In the trash heap, a little pure gold

This is a soul nostalgia road movie about a 70's backup pair called The Real Deal, called back 30 years since their show biz beginnings to perform at a memorial concert for their original lead singer at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. The deceased, Marcus Hooks (John Legend), went off to be a huge success on his own in the Curtis Mayfield mold. Left to themselves, Louis Hinds (Samuel L. Jackson) and Floyd Henderson (Bernie Mac) failed after one record and went their separate ways, and not at all amicably. Hinds has done jail time, while Floyd did well with a car-wash business but has been pushed out by his nephew and exiled in a suburb. This is also a memorial to Bernie Mac, who died shortly after the filming. It's also a small memorial to Isaac Hayes: he's in a cameo at the Apollo as himself, and he too passed away before the movie was released.

Leading black film critic Armond White has contrasted Mac's authentic flavor with Jackson's foul-mouth shtick in this movie. White resents Jackson for becoming famous in Hollywood and a bit of a blockbuster hack, while Mac never made the big time. The fact is the two are great together. The movie, which is nothing much, is highly enjoyable in several ways. It's never better than when the two long-antagonistic partners make the air blue with their f-word and n-word tirades at each other, and the authentic 70's-style musical routines, complete with tight shiny bright blue suits and intricate side-shuffle dance steps and slick arm movements (aided by body doubles according to Whilte), put the plastic homogenization of Dreamgirls' faux Motown impersonations to shame. In his Soul Men review, White fails to mention Dreamgirls, which he eloquently trashed at the time. He calls this a "disappointing tribute to black pop music," neglecting to note that compared to Dreamgirls, it does acknowledge the music, even if inadequately. This is real soul music, and it's as sweet and rough and raucous as it's authentic. Sure, neither Mac nor Jackson has quite the vocal chops for the job, but the music is right and the numbers are so well rehearsed, and the musical backup so good, you overlook that. Too bad the writing uses so many forgettable sequences to slow down the trip to Harlem. They should have taken the A Train.

In any case, the essence of the story is that these guys have a lot of brushing up to do. As they make their way from California to New York, they do shows at second-rate venues to warm up--and a little song and dance duo in the roadside dirt to the car radio (it's an El Dorado convertible, by the way, with license plates that read, "MUTHASHIP"). Improvement is direly needed, but it happens fast. The first outing is so ragged Louis collapses into a coughing fit. But when their moment comes at the Apollo, with cops after them for various hilarious (or would-be hilarious) misdemeanors, they're sharp, and the movie ends on a high note of success and good feeling. Even the cops waiting with handcuffs are jumping with the beat.

The dialogue when the men are having at each other shows what Tarantino is getting at, but maybe it copies Tarantino's copy of blackness a times. Jackson's Pulp Fiction role was a blend of pop philosophizing with blaxploitation profanity. This is pure black-on-black verbal aggression. If Jackson is just the foil, then this is quite a pair. The direction is undistinguished. The visual comedy is crude, the sex scenes pretty gross, and the mockery of a rap group trying to make a record a la Hustle and Flow seems mean-spirited, but Bernie Mac gets to show off everything he can do, attitude-wise. His best moment verbally is a profane solo cadenza in the hallway after Louis has initially thrown him out of his pathetic crib. When I saw this, the 90%-black audience reveled in every line--even in the dumbest parts. Mac could have no better celebration of his hilarious ill humor. This isn't a very good movie, but it has notable redeeming features.

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©Chris Knipp. Blog: http://chrisknipp.blogspot.com/.