Baadasssss!: Review By B. Alan Orange

Hell Mission Statement #MMIII: BAADASSSSS!

(Warning: This review is very self-serving and doesn’t extrapolate too much on the actual film itself. Also; it’s long and boring. If you came here for a breakdown of events and a serious amount of theoretical backbone, please read Roger Ebert’s review at: www.suntimes.com. His is right on the money and a lot better than mine could ever hope to be. The most knowledge you’ll extract from the hundred or so paragraphs below is: Go see this film. It is awesome.)

“When the TV won’t work. And your toys fall apart. And you have a sad feeling deep in your heart. And you want to go outside?|But it’s raining out there?|I want you to know?|I care.??

But I don’t. It’s like this fading resentment towards wrought iron fences. The only reason I’m mad at them is because they keep me from obtaining my goal. It’s a small goal. Inconsequential to the inner-workings of the World. A half-drank can of Oly beer that I only presume to be disease free. Cause I saw it being sipped on by my hot neighbor. She’s an eight. Maybe a 7 in the bright sunlight. Consider it: Still drinkable. My hand barely squeaks past those bars. Doesn’t matter. That aluminum prize is still an inch or two out of reach. I’m being refused this succulent treasure.

I have come to hate that fence. But listening to Tom T. Hall (the proprietor of those lovely caring lyrics above) in the car, parked in the driveway, nowhere to go, I realize I’m being stupid. It’s not the fence’s fault. It’s been stuck into that ground against its own accord. It’s just there, doing its job. This inorganic organism isn’t aware of my supercilious quest for a warm, tainted beverage. It can’t think. It doesn’t know me, or have anything against me. But still, I abhor that mother f’in’ fence.

Yup. That’s me. I’m stupid. Sometimes, out of some idiosyncratic need to loathe anything within sight distance, I will project unnecessary feelings toward inanimate objects. This includes most actors. Too me, the creature known as the stage and, or screen, thespian is just that. Furniture. Set dressing. A backdrop with a mouth and moving limbs. I don’t know these “people??. They don’t really seem to be people at all. I shouldn’t hold any type of personal grief or feelings of an undue nature towards them. But I often times find myself doing just that. I begrudge a lot of the so-called talent that continuously consumes my disposable income. I’m not going to sit here and name them. If you’ve ever heard me spit unkindly in the direction of this website, you might know some of the hacktors that I despise.

Though, I will tell you that Mario Van Peebles was very high on this sh*t list, worked up in a cold sweat and sold through with inertia. I absolutely despised the c*cksack. I swore to myself that I would never see any of his movies. I’d turn him off as soon as he came on my TV. Why? Well, for a really stupid, stupid reason that has absolutely nothing to do with Mario as an individual, or a real, breathing human being seen away from the screen. You’re wrong if you think it’s because he shat-up Clint Eastwood’s otherwise glorious Heartbreak Ridge. Granted, Mario is a little hard to digest while watching Clint’s 1986 directorial f*ck-em up. But his ‘Stitch’ character grew on me (I liked that Eastwood half-ripped his lower earlobe off midway through the picture).

Anyway. My problem with the younger Van Peebles came a few years later. You see?|

Mario inadvertently got me thrown in jail.

Yes, he did. To this day he doesn’t know this. Nor would he care. But I did my time in the name of Peebles. It was the Summer of ’96. My dear friend, a female, kept whispering how desperately in love she was with Mr. Van Peesie. That’s all I heard, “Mario, Mario, Mario!!!?? For her birthday, I bought her a VHS copy of Posse (though, I’ve never seen it; nor has she for that matter). Still. It wasn’t enough to feed her insatiable Van-flesh consuming appetite. She needed more of his hard body. So my bald-headed friend Teebz and I decided to cruise the local Medford Theater late one simmering Solstice night to retrieve her a very sexy surprise.

You guessed it.

We hoped out of that car, fast. A giant screwdriver went behind locked glass with a pop. Me and Teebz; we sprang a half-dozen one-sheets from their florescent time in lockdown. The most important prize pulled from that trip? A two-sided, 27x40 theatrical advertisement for the late-Summer surprise bomb SOLO. Starring Mario Van Peebles (again, to this day, neither me, nor my friend, nor Teebz, have seen this gloriously horrendous robotic blaxploitation flick). It was the only poster I cared about retrieving that muggy August night. Why? Because I thought it would make my friend really (really, really) happy (later I would find out that she didn’t even want the damned thing at all, having fallen head-over-heels in love with Movieweb’s own Webmaster B.; who by the way is, quite honestly, the mirror image of Mario Van Peebles sans the mocha-flavored skin pigmentation).

Well, Teebz and I hurriedly gathered those one-sheets into a pile, rolling them up in unison. We then made a mad dash for my car. Unbeknownst to us, a Trucker sitting in the cab of his Semi, enjoying a midnight lunch, saw our heinous deed and called the local sheriff’s office. We jumped past the concrete curb of the Movies 4 and ran smack dab into the front of a cop car.

Teebz and I were booked on a Misdemeanor charge. For stealing a SOLO poster. We went to jail. We then went to court on a plea bargain. Instead of serving 31 days behind small town county bars, we were ordered to work 80 hours of community service. Which we did at the Medford Airport. We also had to take a lie detector test. We were ordered to write down a list of everything we’d ever stolen. And pay the state back in exchange for anything we might have shoplifted in the last six years. Then we had to answer questions in direct response to that list. If they caught us lying, we faced sixty days in jail or more. All this for something I could buy off the Internet for $2.99. But Ebay wasn’t around back in 1996.

This was a ridiculous Hell. After the SOLO ordeal, I swore to myself that I would never, ever see or endorse anything starring or made by Mr. Mario Van Peebles ever again. Sure, I had no one but myself to blame for doing something as seriously stupid as stealing, of all things, a poster for the movie SOLO. Didn’t matter. I decided to place all the internal shame I was feeling on Mario. If he hadn’t of been so audacious as to choose that script. That project. I would have never been found by the cops in that movie theater parking lot. If it wasn’t for his toned, naked chest swinging from that rope, his muscular hand gripping that machine gun, I never would have gone to jail. Damn him. F*ck him. And his stupid robot movie. It was his fault and his fault alone that I owed the State of Oregon a thousand dollars worth of fines.

Since 1996, I’ve stayed pretty close to my guns. I wouldn’t even watch Heartbreak Ridge anymore, and I think Clint Eastwood is cooler than Godzilla. That’s the only movie of Clint’s I don’t own on DVD. Well, low and behold, 8 years later, here comes Webmaster B. with a serious request. Hearing him ask the question was like being asked to submit to oral cancer for drill testing, “Hey, Orange, I want you to check out this new BAADASSSSS! movie.??

“Isn’t Mario Van Peebles in that, and didn’t he direct it too???

“Yes.??

“I can’t do it. Asking me to see a Mario Van Peebles movie is like asking a recovered alcoholic to go to Cancun for a two week Tequila bender.??

“Oh, quit being such a c*ckass drama queen (actually, he didn’t use those words; he said something closer to peanut butter and jelly cause he’s a Saint). It’s your own fault that you stole that poster. It’s your own fault that you got caught. My wife didn’t even want that stupid thing. Buck up and unlock your front door. You’re going to the theater whether you like it or not.??

I obeyed his stern order. I went. I sat in my seat, secretly hating the man to death (Van Peebles, not Webmaster B.). Under my breath, I whispered, “Mario, I’d rather be shot in the face than hear what you’ve got to say.?? But I decided to listen anyway. F*ck. I didn’t even know what this movie was supposed to be about. BAADASSSSS! What kind of stupid name is that for a movie?

Cut to: Two hours later. My whole perception of Mario Van Peebles as a person has done a three-sixty. Right now, this very second, SOLO aside, I’ve got nothing but the utmost respect for both Mario, and his father, Melvin. BAADASSSSS! is hands-down the best film I’ve seen this year. I loved every minute of it. It’s true edutainment, heavy emphasis on the “tainment.?? A fun flick that is as moving and emotional as it is hilarious and enjoyable to watch. Only now do I realize how stupid I was for hating on Mr. Van Peebles. He’s given us a great cinematic gift here. And to all those complainers that gripe about how horrible most theatrical fodder is nowadays, if Soul Plane, or Garfield, rack up more at the box office than this sweet sucker right here, you all deserve a swift kick in the dick. And I will personally fly out to your house and give it to you in the crotch a couple of nut-crunching times with a hammer. Especially if I find out you supported some other piffled Summer offering while declining a ticket to BAADASSSSS!

Yes. It is that good.

Get off your lazy asses and check this out. Now.

I couldn’t believe it myself. I yawned and quickly wished it away before it even had a chance to start. But within a minute, I was hooked on BAADASSSSS! like some sort of back alley drug. Even though I’m a huge fan of Lloyd Kaufman’s Terror Firmer, and was entranced by Tim Burton’s Ed Wood (the only Burton film I really like a lot), I’ve got to say that this ode to the Sweetback mythos is probably the best movie about making a movie ever handcrafted for our eternal enjoyment. Sure, there aren’t too many. And most of them are bad. But out of the few honorable nominees, this takes the catering table. And I sure hope to God someone remembers it at Oscar time.

BAADASSSSS! features Mario playing his own dad, Melvin, in what some are calling a labor of love, and others are calling nothing short of brilliant. It centers on the elder Van Peebles’ odious and grueling journey to get, not only the first “blaxploitation?? flick, but also one of the first Independent features ever, too the screen. Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song was Melvin’s labor of love. A black film that sang to its intended audience. Something that had never been achieved, or seen, before. His quest to get this low budget epic made and into any theater at all is an opus within itself, and Mario does both stories proud.

If his only intended goal was to get more people to check out his dad’s previous work, then he did his job. And I guess that’s the biggest compliment I could ever pay him. After watching BAADASSSSS!, I had too (not wanted too, but had too) run down to Best Buy and snag a copy of Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song for myself. I can’t really compare the two films structurally. Though, if you haven’t seen Sweetback, I’d wait and watch BAADASSSSS! first. It will mean more to you, emotionally, to see the struggles Van Peebles Senior went through while making Sweetback before actually sitting down to watch his 1971 cinematic breakthrough.

Having just watched the earlier film, I can tell you that it’s very weird. Almost an artistic statement rather than a linear project seen for entertainment’s sake alone. Not having seen BAADASSSSS!, or not knowing anything about Sweetback’s tumultuous past, I may have just written Sweetback off as a goofy 70s experiment in black expressionalistic filmmaking. But speaking thematically, it is about bringing a cultural experience to mass media that hadn’t previously been explored. And that’s what it shares with its successor. Both projects are about showing a “black experience?? that has gone overlooked by those in charge of dolling out production checks. Albeit, in different ways?|

Sweetback spoke to an oppressed community. BAADASSSSS! does the same thing, yet in a stylistically optimistic way. The first film showed the black man’s point of view. His struggle against authority. A movie like that had never been made. Here, today, that movie has been done a million times over. So, instead, BAADASSSSS! deals with the type of “black?? experience that isn’t getting made in our current economic climate. It supports the real essence of family, and relationships. It shows that “black?? filmmakers can make the same types of dramatic fare as “white?? folks. That the “black?? filmmaking experience isn’t all about gang banging and Bar-B-Ques. It proves that, much like Melvin’s real life Sweetback crew, which was made up of all ethnicities, a movie like BAADASSSSS! can pull in an audience made-up of all creeds. This film helps show that black filmmakers can get past their branded stereotype and make films for everyone, not just “colored folk.?? Mario is trying to progress the idea and concept of the black filmmaker. His intended goal is to show that he can be multi-cultural in his artistic expressions while maintaining a predominantly black cast.

I guess, all I can say to that is, I’m a white guy, and I enjoyed the f*cking sh*t out of his movie. I’ll probably see it again in the theater. No?|I’ll defiantly go see it again in the theater. Possibly even an evening show. At the Arc Light. Can’t you see what I’m saying? This film is worth fifteen bucks. And another twenty when it comes out on DVD. And I have a feeling that, yes, it will appeal to most demographics as “A STORY.?? Not a black story. Not a white story. Not a Chinese story. Just a story?|

Having worked behind the scenes of a lot of Independent films, I’d say, from the crowded production meetings in the living room, to utilizing Fire Trucks that show up on scene, to the lack of catering, that this is the truest depiction of the DIY film esthetic ever put before a camera (Living in Oblivion tried, but that project is filled with major flaws). Still, at its beating heart, it’s much more than that. It’s also about a strained relationship between a father and a son. A relationship that was almost non-existent before Sweetback went into production. Mario doesn’t hold back on this paternal excavation. He lets his dad’s light shine from a very real place. And you have to admire that. He never builds his father up to be anything more than he was; nor does he p*ssyfoot with Melvin’s aggressive behavior. He stays very true to the nature of Melvin’s acutely genuine personality. If you watch the elder Van Peebles in an interview, or in the making-of on the Sweetback DVD, you get a sense that Mario perfectly captured his father’s stanch aura.

Yes. Once, I loathed the presence known as Mario Van Peebles. For no other reason than misplaced emotions. It’s easy to hate someone you only know through the screen. And I don’t give in too easily. I like to hold a grudge. “Stay Angry?? instead of “Stay Hungry?? has always been my motto. But here I sit, at the breach of 2004’s Summer Movie Season. And Mario is the only one who, thus far, has been willing to throw me a life-support buoy. He has literally swung down from a rope, just like he did on that SOLO poster, and singly handedly saved my movie-going persona. The beast that lives inside my chest will now trudge through The Day After Tomorrow, Garfield, and Around the World in 80 Days. Why? Because Mario has given me hope that I may yet live to see another worthwhile motion picture.

Thank you, Mario Van Peebles, for playing the way you played.

Everyone else claiming to be a director right now can pick a piss biscuit from the urinal with their teeth and suck out that sweet yellow nectar. “SUCK IT THROUGH A STRAW!?? You’re nothing but a bunch of money grubbing hacks, and I can’t hack it.

Goodbye.

Oh, and James Graves, f*ck you, man. I’m out.