never gets old.
