Shining A Light In The Corners: "Blindspotting"

Blindspotting
directed by Carlos Lopez-Estrada
starring Daveed Diggs, Rafael Casals, Janina Gavankar, Jasmine Cephas Jones


Blindspotting is a cinema love letter to How Things Used To Be.

Not just a love letter to how things used to be in Oakland, the setting for this film, but to every inner-city hood that is a mix of strife, heart, tragedy, beauty and humanity, where many came of age and many more are living still. Where friendships are forged and tried and tested and feel like family.

For black and brown people, Oakland has a long and storied cultural history in politics and the arts. It has long been ravaged by crime and overpoliced. Today, like many urban centers around the nation, it is being claimed by hipsters and gentrifiers. From the opening credits, where director Carlos Lopez-Estrada uses a split screen to juxtapose the past and the present, we see the good and the bad.

Blindspotting is also an examination of How We Used To Be. An examination of the time we had to grow the eff up, not give up our dreams necessarily but refine them. Everybody has to make that transformation. Remember your younger or more naive self, when you weren't exactly innocent, but were just old enough to think you knew everything? When you had decided who you were and who truly had your back? Often we are forced by circumstances to open our eyes to a much bigger picture. Often, those circumstances are sad, sudden, ironic, tragic; sometimes they are of our own making. Regardless, they mark us forever after.

Here's the thing: As uncomfortable as it is, change is unavoidable. Whether in ourselves, the people around us, or in our environment, nothing stays the same.

As you can tell, this movie got me all in my feelings.

Blindspotting centers on Collin (Tony and Grammy-winning Hamilton star Daveed Diggs), a 20something parolee living out the final days of his court-ordered probation period in a halfway house. Collin is trying to get back on his feet and stay out of trouble, since any infraction can put him back behind bars. He's rattled by the fact that his mother hasn't kept his bedroom available for him, hurt by his broken relationship with Val (Janina Gavankar), and profoundly haunted by witnessing a white police officer gunning down an unarmed black youth only days before his probation ends. He takes refuge in his relationship with his trigger-happy childhood friend, Miles (Rafael Casals), an Oakland-bred white boy who has settled down in the neighborhood with his black wife (Jasmine Cephas Jones, another Hamilton alum and daughter of This Is Us TV favorite Ron Cephas Jones) and their child. Miles, who also works at the moving company, lives life out loud, with a carefree heedlessness that Collin is discovering he can no longer afford.

We don't discover the details of what landed him in prison until mid-film, when it's related by a random stranger in a brilliant reenactment sequence that is simultaneously hilarious and horrific. "Tell me something, when you look at me now, do you see [that incident]?" Collin asks Val, his former girlfriend and the dispatcher at the moving company where he works. What's interesting is that, at this point in the film the audience sees the entire scope of what Collin is grappling with.

As written by stars Diggs and Casals, real-life long-time friends and erstwhile spoken word artists from Oakland, Blindspotting shows us the ways that Collin is being forced to truly examine his circumstances and make some choices in order to not just to move on with his life but move up. The movie is less than subtle in making points about the impact of police brutality, the criminalization of black men, staying true to one's roots, the parameters of friendship, gentrification of traditionally black neighborhoods, and how equality and tolerance can combust when non-blacks brought up within black culture face the confounding problems of white privilege within themselves. It also uses rap as a tool of expression for both characters, who like to trade rhymes and improve their flow when things on the job get slow.

Though it's a snapshot of current-day Oakland, Blindspotting shares more narrative DNA with films like John Singleton's 1991 drama Boyz N Tha Hood or 1995's Ice Cube comic opus Friday than it does with Sorry To Bother You, the ribald Oakland-set social satire that hit theaters earlier in July. Like Tre in Boyz and Craig in Friday, Collin is the voice of reason in a West Coast enclave of established relationships, cultural traditions, and social hierarchies, but he has to evaluate his place within that world and take responsibility for his own actions to become a better man. He has to identify and shine a light on those blind spots.

It's the compelling and emotional performance of Diggs as Collin as well as his natural chemistry with the exuberant and hotheaded Casals that make Blindspotting really click. Its visual imagery and narrative themes stayed with me long after I left the theater.


All photos are screen shots.
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Crazy, Brilliant, Awkward, Strange: "Sorry To Bother You" Is ... A Lot

Sorry To Bother You
directed by Boots Riley
starring LaKeith Stanfield, Tessa Thompson, Omari Hardwick, Danny Glover, Terry Crews, Armie Hammer, Jermaine Fowler

People of color are having something of a moment in the filmmaking arena. Further, Oakland-based actors, filmmakers and locations are experiencing a comeup. So I was chomping at the bit to see Sorry To Bother You. (That metaphor will be more apt once you see the film for yourself.) I was left feeling that this movie, for all of its groundbreaking story, visual virtuosity, unique characters, and cultural commentary, may have bitten off more than it can chew. This could have made a really interesting cable series, much like "Atlanta," in which star LaKeith Stanfield also appears. Sorry To Bother You is overstuffed with potent observances, visual jokes, surrealist setups, witty dialog, awkward humor, and jaw-dropping reveals. Honestly, I wasn't really ready. It's ... a lot. A LOT.

This first feature from Oakland writer, musician, and director Boots Riley is an absurdist, surreal meditation on capitalism, racism, classism, corporate greed, art as political commentary, media, technology, civil disobedience, black culture, and moral integrity. At least, these are the myriad ideas this mind blower of a film touches on at breakneck speed. Riley takes the time-honored plot about an everyman who makes something of a Faustian bargain and twists expectations, especially with the main character of Cassius Green, played by nerd savant LaKeith Stanfield. (Apparently some of Stanfield's eccentricities are not just on screen, according to a profile in the New York Times).

Here's a basic synopsis, but I'll let other reviewers attempt to explain the final third of the flick:

Mild-mannered Cassius lives in his uncle's garage, drives an ancient, patched-together economy car, and needs a job to catch up on rent. His free-form, woke girlfriend Detroit (Tessa Thompson) twirls signs and creates performance art on street corners for a living. Desperate for a job, Cassius bullshits his way into a miserable telemarketing sales gig. When his uncle Sergio (Terry Crews with hair) is threatened with losing their home, Cassius decides to take the advice of a fellow phone-room veteran, played by a gleefully loose Danny Glover, and soon becomes a sales star who is promoted to the lofty penthouse area where "power callers" make megabucks deals. And in a surreal visual delight, with every call, we see Cassius, his desk and headset land from the ceiling with a bang into the habitat of his customers -- in their kitchens, while they're on the toilet, while making love, into their office, while smoking a joint.

His secret, as anyone who has seen the trailers knows, is to use his "white voice" on the calls. This is really no secret to people of color working within the confines of corporate America, who often find themselves code-switching in different situations. But Sorry To Bother You takes the concept to its absurdist extreme -- so much so that the "white voices" used by Stanfield and his Power Caller idol, played by Omari Hardwick in an inexplicable bowler, eyepatch and muttonchop sideburns combo, are actually dubbed by white actors.

Our hero (whose whole name is basically "cash is green") is more than willing to fake it to make it, and once he drinks the Kool-Aid of the Power Caller lifestyle, which comes with a hefty paycheck, he doesn't care that he is actually selling slave labor to global corporations. With a hip new apartment and a luxury car, and having saved his uncle's home with a fat wad of green, Cash shrugs off the Upstairs/Downstairs moral quandary when the phone room staff erupts into a full-scale work stoppage to protest low wages and lack of benefits. His "I'm with you in spirit, but this has nothing to do with me" attitude -- not to mention his increasing use of the "white voice" at all times -- drives a wedge between himself and the strikers, most importantly his best friend Salvador (Jermaine Fowler), and worse, his girlfriend Detroit, who is being pursued by Squeeze (John Yeun), the phone room's strike organizer. With Cash and other Power Callers crossing the picket lines with armed escorts every day, Detroit labels Cash a "morally emaciated" scab and bounces. One of the funnier moments of the film is when newly entitled Cassius arrives to work and engages in a rapidly escalating war of compliments with Salvador. It's absurdist humor at its best, when "I hope you have a great year, brother" and "You smell great, what are you wearing?" are challenges as heated and threatening as any game of The Dozens.

Meanwhile, Cash proves so good at his Power Caller game that his mentor Mr. ___ (Hardwick) informs him that he's been summoned to a party at the home of the company's CEO, a douchebag young gun named Steve Lift (Armie Hammer) whose oft-protested Worry Free company is basically a modern-day slave plantation (and I could write another whole essay on this concept). Cash attends the party, which is a cross between every Hollywood-style excess mansion bash and a scene out of "Eyes Wide Shut." Goaded by Lift into rapping for the party, simply because he's black (this scene is awkward and painful, though some will find it funny) Cash is later summoned to Lift's inner sanctum, where Cash inadvertently stumbles across a horrifying scientific experiment, which I won't divulge. Cash is then forced by Lift -- at gunpoint --to consider a multimillion-dollar paycheck to work with this still-developing faction of Lift's empire.

At this point, Sorry To Bother You makes a sharp turn from social satire straight into sci-fi, and it may be a hard leap for some in the audience to make. It's a film where the amusing eccentricities, quirks, and weirdness of the plot finally pile up so high that by the last 20 minutes, Freak Fatigue may set in. For a movie billed as a comedy, somehow the laughs are far and few between; certainly there are hilarious moments, such as the aforementioned compliment war, the Power Callers' elevator gags, and Cash's brief experience in the private room of a local club. There are also several deeply disturbing scenes, as when non-rapper Cash is forced to rap for a party of white folks and resorts to chanting the n-word; when Detroit holds a gallery opening and invites attendees to pelt her near-naked body with sheep's blood, cell phones and bullet casings as a piece of performance art; and several scenes of extreme violence involving a fictional TV reality show and confrontations between the police and striking workers. And then there is that certain ... scientific program.

The visual design and cinematography of the movie are stellar; the framing, explosion of colors, and set design are remarkable. A shot of Cash driving through the neighborhoods on his way to work and to pick up his girlfriend, as well as the club scenes, give us a true sense of the sights and sounds of Oakland. Detroit's candy-colored hair and message earrings, Cash's increasingly dapper suits, the high-five montage of Cash celebrating sales with his phone room supervisor, the crash landings into client's spaces, and the headshot of Cash in the phone room framed against the copyroom window, behind which two employees are confounded by a paper-spewing copier, are just a few of the dazzling visual setups. And the film earns high marks for its soundtrack, with some of the songs provided by director Riley's band.

Sorry To Bother You has to be seen to be believed. Do I encourage you to see it? Yes. Stanfield, with his stooped uncertain posture and expressive eyes, gives a great performance. There is a lot to unpack here about a number of issues. But I wouldn't take young children. It's more of a dystopian cautionary tale than anything else. As with most protagonists in the I-sold-my-soul-but-I-want-it-back plotline, Cassius regains his moral fiber, takes back his power, and goes all out to make things right. But even as a happy ending is dangled before us, full of love and sunshine, the last scenes take a darker twist.

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