A simple charmer of a deep south gin house on the rocks. Mostly it sidesteps the possible insensitivities of mainsream cinema’s stylistic whitewash of what is, for all intents, still a race film. While these issues are given a place in the narrative, and are reconfirmed by the necessary clichés that imagine the America of the South such as the gospel church, the cotton pickers and the corrupt white law, they were de-emphasized and subsumed as the backdrop to the story of a man who has hit on hard times.
Tyrone (Danny Glover) runs Honeydrippers, an outskirts night spot for the local black community with a dated commitment to an aging Blues music culture that is losing patrons to another local juke-joint. Their customers are attracted by the vital sounds of the music played from the box, while Tyrone’s live music is going largely unheard. When he attempts to power up his own juke, he finds himself in for the shock and blackout of bad wiring. Electrification as a double for progress, as a potential for deception, and the bringing of a more personal light continues through the film, and the decaying state of Honeydrippers merely mimics his inner psychic state. As with most dramas, the transformation of space becomes the transformation of self.
Tyrone’s daughter China Doll (Yaya DaCosta) was well turned out as an attractive waif with big dreams, Maceo (Charles S. Dutton) was a far more charamatic business partner than Glover and I was more than a little pleased to see child-star Kel Mitchell (Nickelodeon ingénue of 1997s surreal Good Burger) looking as sweet as ever up on screen in a supporting role. There is a collection of excellent stills from the film on John Sayles flickr.
While the film rollicks along in a fairly unchallenging way, its appeal lies in its time and place, the evolution of a musical counter culture in America across the middle of the twentieth century. The audience is treated to the contrast of a number of typical musical renditions of the period, from the piano and performer traditions of Jazz and Blues, the vocal assemblies of gospel worship, as well as the percussive rhythms of electrified guitar and the coming of rock and roll. While none of the music in the film is particularly outstanding they are all musical genres that give me great pleasure to see historicized.
While it was an enjoyable watch for me, some far more transcendent renditions of these styles spring easily to mind.
The breathtaking sound of Mahalia Jackson accompanying to a funeral procession in Douglas Sirk’s Imitation of Life was one of my first introductions to what I would call true gospel singing. It began a long love affair not only with the genre, but also with its arguable master, Mahalia herself. It never fails to make me well up in tears.
I had the pleasure of walking into this scene in The Color Purple as a midday movie not to long ago. I had remembered the movie from along time before as somehow uncomfortable (which still found true for different reasons), but enjoyed it overall far more than I expected. This scene really drew me in not only with the amazing vocals of Shug Avery (Margaret Avery), who has something close to the effortless appeal of Erykah Badu’s best tracks, and the glamour-poverty fusion of space and costuming.
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