"Beyond The Lights" (2014)

written and directed by Gina Prince Bythewood
starring Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Nate Parker, Minnie Driver, Danny Glover

"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side."
This quote has long been attributed to "gonzo journalist" Hunter S. Thompson -- though, like much about the music business, the quote itself has been altered and adapted for various uses. Its adaptation makes it no less apt.

The music biz can be a great place for the lions to roam and roar but it takes a terrible toll on the lambs. I know. I spent a good part of my career writing about the public face of the music business, and two misbegotten years behind the record industry curtain, laboring deep in its boiler rooms. I was so out of place I was relieved to get back to the reporter role. There were many things going on that I would have preferred not to know about, and certainly the behaviors of those deemed to have power and the way in which women were fetishized and commoditized were among them.

I don't know what it's like to be on that side of the industry now, but I imagine it's not that much changed. For women, sex is either the trump card or the key to despair in most dealings. Either hike up your skirt and don't complain about being used, or use it to screw your way along whatever path you think it can take you. Beyond The Lights is partly about the soul-selling demands on female artists in contemporary music, but it also reminds us that it's a choice. There is a laundry list of contemporary female artists who said "no" to having their image, their music, their very bodies pimped out for mass consumption -- and most of them have faded into oblivion.

Beyond The Lights could be seen as a contemporary Captain Save-A-Hoe fairytale along the lines of The Bodyguard or even Mahogany, but that's just my romantic cynicism talking. Yes, it's a story we're not unfamiliar with, the Romeo & Juliet star-crossed lovers thing somehow never gets old, but told in a way that lets us linger a bit longer with our protagonists. "I see you," says policeman-with-a-heart Kazam Nicole to up-and-coming pop music siren Noni Jean, who, in a moment of existential angst, considers taking the easy way out from a balcony at the Sofitel in Beverly Hills. And Beyond The Lights allows us to "see" deeply into the characters: their motivations, their pressures, their desires, their pasts and the illusions they cling to make them seem more than just stereotypes.

A talented singer, English-born Noni's success has been orchestrated by her rigidly ambitious single mother Macy, played by the excellent Minnie Driver. But there is nothing that Macy won't do to advance Noni's career, from co-signing her daughter's half-naked appearances on screen to accepting and promoting a ready-made romance with a white rap star (played by Machine Gun Kelly).

Noni's life is heavily proscribed and she's on a short leash; director Gina Prince-Bythewood makes this patently clear by having Noni gussied up in stage gear that is both extremely revealing while simultaneously heavy on chains, buckles, shackles and restraint straps. Macy is holding the other end of the leash, and nowhere is that control more obvious than when she kneels before her daughter, undoing the endless buckles on a towering pair of torturous high heels Noni's been wearing. Our girl isn't free, and the weight of the chains are repressive enough for her to seek freedom in the well-muscled brown arms of her savior, Officer Nicole. As this goes against the well-laid plans of Mama Macy, whose life revolved around her daughter, complications ensue.

Groomed for a political career by his father (Danny Glover, his voice rapidly disappearing into unintelligible fog), a police captain, Kaz is an upstanding, goodhearted, boy scout soul who collects epigrams, pals around with a giant Rottweiler, tackles wife-abusers, doesn't maul on a first date, and maybe even rescues kittens out of trees (we know he rescues this little kitty from a balcony). He's even exceedingly kind to the audience; he treats us to numerous shots of his shirtless magnificence throughout. He's an old-fashioned leading man, a Prince Charming who only loses his cool and throws punches when women are being disrespected. But of course, Pops' plans for his son do not involve a violet-haired pop tart as a political first lady, and so he becomes the Montague to Noni's Capulets.

In 1994's Out Of Sight, on-the-run bank robber George Clooney tells improbable love interest, federal marshal Jennifer Lopez, that what they need is a "time out" to consummate their passion before the inevitable realities reassert themselves. When Noni faces a career crisis, complicated by Kaz's actions, the two take a memorable "time out" across the border, far from the lights of Tinsel Town. The disparity between Noni's on-stage persona and the natural woman she is, is astounding, and it's a transformation that Kaz has had a hand in.

Beyond The Lights has, in my estimation, some giant clumps of truth about the modern music industry and gives what feels like a real-time representation of how love connections can develop. And though the film may seem slow in segments, it's those lingering moments of chemistry between the marvelous Gugu Mbatha-Raw and Nate Parker that engulf the viewer in their saga and spin pure magic on the screen. Their pillow-lipped presences lend the romance a veneer of verisimilitude in a way that uplifts the tropes of the star-crossed lovers tale. I like the movie.

[At the same time, the film makes me think about the fetishizing of young actresses, particularly young black actresses on screen. Gugu is beautiful; in this film she appears half naked, we are staring at her crotch and nipples covered by thin strips of leather in one of her first scenes, she is manhandled (OK, romanced) by two different actors, and it seems that the camera has lingered on just about every inch of her body by the time the film is over. Halle Berry showed her breasts on screen in Monster's Ball and earned an Oscar; what's next for Gugu?]

"Dear White People" (2014)

directed by Justin Simien
starring Tessa Thompson, Tyler James Williams, Teyonah Parris, Kyle Gallner, Brandon P. Bell



Got a chance to view "Dear White People" last month in a theater not far from Georgetown University. It was really good, deceptively simple but very clever. It started kind of slow and a bit detached in tone, with title cards describing this fictional ivy league school, but the flick got progressively stronger and more involving as we learn about the lives of a few of its black students, whose identities are as different from each other as possible.

The lead character is Sam White (the gorgeous Thompson), a bold black rights activist sister trying to assert herself in the world of campus social politics. She hosts a provocative radio show called "Dear White People," where she offers bon mots like, "Dear White People, stop dancing" and "Dear White People, your quota of black friends has just been raised to two." Her story is complicated by the fact that she is a child of a biracial marriage, that her father's compromised health is source of ongoing stress, and by the presence of her white lover, a fellow student. Just as her name suggests, her character is rife with conflicting realities.

Sam's story is contrasted against that of an introverted gay nerd Lionel (Williams, best known as the star of TV's Everybody Hates Chris) who doesn't fit into the "black" residence hall and is systematically humiliated in the "white" residence hall. Wrestling with other students, the college administration and himself to carve out a place where he can just be is a daily challenge for him. There's also a girl named Coco (Parris), who has changed her name among other things because she is desperate to separate herself from all things ghetto and thus chases after white acceptance. Then there's the popular black jock who is trying to live up to the high standards of his father (played by Dennis Haysbert), the college's dean of students, while simultaneously juggling a relationship with the white daughter of the college president and concealing a dependence on marijuana. And though the story takes place in present day, there are lingering pockets of racism on campus, both laughable and deplorable.

The film is more multi-layered than it seems on first viewing; the characters are struggling with finding their identities, managing their relationships within the college arena, and trying to use college as a springboard into who they will be for the rest of their lives. It shows that there is no one way or right way to be black, but even so, people of color instinctively band together to ward off the acts of active and passive racism that still rear their ugly heads on campus. Because college is a concentrated microcosm of the world, all of the action feels very impactful and thought-provoking. Within that are moments of provocative humor and dark satire; finding one's identity in college can mean trying on a number of hats, successfully or unsuccessfully. It can mean overthrowing the expectations of parents, lovers, and society itself. And it can also mean forming destructive habits and alliances.

The revelation of the film for me is, besides Tessa Thompson's fantastic portrayal of Sam, is Tyler James Williams as Lionel Higgins, the campus nerd who finally stands up. DWP has moments of originality, wit, and humor; it also knows on whose shoulders it stands, with a few moments that clearly pay homage to the Spike Lee oeuvre, as when a crowd of black students converge angrily on an unwitting movie ticket seller to protest the relentless showing of Tyler Perry movies, and the movie's climax will recall the moment that Mookie finally threw that trash can in Do The Right Thing. I also appreciated the soundtrack, which utilizes classical music in unique ways alongside contemporary R&B, hip-hop, and rock.

The movie never canonizes the black characters nor demonizes the whites; our identities and consciousness are fluid things and within that murk we must find common ground. It is said that today's young generation of millennials have a broader and more accepting view of race, but there is also a collective naivete and ignorance of history that persists in this generation, leading to more of the kind of outrageous actions and intense confrontations depicted here. Director Simien says he was inspired in part by the proliferation of white campus parties with themes demeaning to African Americans, and we see the evidence of real-life events of this nature in the end credits. The pictures will make you cringe. But Simien also shows that while racism is an American institution, we all can be angels and devils along a continuum of prejudicial behavior.

The Seventh Veil (1945)

I had never heard of this one before, just chose it at random on the Kindle. I am so glad I found it – I could watch it over and over. It's a psychological melodrama, somehow a mix in plot and tone of Humoresque (poor violinist struggles to become a concert performer and find happiness amid lots of classical music) and Jane Eyre (young orphaned girl comes into the employ of a mysterious and gruff older man who controls but ultimately romances her). I didn’t realize until the opening credits that fave James Mason is in it, all young and juicy. It is called The Seventh Veil. The film is British, from 1945, and stars Ann Todd (whom I had never heard of, but who apparently was able to convincingly fake playing the piano in several concert scenes when a stunt double wasn’t at the keys).

Hello, James Mason!

Todd plays Francesca, who at the start of the film is hospitalized for an undisclosed malady. She sneaks out of the hospital, slinks through the streets and jumps off the nearest bridge. She is rescued but seems catatonic until she is put under the care of a psychiatrist, played by Czech hottie Herbert Lom (those eyes! that voice!), who uses sodium pentothol and hypnosis to get the whole tale out of her. His theory is that there are seven veils of consciousness, and he must penetrate each one to find out why she tried to kill herself. She regresses to childhood and begins her story:

When 14-year-old Francesca loses her father she is sent to live with a distant rich cousin, played by Mason. He is a bitter, 30something bachelor with a limp and walking stick who treats her gruffly until he discovers that she plays music, and then he treat her only slightly less gruffly. A music scholar himself, Nicholas” pushes her into becoming a concert pianist. He alternately oversees grueling practice sessions and disappears for long stretches, leaving her alone with the servants. We never find out the mysterious reason Nicholas has been emotionally and physically crippled – it is mentioned that his mother ran off with a singer when he was a young boy.

Francesca goes on to a London music college, where she meets a brash American saxophone student and falls in love. Desperate to get away from Nicholas, she informs her guardian that she is engaged to be married. Nicholas is having none of it; he locks her in her room, and the next day drags her off to Paris to continue her musical training. Years pass. She ultimately makes a successful concert debut, but is haunted by memories of being caned on the hands by a teacher, making her fail a music fellowship exam (her hands were too swollen to play properly). She also longs for Peter, the fiancé she was forced to abandon. Still, she is resigned to her existence, every facet of which is controlled by Nicholas (mean and brooding, yes, but damn, Mason is fine!) Back in London, she makes her professional concert debut, but afterward shakes Nicholas and dashes around the city in search of Peter. She finds him leading a swing band at a supper club. When he sees her, he wordlessly sweeps her into his arms for a dance to their favorite song. But it is not to be: Peter married someone else. Francesca remains with Nicholas, who tells her which shows to perform, what to wear, and where to eat for dinner. Nicholas seems to anticipate her every need and want, but while she finds it satisfying she resents it too.

Keep practicing, Francesca, or you'll see the back side of my hand!

Nicholas engages a famous German painter to create her portrait. Max initially says he no longer does portraits, but Francesca, bored with having only Nicholas to talk to, taunts Max into taking on the job. The two spend hours together and soon the artist is head over heels. Francesca agrees to run away to Italy with Max, but when she coolly informs Nicholas of her plans, he goes ballistic and actually whacks her knuckles with his cane. Injured – and reminded of the awful moments as a child when her hands were caned so badly she couldn’t play -- she runs into Max’s arms, and they drive off toward Italy. But, wouldn’t ya know, the car veers off the road, crashes, and goes up in flames.

Francesca and Max are rescued and taken to the hospital. Francesca is convinced she will never play piano again and tells Max she no longer wants to live. It is later that night when she makes the suicide attempt we see at the top of the film and lands in Dr. Larsen’s care.

Max is no fan of psychotherapy. When one of Dr. Larsen’s attempts fails to snap Francesca out of her malaise, the artist spirits her from the hospital to his palatial home. (I guess there is no such thing as a starving artist in 1940s England.) Dr. Larsen tracks down former fiancé Peter -- now divorced -- to find out more about what happened between them. Next he visits Nicholas to ask for help in curing her – which sends Nicholas into a rage and gives the doc a clue as to the real nature of his feelings for his ward. Nicholas heads straight to Max’s to confront Francesca. He tells her that she can play again, and reminds her that they have a strong bond that they have built up over the years. Max busts in and demands that Nicholas leave, but too late, the Nicholas Svengali Effect is already working its magic.

Francesca agrees to submit to another therapy session. Dr. Larsen plays one of her recordings, compelling her to play along on the piano and see that she can indeed play. Max, Nicholas, and Peter are waiting to see her. When she descends the stairs her face lights up, and she runs into the arms of … Nicholas, who was there for her all along.

NOTES:
I found the story compelling, and the script is great. Ann Todd reminds me of Joan Fontaine: a mix of helplessness and grit. Herbert Lom’s psychiatrist is so good – so commanding, so soothing, so earnest and empathetic – he practically had ME hypnotized through the screen. If I were Francesca, I would have chosen the good doctor.

Herbert Lom as the good doctor, peeling away the "seventh veil" of consciousness.

The American boyfriend Peter also gets a lot of the great lines. Francesca berates him for his rudeness and lack of refinement, saying, “It must be how you were brought up,” and Peter, unfazed, quips, “I was dragged up – I know it!” He also has a sequence where he woos the shy rich girl by telling her what happens between men and women in the movies – very clever.

James Mason is pure ice for most of the movie. He's like Heathcliff plus Mr. Rochester plus Henry Higgins. When Francesca tries to tell Nicholas about her engagement, she is at his feet begging. “Nicholas, I’m engaged!” And he’s like, “Hmmm. Go to bed.” “Did you hear what I said?” “Yes. And pack a bag before bed because we’re going to Paris in the morning.” Of course Francesca has a snit fit and screams “I won’t go, I tell you!” and Nicholas cracks her one in the face. I was shocked, frankly. “How old are you?” Nicholas demands. “Seventeen,” she whimpers. “Exactly,” he says, in Mason’s rich and oily vocal cadence. “You are still my ward. Do you know what that means? It means that until you are 21, you are under my guidance and protection, and you live under my roof. Should you try to run away, I can have you brought back immediately -- by the police if necessary. Do you understand? Now go to bed.” And she does.

She also has Max spouting some flowery sentiments; when he tells her she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever painted, she counters saying that he’s painted the portraits of numerous beauties. “I say this not only because you’re beautiful, but because I love you,” he flutters. When he asks her to run away with him, she falls into his arms and muses, “How do we do this, Max? Should we get married?” Max pulls back, not in alarm, but just says, “I hadn’t thought of that.” “It doesn’t matter,” she says. Remember—this film was made in 1945! The heroine has chosen to go live in sin with her German lover in Italy – but of course, Nicholas puts the kibosh on it.

Finally – the music is incredible. As I mentioned, I chose the flick at random as it was related to some other older films I was looking at. If it had turned out to be corny or horrible, I just would have quit in the middle and watched something else. But The Seventh Veil had me spellbound from the opening credits because of the music – the soundtrack was wonderfully nuanced, carefully orchestrated, and dynamic. No wonder – the London Symphony Orchestra was playing it all, including the concert sequences, which included Chopin, Beethoven, Dvorak. Highly recommended.

More of ... Have You Seen These Black & White Flicks?

I just love older films. I'm fascinated by how people lived: the clothes they wore, the lingo of the times, the level of technological advancement or lack thereof, the social climate that made certain actions and topics of conversation taboo, how people of different colors and cultures interacted or were prohibited from interacting, what the stereotypes were. Because so many modes of social behavior are considered acceptable now, the character quandaries presented in older films can be completely obsolete today.

Black and white films are interesting because they reduce the distraction of color so the eye can focus clearly on character and detail. Dialogue becomes that much more important. Here's a couple more b&w films that I've taken a gander at:


Rita Tushingham as Jo has a fling with Paul Danquah in A Taste Of Honey-- ah, young love.

A Taste of Honey (1961)
Lest you think my taste runs only to French nouvelle vague, take a gander at this, the source of that fun little Herb Alpert horn ditty . Counter to the jauntiness of that tune, A Taste of Honey is part of what was known as Britain's "kitchen sink" domestic dramas of the '50s, in which the lives of working class Brits are depicted in all their unglamorous grittiness. The style was a break from the upper-crust dramas and drawing-room comedies of Noel Coward in merry olde England. This story was notable for having been penned by an 18-year-old, Shelagh Delaney, and directed by Sir Tony Richardson (husband to Vanessa Redgrave and father to actresses Joely and the late Natasha Richardson (wife of Liam Neeson)).

Here, a young working class British lass named Jo, raised in a broken home by an alcoholic "good time girl" mom who frequently neglects her, struggles to finish high school and then stand on her own two feet apart from her mother's haphazard lifestyle. By chance she meets and has an affair with a Black sailor off a boat docked nearby. He ships out, and she's left knocked up with a brown baby. Shocking! Meanwhile, fast-pants Mum marries her latest swain and goes off, leaving Jo to her own devices.

The rest of the film follows Jo's travails as she tries to create a support system of sorts, getting a job in a shoe shop and befriending a young man whom she eventually learns is gay. Their friendship weathers that storm of revelation and soon she invites the young man to live with her in the tumbledown attic apartment she's found. As she awaits the baby's birth, it seems her pal is ready to be a surrogate father and her neighbors will be the makeshift relatives, and things seem to be going well, considering. But out of the blue, here comes Jo's half-drunken tart of a mom, freshly ditched by Romeo, to muck things all up to hell with her bigotry and self-centeredness. As the film closes, Jo happily awaits the birth, still oblivious to all she has just lost because of her mom.

We don't know what happens to Jo after the baby comes, but the film makes clear the distinctions between the family we are born to and the family we choose. We know Jo's struggles are about to ramp up again in a seemingly endless cycle.

The film is unique in its time for its frank treatment of interracial relationships and sexuality.




A Man Named Adam (1966)
There are only a handful of big screen performances by Sammy Davis Jr., and most of them are not in starring roles. Here he is the lead as Adam Johnson, a self-indulgent, womanizing, alcoholic jazz trumpeter who tries the patience of everyone around him, as he is determined to dig himself even deeper into oblivion. Nobody likes an angry black man, and in 1965, with integration still a new concept in the country, he is liked even less.

But he has much to be angry and bitter about: the country's persistent divide on race relations, which have some welcoming him with open arms and others heaping him with abuse. This is a man sickened by the pressures of American race relations. As it turns out, he has even more of a reason to be an asshole: A racist incident that put him behind the wheel in a drunken car accident years before in which he lost his wife and young son. But Adam's wallowing in grief and anger causes him to bite every hand that is held out to him, including that of selfless non-violent civil rights activist Cicely Tyson, at her most gorgeous in a short natural and barely any makeup. Tyson's character tries hard to calm the storm raging inside of Adam, but he cannot contain his justifiable anger at the slights angled his way.

The flick is notable for the appearances of Lola Falana as a flight attendant pickup, Ossie Davis as Adam's friend, Good Times actors Ja'Net DuBois as a former girlfriend and Johnny Brown as a blind pianist, Rat Packer Peter Lawford as an agent, Louis Armstrong as a successful bandleader, Frank Sinatra Jr. as Adam's young trumpet protégé, and velvet-voiced jazzbo Mel Torme as ... Mel Torme. It's a bumpy film, an awkward snapshot of a man spiraling to certain self-destruction that no one seems to know how to stop. While the characters are left to cluck over the dirty shame that is Adam's life, the audience knows that even today this is a fate that too often befalls African American men.


William in Green Dolphin Street: "Got me a wife and kid -- granted, not the wife I intended to have, but who's quibbling?"

Green Dolphin Street (1947)
I'm a sucker for old-style melodramas, I guess because I try to keep my own emotions under wraps most of the time. The more dramatic a story, the more attuned I become. These type of films are only successful through careful direction and acting, and Green Dolphin Street definitely has those. This is a classic Hollywood book-to-film costume saga with star turns from Lana Turner, Van Heflin, Donna Reed, then-newcomer Richard Hart and a slew of stock Hollywood character actors like Gladys Cooper, Edmund Gwenn, Dame May Whitty, Frank Morgan, and Reginald Owen.

Set in 1840, starting in England's Channel Islands and ranging all the way to the South Seas, the story turns on one basic tragic mistake: a slip of the pen. To grasp the import of this, you really have to understand how limited communication was in those days -- without phones, international mail could take weeks or months to arrive -- and circumstances for both the writer and the recipient could change completely within that time. You also have to understand how few life choices there were for middle class white women (all women, really) in the 19th century. If a young woman married well -- into a family of wealth and or position -- she could expect to live a decent life. If she married poorly, she could be guaranteed a life of struggle but at least she would have her husband and children for company. If no suitor came along, the woman was destined to live at the whim of her family, to whom she was likely a financial burden, a source of public shame, and likely a servant/caretaker. The only other honorable choice was to devote herself to a life of service in the Lord. A single woman who dared to travel alone, have a career, or sample more than a few love affairs would have been considered at best low class or at worst, a common prostitute. To the merchant class of that time, a young woman had few options and the best was marriage.

The lively and lovely Patourel girls, Marianne and Marguerite, are in the market for a successful beau who can keep them in the style of their shipping magnate father. Both meet the handsome and rakish trader William Ozanne, and both are smitten. William has eyes for the good and humble Marguerite, and noting this, conniving Marianne convinces him to join the Navy to give her more time to work her charms on him. He enlists and soon leaves on a trading trip to China with the platoon but gets drunk, is rolled by locals, and misses his boat. Now MIA from the Navy, William has to make a run for it or face courtmartial and disgrace. He turns up in New Zealand, helping to colonize a tough landscape alongside his friend Tim Haslam. After bending everyone's ear about the love he left behind, Tim encourages him to write and propose marriage. In a drunken spree, William takes up paper and ink. Except he addresses the letter to the wrong sister!

Feisty and scheming Marianne is jubilant when she receives the letter. She defies her parents and sails off to the wilds of New Zealand, while her poor dejected sister surrenders herself to the local convent. When Marianne arrives, William is too noble/stupid/aghast to admit his mistake, and the two are soon married. They have to learn how to live together, work a lumber operation, get along with the local Maoris, not perish in the heat, and survive a spectacularly filmed earthquake and tidal wave (it won best special effects at the Oscars). As Marianne comes to know Tim Haslam better, she soon falls for him, even as she gives birth to William's child. She discovers soon enough that it was Marguerite William wanted all along, but they have made their bed and must lie in it. The irony is that not only did Marianne marry the wrong man for the wrong reasons, she is repeating the fate of her own mother, who chose the rich Octavius Patourel as a husband over the love of her life, Edmund Ozanne -- William's father. And in its final moments we get to see pictures of the saintly Marguerite, locked away in her nunnery, affirming to all that she is satisfied with the life given over to God.

How's that for a twisty story? Elizabeth Goudge, author of the original novel, actually won an MGM Writers Prize for best original story. And as a side note: The movie's haunting theme, titled "On Green Dolphin Street," has become an enduring jazz standard that has been recorded by dozens, including Miles Davis and Sarah Vaughan.