“Crooklyn” (1994)
Charming and warm, the director’s semi-autobiographical coming-of-age story (co-written by the director’s siblings Joie and Cinque) is sweet but won’t rot your teeth. Set in 1970s Brooklyn and focusing on the cute-as-a-button Troy (Zelda Harris), Lee tours the neighborhood as his adolescent muse deals with sassy neighbors, argumentative parents, rambunctious brothers, and — worst of all — the onset of puberty, with the increased awareness of body and sexuality hitting the wee one like a ton of bricks. The narrative is particularly loose here, mostly being a collection of moments as opposed to a meticulously plotted story, though certain characters have their own individual arcs (the parents, played by Alfre Woodard and Delroy Lindo, have an especially subtle dynamic that gives generally contrived plot points some legitimacy). That said, the approach works wonders and allows the filmmaker to fully channel the free-spirited nature of being a city kid during the endless summer holiday, forgoing a sprightly, rose-colored trip down memory lane for something more honest: candy is akin to gold, crackpot neighbors are harassed, and harsh words belted on stoops are instantly forgotten the next day. And when the filmmaker finally decides to tug at the heart strings, it’s heartbreaking and more than earned. “Crooklyn” is also a contrarily pleasant depiction of city life; the movie is free of the menacing alleys and gritty streets that generally characterize any urban setting. Save for an occasionally forced score that dabbles in Spielberg bathos (and maybe the ‘70s hits are a little too obvious — at least they’re enjoyable tunes), it’s Lee at his most earnest, and a solid, level-headed love letter to a long-gone Brooklyn. [B+]
“Clockers” (1995)
While African-American films in the early ’90s were often defined by their stories of drugs and gang violence (“Boyz In Da Hood,” “Menace II Society,” “New Jack City,” “Juice”), Lee resisted the urge to go there, going as far to swim upstream against the current with 1994’s sweet and nostalgic “Crooklyn.” When Lee finally relented to the genre, it was largely due to Martin Scorsese, who brought him the screenplay by celebrated author Richard Price (Scorsese was originally going to direct). Even then “Clockers” far from pretties up thug life; it relentlessly deglamorizes the drug trade and hews closer to thriller and police procedural. One of the film’s stars — other than its cast, which included Harvey Keitel, John Turturro, Delroy Lindo and Mekhi Phifer — is the film’s young cinematographer Malik Hassan Sayeed. Up until this point, the largely untested Sayeed had been an electric on “Crooklyn” and Gregg Araki‘s “The Doom Generation” (he’d later serve as the second unit DoP on Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut,” and recently reunited with Lee on HBO pilot “Da Brick“). Lee called him up for “Clockers,” and the white hot, sickly and rusty sheen of the picture injects the engrossing urban drama with a sweaty and arresting psychology that elevates each moment of drama, violence, humor and character development (not to mention it might be the finest photography of African-American skin in decades). Set in Brooklyn’s Boerum Hill projects where young drug pushers live hard, dangerous lives, trapped between their drug bosses and the detectives out to stop them, “Clockers” is uneven and familiar, featuring some of Lee’s worst tendencies (overstylized sequences and moments of editorializing), but it’s refreshingly unpreachy (relatively speaking), and the urgency with which it’s told is utterly absorbing and bruising. [B+]“Girl 6” (1996)
With 2002 Pulitzer Prize (For Drama) -winner Suzan-Lori Parks and legendary musician Prince tapped for their respective talents, one would estimate that the trio’s end product wouldn’t be so under the radar — surely a Spike Lee joint written by a successful playwright, and set to music from a Rock & Roll Hall of Famer, would kick up more enthusiasm. Of course, one would also probably assume that such a project wouldn’t be so bromidic, which is the unfortunate case for “Girl 6.” That’s not to say it doesn’t have its highlights (lead Theresa Randle seizes the central role, the director’s occasional experimental flairs keep things afloat), but the team just can’t seem to find anything terribly interesting about a struggling actress turned phone-sex operator. After being ordered to show her bust at an audition, the unnamed thesp (playfully referred to as Judy by ex Isaiah Washington) grows tired of the male chauvinist industry and takes the aforementioned call-line gig to make ends meet. While the script gets merit for actually being about something (society’s oppression of women, for one), the turns on this narrative road are foreseeably obvious — she falls in love with a caller, gets addicted to the job, etc — and Parks, known for some raw stage plays like “Fucking A” and “Topdog/Underdog,” seems bafflingly content to coast along with a by-the-numbers script. Lee fills the gaps with insistent clunky visual metaphors of a fall down a dark elevator shaft, but it never connects. Cap it off with a severely uncharismatic supporting turn by the director himself and, at the end of the day, you’ve got yourself a more or less mediocre 1990s movie with some scattered bright spots. Then again, no other movies from that era featured cameos by a madcap Quentin Tarantino, an insanely goofy John Turturro, and… Madonna‘s dog. Gotta give credit where credit is due, we suppose. [C-]
“Get On The Bus” (1996)
Sandwiched as it was between the middling curio “Girl 6” and the stirring doc “4 Little Girls,” “Get On The Bus” is every bit a Spike Lee joint, a travelogue that pits the competing ideologies of a dozen black men against one another, en route to the Million Man March. The topics on hand are familiar, and Lee’s passion for them never wavers: racism, lighter-skinned vs. darker-skinned, fathers and sons, lifestyle and economic strata clashes, all adding up to a thesis on living while black in America. The director populates his uniformly strong cast with equal parts veterans and newcomers. The venerable Ossie Davis delivers a moving monologue, while the ever-reliable Andre Braugher gets to indulge in a less sympathetic role. Lee regular Roger Guenveur Smith plays a cop burdened by an itch for vengeance, while Isaiah Washington and Harry J. Lennix portray a gay couple that gives the two talented thespians an opportunity to shine (curiously, Washington’s career was later derailed after he was fired from “Grey’s Anatomy” for allegedly insulting a co-star with a homophobic slur). The rest of the players (including Bernie Mac, Charles S. Dutton, Hill Harper, Steve White, Gabriel Casseus, and Albert Hall) each get their moments, but the biggest impression by far is left by Thomas Jefferson Byrd, a familiar pockmarked face that Lee knowingly casts as a father struggling to keep an eye on his son (De’aundre Bonds) even though the duo are shackled to one another via court-order. Byrd’s performance feels so off-the-cuff natural that it’s easy to forget about the artifice some of the other actors struggle with. While “Get On The Bus” is easy to slip into, the character and plot revelations have an unexpected weight, and the small space allows for unbroken moments of humor intermixed with drama that build the film up and keep it compelling for the full two hours. [B]
“4 Little Girls” (1997)
Not many filmmakers earn an Oscar nomination for their first documentary feature, but that’s exactly what happened with Lee on “4 Little Girls,” focusing on the death of the titular youth in the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Birmingham AL, 1963. A passion project of sorts, the filmmaker first read about the incident as a NYU student, but couldn’t secure the family members’ participation until he was a well-established, world famous director. The passage of time not only gave them more time to be comfortable with the prospect, but it also saw Lee grow in recognition, hone his skill, and ultimately morph the project from a narrative, as originally intended to documentary. Around the time segregation was coming to a close, there was increased retaliation from those disgusted by the mere prospect, a sentiment which culminated in the bombing of an African-American church. Many were injured, four were killed: Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Denise McNair. The director interviews the family members with a sensitive touch, allowing them to focus on the lives of their departed children, while others provide the context of the social climate at the time. Along with stills of the victims (including the highly unsettling autopsy photos) is footage from the time, rendered in blue and white, a curious stylistic choice that likely emphasized the extreme racism in Lee’s own way. Most notable are the reels that display a large white tank roaming the street (owned by Bull Connor, ironically the Commissioner of Public Safety) and passionate speeches by segregationist governor George Wallace. The director manages to nab Wallace, now considerably aged and speaking incomprehensibly (Lee subtitles him) for interview; he defends his ways, and not once but twice introduces his “best friend” (read: employee) to the camera, an African-American man who doesn’t say anything, but manages to convey volumes with his uncomfortable expression. Informative and riveting, “4 Little Girls” is an indelible piece of work, showing the horrors of pre-Civil Rights America and the humanity of those who endured it despite their losses. The Academy, rightfully impressed with Lee’s work, gave the film a nod for Best Documentary but ultimately gave the award to Rabbi Marvin Hier and Richard Trank’s “The Long Way Home.” It’s his second snub next to “Do The Right Thing,” and the last time to date he was nominated for an Oscar. [A]
