Review: "Dear White People"

Director: Justin Simien
Runtime: 100 minutes

"What's the big deal, we have a black president!" "Racism is over!"  "It was years ago! Move on!" "We live in a post racial society!" All of the above are statements that have been used to combat charges of modern day racism. We've all heard them. Hell, many of us have probably even used one at some point. Sometimes, they are used out of well intentioned ignorance. And other times, they're just a crappy cover for a desire to get away with saying something awful and pretend that racism in America was switched off like a light switch after the Civil Rights marches of the 60s. Dear White People, the feature debut of writer/director Justin Simien, is here to say otherwise. And even though his film - which started as a mock trailer for a film about modern race relations - has plenty of hallmarks of first time filmmaking, it's an uncommonly sharp and articulate take on an uncomfortable topic that many often wish to sweep under the rug. 

No doubt, the film's title got your attention. It should. Dear White People has something to say for everyone about identity, but above all it's a biting dissection of a perfect microcosm of socio-economic and racial privilege. Leading the charge of social change at Winchester College - the film's fictional Ivy League setting - is biracial student Sam White (Tessa Thompson), whose campus radio show is the source of the film's title. In it, she intelligently and sarcastically confronts the type of racial micro-aggressions that generally fly under the radar when it comes to pointing out racism. Example: "Dear White People, the number of black friends required to not seem racist has been razed to two." On top of this, she's recently been elected president of the campus' predominantly black dorm, heads the black student union, and is secretly involved with a charming T.A. Who happens to be white.  

Simien could easily just make the entire film about Tessa calling out ignorant or insensitive behavior, but his goal with Dear White People goes beyond a simple wake up call to our collective complacent mindset. Among Winchester's other notable residents are the strapping Troy Fairbanks (Brandon Bell) who's currently dating the white daughter of the school's president, Coco Conners (Teyonah Parris) an aspiring Youtube star living in Sam's shadow, and painfully shy Lionel (Tyler James Williams), who defines himself more by his sexual orientation than by his race. Dear White People is very much an ensemble piece, and its messages benefit immensely from this approach. 

As Simien's screenplay picks apart the emotional and ethical ambiguities of his characters, he turns Dear White People into a relate and universal experience. The surface conflicts may be about tensions between blacks and whites, but the way Simien's characters discuss image, race, and identity politics transcends the specifics of the story. He also deserves credit for integrating a concise lesson on the difference between racism and prejudice.

The racism vs. prejudice message comes from Sam, and as delivered by Ms. Thompson, it epitomizes the pithiness of Simien's writing. Of his young cast, it's likely that only Williams (from the sitcom Everybody Hates Chris) will look familiar, but all of the student roles are handled with aplomb. It's one thing to write good characters, and another to find people capable of bringing them to life. Simien and his casting director have done a superb job in this department. 

Thompson, whose role is closest to the film's own perspective, is especially effective at tackling Simien's serrated wit along with the film's genuine emotional core. Williams does a fine job of charting Lionel's growth from passive bystander to socially conscious leader, and Bell captures Troy's conflicting traits while maintaining consistency. Teyonah Parris also deserves special mention for elegantly portraying Simien's most ambiguous character. Coco (short for Colandrea, which she feels white people won't respect) is caught between wanting to exist as a black woman, yet also gives in to the idea that she should cater to what white peers expect her to be. If forced to choose between being herself and a shot at fame....well....it's hard to figure out exactly what choice she would make, and whether or not she'd feel a significant amount of regret. 

Through all of this, Simien never goes overboard with his social commentary or his attempts at humor. For a first feature, Dear White People is remarkably restrained. It's neither a condescending lecture nor a strained attempt to throw out jokes in favor of character development. When Simien's jokes arrive, they are carefully considered and impeccably-timed. Oh, and they're funny. Very, very funny. And when the film wants to make you uncomfortable? Well, it sure as hell succeeds at that. If you think the film's climactic "ghetto" themed party is cringe-inducing, just wait until you see the real-life examples cited in the end credits. There's a point where an attempt at satire becomes the very thing that it wishes to mock or undermine. By the end of Dear White People, you'll likely have the difference memorably etched into your brain as you squirm in your seat.

However, it ought to be noted that Simien the writer and Simien the director aren't always on the exact same page. Though there are some stylistic homages to the 70s and the early films of Spike Lee, Simien's execution is a bit too muted for its own good. The writing and acting are often enough to compensate, but Dear White People veers toward sluggishness despite the emotional dynamism displayed by the talented cast. And, as good as the the actors are in their roles, Phillip Bartell's editing doesn't always do them justice. Subplots are pieced together in ways that bring characters together for important moments which feel out of the blue. Williams is supposed to write a profile on Sam's student leadership, but does so mostly from afar. And then, all of the sudden, he's in her dorm room having a heart to heart, even though it feels like they've spent the whole movie on separate continents. 

These grievances, however, should not deter one from seeking out Dear White People as it begins opening this month. Issues of race are uncomfortable to deal with (that's putting it mildly). It's even tougher to deal with them elegantly. In Dear White People, Simien has announced that he's more than capable of carrying the torch as we chart our course through the 21st century. With a voice like Simien's, hopefully our navigation will start to finally improve.

Grade: B+

Review: "Sin City: A Dame to Kill For"

Director(s): Robert Rodriguez & Frank Miller
Runtime: 102 minutes

The over-stylized, faux-noir alleys of Frank Miller's Sin City stories may be treacherous, but few of them compare with the journey that it took to get a sequel to 2005's Sin City to the big screen. On and off for years, a second adaptation of Miller's work was in a constant state of almost being off of the ground. Alas, nothing quite took, even with names like Johnny Depp and Rachel Weisz attached at different times (remember when those names actually piqued your interest?). Yet somehow, even after nearly a decade of waiting, the world of Sin City still holds a tiny bit of cinematic appeal. Co-directed by Robert Rodriguez and Miller himself, Sin City: A Dame to Kill For may be running on fumes, but those fumes still hold a mindless, pulpy allure.

Functioning as both a prequel and sequel (kind of), A Dame to Kill For is as visually outlandish as its predecessor, even though the technique (monochrome with selective use of color) isn't even remotely fresh by this point. When Marv (an especially rough-looking Mickey Rourke) kicks off the movie with overwrought voiceover work, it's clear that no one here is aiming for the realm of high art. For all of its visual flourishes (some of them quite dazzling), Sin City is as crude and campy as its characters. At its best and worst, A Dame to Kill For embodies the spirit of its source material.

Yet even though nothing about the film feels fresh, the mix of old and new cast members are often able to make their mark amid all of the visual chaos. Josh Brolin, taking over Clive Owen's character from the original, makes a stoic hardboiled anti-hero, albeit without the sort of grimy, rakish charm that Owen brought to the role. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is also quite solid as a cocksure young gambler, even though his best scenes find him facing off against meatier performances. Returning members Roarke and Powers Boothe (as a villainous senator), especially the latter, are still having fun in their over-the-top roles. And, of course, it's still fun to see Rosario Dawson smirk and fire off a few rounds, even as she's given basically nothing else to do.

But when it comes to having fun, no one is having a better time than new addition Eva Green as the film's titular dame. In her second long-delayed comic book sequel of the year (after 300: Rise of an Empire), the actress puts even the visual effects to shame when it comes to theatricality. Her casting as an extreme version of a femme fatale is already spot on, and watching Green shift her voice (breathy damsel, husky temptress) and her always camera-ready face while playing men off of each other captures all that a Sin City movie should be: outrageous, sleazy, twisted, seductive, and darkly funny. 

And, if Dame was all about Brolin and Green's story, it would make for a fun, disposable piece of entertainment. Where the film loses its way is in its awkward structure. Like the first film, Dame involves several interlocking stories. However, this time around everything is compartmentalized. We get intros to two major plot threads before Brolin and Green's kicks in and runs through to its conclusion, which then leaves two more stories that have a middle and end. 

Not helping matters is that the first complete story is also the best on all fronts. By the time narrative thread #3 arrives (involving Jessica Alba's stripper Nancy and her struggles with alcoholism and revenge), the film's initial fumes have started to wear off. With smarter structure, A Dame to Kill For could have escalated to a spectacular finale with plenty of room to play around with chronology. The film already has one location - the dive bar where Nancy dances - designed as a narrative hub, yet it only makes minimal usage of this set up. The film doesn't exactly wear out its welcome, but it does feel like it's in need of some rearranging so as to make sure none of the main stories are left feeling like filler.

Even at its lowest level, at least A Dame to Kill For offers something different compared to the usual comic book/graphic novel fare. The noir influence is backed up more by the style than the substance, but it lends the film the chance to dive into decades-old narrative tropes with an anarchic energy that, at the very least, acts as a fresh coat of paint. Underneath all of that gloss may be something old and rusted, but it's still eye-catching when the light hits it just right.

Grade: C+