Darktown Strutters

Also known as Get Down and Boogie, this funked up female biker comedy continues to boogle the mind. When the a beautifully badassss biker gang roll into town they find that their leader’s mother has disappeared. She’s not the only person missing. Many prominent Afro-Americans have vanished and its up to Syreena and her gang of sequin spangled, motorcycle mammas to solve the case. In order to get to the bottom of disappearances Syreena and crew must deal with racist, bungling cops, dirt bike riding klansmen, and a Colonel Sanders clone who runs the local rib joint.

George Armitage tackles blaxploitation in this second feature, sort of. It’s hard to qualify this female biker flick as blaxploitation. It certainly exploiting black culture, but it feels so very different than the films that made the genre infamous. Less violent and more comical, Darktown Strutters appears to be a very misguided social satire that looks to send-up every stereotype in the book. Some how this is supposed to make things better. Perhaps George Armitage and the film’s director, William Witney, feel that laughter is the best form of medicine. Remember this was years before Patch Adams proved it wasn’t.

For those film fans who like sterile films that don’t push certain buttons, Darktown Strutters is the wrong film. Hamfisted, Darktown Strutters, smashes away at every politically uncorrect topic in the book. Yet, there is a plausible sense of forward thinking present in the film. The protagonists are all black women, fully in charge of their own bodies. Black males are seen as horny, wimpish, fools and white males are portrayed even worse – racist, sexist fools. As great as this sounds that does not prevent the film from some rather questionable calls. Lines like, “It’s rape, you have to go asking for it,” are so shocking that you aren’t sure if you should laugh or cry, not because it’s Syreena, the heroine of the film making this foolish statement, but because Armitage and Witney felt the film was better for having the line.

If you don’t laugh at the misguided moments in Darktown Strutters, if you try to deny the lunacy of the film, and or if you place yourself above it all you will likely give yourself a heartattack. The brutual attack brought on by this cranium crusher is just too much to brush aside. Trying to rationalize the film will only lead to an aneurysm. Laughter is just a healthy release. And, at every turn this film’s outlandish attempts to generate laughter through very off-color jokes is astounding. Mixed into the mess of tasteless humor are visual gags straight out of Benny Hill. Sped-up motion, food fights, and outrageous costumes bombard the senses. Each scene feels like a sketch, with the action building to a grand finale. Along the way, jokes are tossed about, few connecting, many generating groans. The general attack plan seems to be – throw in everything and the kitchen sink and see what works. No idea appears to be too outlandish to not commit to film. When the film’s villain finally appears in a bright pink pig costume, with a flowing white cap the gloves are off, but by this point in the film one has almost come to expect anything…Almost. There are still more surprises before the film’s end that are sure to surprise even the most perceptive viewer.

Darktown Strutters is comedic anarchy. This term often gets applied to work by folks such as the Marx Brothers, but their humor was always well planned and rehearsed. The humor in Darktown Strutters feels like true anarchy, as if no one was in control of the production, as if everyone on the crew was free to toss of a suggestion. By films end the entire production feels much like a story told by passing around a piece of paper and letting each student write a sentence or two. Trying to guess what will happen next isn’t even worth the effort. It’s best to just sit back in awe and try not to choke on your popcorn or guess what sort of damage a person has to do to their mind to come with with insanity like Darktown Strutters.

Gas-s-s-s

Fully known as Gas-s-s-s, or It May Become Necessary to Destroy the World in Order to Save It this free spirited counter culture comedy stands as Roger Corman’s second to last picture as a director. The times were a changin’ and Corman’s brand of low-budget horror was no longer as marketable. He had ventured into psychedelia with The Trip, but that wasn’t satire. Gas-s-s-s was targeted at the same tuned-out minds, but with a sense of humor. The only trouble is the jokes don’t connect. If the answer to Corman’s troubles was floating in the wind, it floated right on by. What he delivers instead is a faux flower child day dream where everyone over 25 is quickly killed off by a chemical gas accidentally released by the Pentagon.

The freaks have inherited the Earth, but an adultless world is no utopia as divergent factions of left-behind youth for control of the future. A band of hippies lead by Coel (Robert Corff) decide to make their way to see “The Oracle” who lives near a commune in New Mexico. Along the way Coel and his band of merrymen and women – who include Bud Cort, Taila Shire, Ben Vereen, and Cindy Williams – run into cowboys to rustle used cars, militaristic football squads, and even God himself. God has a very Jewish accent, which sort of makes sense. The troupes travels finally lead them to their new Garden of Eden where a final show down between the new aged peacelovers and the shoulder padded warmongers breaks down into a dumbfound finale that delivers no clear ending.

That the film is so scatter shot, bouncing from one gag to the next, is partially due to the loss of editorial control that Corman suffered in post-production. Even so, it’s hard to imagine this film making much sense if Corman had been given final cut. The troubles start with the script. Armitage wobbles between two or three worlds. First, you have the world of youth culture films. Whether or not Armitage understood what kids of 1971 really wanted is highly questionable. His overt hipness feels extremely dated by today’s standards and it’s a good guess that the jive attitude, drug induced visuals, and au courant lingo would have felt forced even in 1971. Armitage’s hippies are as related to real hippies as Maynard G. Krebs was related to the Beat authors. Armitage also oversteps his own limits by attempting to infuse Gas-s-s-s with a wild Godardian blend of pop-culture and politics. The aftermath of Gas-s-s-s is eerily similar to the wrecked world of Godard’s 1967 picture Weekend, but with none of the intellectual weight.
Finally, Armitage tries to use gags, not plot point to push the story along. This turns a quest story into an elongated episode of Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. Most of the gags now feel dated or disastrous. At best one has to hope that original audiences were so stoned that they would have laughed anyways, as it is nearly implausible to think of anyone not under the influence to find much amusement in this picture.

So, what is good about Gas-s-s-s? Well, it’s a real head scratcher, that’s what. From today’s perspective one can either be thankful for Nancy Reagan’s war on drugs or you can start to ask yourself, “Thirty years from now are films how will we feel about today’s comedic films?” Few, if any of today’s mainstream comedies are as unconstrained as this film. Whether this is a good or bad, I am not sure. Comedies today are run-of-the-mill, fish out of water stories or capitalistic salvation stories pitting the wealthy against the weird. New Hollywood’s addiction to drug altered lives has been replaced with an addiction for money. No one is willing to make a film as wild as this, for fear of a loss at the box office. Sadly, that means Gas-s-s-s maybe your only chance to see hippies and cowboys sling the names of western actors at one another rather than brandish weapons. That’s right, Lee Van Cleef can wing you, but John Wayne will rip right through your heart. Other nonsense you won’t see today – a country club over run by bikers in golf carts, a chase scene on heavy construction machinery, fascists football players in dune buggies, and Country Joe and the Fish. Honestly, Country Joe’s appearance as A.M. Radio is rather good, compared to the rest of the film. And, I normally hate hippie rock. Perhaps my hatred stems from ignorance or misunderstand, but Gas-s-s-s is just one of those films that makes you wonder what the fuck passed for entertainment during the Age of Aquarius.

Sideways

I finally broke down and watched this much beloved, much ballyhooed Spirit Award winning film Sideways. My question – Do I ask too much of cinema?

1) This is independent? Of what?
Okay, the budget was less than a 100 million dollars and the actors are not household names, but does that make a film independent or just minor league? The director is decent, a little flash at times with some split screens and some questionable edits, but this is nothing I couldn’t find on a television commercial. The plot, while at times carrying great potential to break free from expected formulaic devices, often loses track of itself and its intent. The subject matter of wine, could you get more trendy? The spirit of this film is not that independent. It’s triple A, slugging Hollywood box office stats at best. And by the way, the Spirit Awards are just Oscar night dressed down. Nothing in competition doesn’t come with a million dollar deal. Independent Film – R.I.P.

2) Whatever happened to Steve McQueen?
When did men stop being men and when did they star being schlubs or overgrown adolescents? Paul Giamatti has played great schlubs before, especially in American Splendor, but this softer, cuddlier version of a modern, depression dwelling, pill-popping divorcee is pathetic. Sensitive, cultured, and introspective to the point of despair is no way to go through life, yet it seems to be a very common path these days. The alternate road is no gold highway. Thomas Haden Church at least does an admirable job of capturing the goofy arrested development that now constitutes manhood. The Maxim magazine lifestyle is about one degree different than the fantasy life of most 13 year old boys. Mix fascination for cars, girls, and irresponsibility with a metrosexual desire to appear as if you’ve only broken a sweat in a gym and you have the supposed modern man, but it’s a far cry from the gruff Steve McQueen allure that attracted women and made men envious of his coolness.

3) NPR needs some new cliches.
In some ways the wine-tasting, Bela Fleck listening, David Sedaris reading lifestyle is a leg up on PBR swigging, Skynard rockin’, Hustler reading lifestyle, but the NPR lifestyle has become a parody itself. Desperately, trying to remain hip to adult fads and trends is no better than making sure you listened to the same music and shopped at the same stores as all your high school friends did. I don’t mean to ridicule the news elements of NPR, but culturally speaking it as painted itself into a corner. Without realizing it, all these free thinkers have now found it hard to have free thought unless they get it from Morning Edition or Fresh Air. It’s no wonder that this movie got most of its world of mouth thanks to the NPR. It’s a great wonder that none of these educated listeners were able to see the cliches that filled this film. Then again it’s easier to go with a declared winner than to find one on your own.

4) On and Off Again
There were many times I nearly threw in the towel. There were many times I thought this film would save itself. It fluctuated between great and bad like few recent films I have seen, but the biggest problem came in the director’s lack of focus. For a while it’s about the two male friends. Then it’s about their relationships with the females they meet. Then it’s about wine. Then it’s about something else. The film falls to pieces more than once, dropping sub-plots left and right, only to pick them up later when another idea runs its course. Add to this the director’s decision to spice up the film with some visual bursts that make no cinematic sense and do not help the story or his occasional lapse into over-the-top tough posturing, you know “guy talk” that sounds totally phony coming from his two main characters. As a whole this film was never fully “on”. Yet, it seemed to keep most people engaged, even garnering a ton of praise. In my eyes it was sloppy. Perhaps, sloppy equals different than Hollywood, equals independent, equals good.

5) That damn analogy
Spoiler here: but since I was the last person in America to see this film, what am I spoiling? The middle school worthy analogy that the main character makes between himself a type of whine is one of the worst “deep” moments I’ve seen in ages. In verbose terms the character pussyfoots around the obvious. In describing his favorite variety of wine he describes himself – difficult, hard to appreciate, in need of someone with great taste. Gag! I know this film was adopted from a book so I don’t know if the beatings should begin with the authors of the book, the director of the films, or the film critics who did not call this out as being purely cornball.

I know I’m the dissenting voice speaking out against a Goliath of a film. But like wine, let this one age. Years from now it will seem like a silly time capsule, a love note to the new millennium schlub and that wine fad of ’04.