Straight Outta Compton

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: F. Gary Gray/Starring: Paul Giamatti, O'Shea Jackson Jr., Corey Hawkins, Jason Mitchell, Neil Brown Jr. and Aldis Hodge

Back in the mid-to-late 80s' and early 90s', a hip-hop group known as N.W.A. emerged as a force in the music industry. Out of Compton, California, the group's hard-hitting, gritty lyrics about the dangerous life of the streets and their crude denunciation of police brutality and intimidation stimulated record sales but also earned them notoriety and the enmity of law enforcement nation-wide. In spite of the group's relatively brief existence, their legendary status has helped make them the subject of director F. Gary Gray's electrifying new film Straight Outta Compton.

The story begins in the mid-80s', when the Crips and Blood gangs waged mutual war in Compton and other black neighborhoods in L.A. The violence was further escalated by the L.A. police, who bullied and brutalized blacks with impunity.

In this seething cauldron of hostility were a group of young Compton men: Eric Wright, A.K.A Easy-E, Andre Young, A.K.A. Dr. Dre, Antoine Carraby, A.K.A. DJ Yella, O'Shea Jackson, A.K.A. Ice Cube and Lorenzo Patterson, A.K.A. MC Ren, who came together to form the rap group N.W.A. (Niggaz Wit Attitude). Prior to the group's formation, the individual members performed locally at clubs. Dr. Dre honed his DJ'ing skills in dance clubs while Ice Cube wrote and performed his own material.

As the various talents joined creative forces, the N.W.A nucleus coalesced with Dr. Dre's DJ expertise, Ice Cube's lyrics and Easy-E's on-stage presence. In time, N.W.A. drew the attention of businessman Jerry Heller (an excellent Paul Giamatti), who cajoled Easy-E into becoming the band's manager.

Heller is soon made privy to the discrimination blacks suffered from L.A. police. In a particularly affective scene, we see the group standing on the sidewalk, outside the studio where they've taken a break from recording their first album. A cop car pulls up, followed by another. The cops harass the group; asking them why they happen to be in the neighborhood. The group explains themselves, to no avail, until the police humiliate them by making the group lay on the pavement. Heller steps out to see the ugly scene developing and protests vigorously. The cops, unconcerned with basic civic rights violations, force the group back into the studio after Heller threatens legal action. It is plain to see how the group's antipathy for law enforcement, which is entirely justifiable, fueled their lyrics.

Following the release of N.W.A.'s landmark hip-hop album; Straight Outta Compton the band seizes on their nation-wide popularity to embark on a tour. Their controversial song; Fuck the Police, draws criticism from law enforcement and the media, who accuse the group of fomenting anti-police sentiment. In a particularly stirring scene, we see the group sitting before members of the Detroit police force before a concert. The head of the police warns--threatens--the group that a performance of their song will result in arrests. In an inspired act of disobedience, the group says-in unison-"Fuck the police." Anticipating trouble, members of the police stand in the audience. Ice Cube (portrayed by the Ice Cube's son O'Shea Jackson Jr; hence the uncanny resemblance), rails against police harassment before the band kicks into a rousing version of their song. The concert soon devolves into chaos as the police approach the stage, seeking arrests while the band escape to their tour buses, only to be met by the rest of the Detroit police force.

In another scene, we see the group sitting before the press corps, answering questions about N.W.A.'s putatively violent lyrics. Ice Cube defends the band's lyrics; contending the violence is merely a reflection of what they see everyday.

But the film isn't merely about the social conditions that inspired N.W.A.'s message; the film is also about the problems that plague most musical groups when they find success; namely, mutual distrust, jealousy and resentment. As Easy-E (Jason Mitchell) and Heller form a close working relationship, Dr. Dre (Corey Hawkins), Ice Cube, DJ Yella (Neil Brown Jr.) and MC Ren (Aldis Hodge) find their chummy business partnership suspect. Further cracks in the foundation form when Suge Knight (R. Marcos Taylor), the group's bodyguard, becomes involved in N.W.A. affairs.

Before long, Ice-Cube leaves the group; his frustration with Jerry and the group having reached its peak, and sets out on his own. Confident Ice-Cube's solo venture will fail, N.W.A. forges on, secure in their belief that they can manage without his biting lyrics. To N.W.A.'s dismay, Ice-Cube's album is a success and his alienation from his former group prompts the remaining members to snipe at him in their songs, which prompts a swift reprisal.

But Ice-Cube's success doesn't come without its own problems, for he discovers the head of the record company has cheated him on royalties. A subsequent scene where Ice-Cube makes an eloquently aggressive plea with a baseball bat in the executive's office is both amusing and a little scary.

Meanwhile, Dr. Dre and Suge Knight form the infamous Death-Row Records; a successful venture that netted talent such as D.O.C, the legendary Tupac Shakur and Snoop Dogg. But trouble is always nigh, for Dr. Dre discovers that Suge Knight has created a culture of violence around the label. We see their offices become a haven for dog-fighting and all manner of boisterous revelry, which tries Dr. Dre's patience. Dr. Dre also learns that Suge himself is given to violent episodes. When Suge discovers a man has parked in his space, he beats him savagely; much to the horror of Dr. Dre, who witnesses the assault. Suge's thuggish behavior extends to the business world, where he and his associates beat-up Easy-E in an effort to coerce him into releasing Dr. Dre and the other N.W.A members from their contracts.

In time, Easy-E realizes that Jerry Heller is less than trust-worthy and dissolves their partnership. In financial free-fall, Easy-E hatches a plan to reunite the members of N.W.A., which other members of the group agree to eagerly. But before the plan bears fruit, Easy-E learns he is HIV; a diagnosis that carries a swift death sentence.

I found F. Gary Gray's film to be quite compelling. He keeps the drama simmering when it doesn't boil and it is easy to be drawn into a story told so well. Of course a powerful story like N.W.A.'s needs screen-scribes who know their way around the material, which writers Jonathan Herman and Andrea Berloff handle with aplomb. This isn't a lurid, VH-1 Behind the Music melodrama but a film that reaches for authenticity. The violent world N.W.A. raps about is never far from their doorsteps, which the film effectively dramatizes. The Rodney King incident, which seems inevitable, given the L.A. police's history of brutality, is an issue the film doesn't shy away from. The harassment we see in the film also has a unsettling resonance when we think about the number of black men shot down by cops the last few years.

As is always the case with films about black culture, Straight Outta Compton is getting limited screen time at the local multiplexes. I suppose we should be pleased that it's being distributed at all when one considers the unbreakable grip of the white-dominated American movie industry. This is a film that needs more attention, which I supposed it will attract on demand and on DVD. Suburban audiences might avoid it, thinking the film might be a celebration of violence. What Gray's film is exceptionally good at is giving us a sense of how such a violent, bigoted culture might produce something as angry and moving as N.W.A.

Love and Mercy

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Bill Pohlad/Starring: Paul Dano, John Cusack, Elizabeth Banks and Paul Giamatti

Most rock biopics tend to dwell on musicians' reckless flights of Dionysian excess rather than the music itself. We see nothing of the former but learn much about the latter in director Bill Pohlad's excellent Love and Mercy . The film makes us witness to Beach Boy Brian Wilson's painstaking creative process, though it doesn't ignore the darker episodes of his life. Few narrative films about musicians take the time to detail how masterworks come into being. Though the film dramatizes much of the physical and mental dissolution in Wilson's life, we also come away with a sense of his musical brilliance and his need for creative growth; two qualities that have ensured his artistic viability.

Pohlad's imaginative camera work is buttressed by screenwriters Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner's terrific script. The story moves fluidly between Wilson's early years and the near past; between Wilson's formative musical life in the early 1960s' and his struggles with a malevolent and manipulative Svengali in the early 1990s'; a charlatan doctor who needlessly prescribed drugs to Wilson to essentially enslave the musician.

When the film begins, we see the elder Wilson (a very fine John Cusack) inside a Cadillac showroom. As he walks among the cars, a lovely saleswoman, Melinda Ledbetter (an equally fine Elizabeth Banks) approaches him. Finding Wilson a little odd, she is nevertheless intrigued. When she asks why an imposing man standing nearby is watching, Wilson identifies him as his bodyguard. In spite of Wilson's salient eccentricities, Melinda is drawn to him. While Wilson and Melinda chat inside a Cadillac, two other men arrive. One of the men is Dr. Eugene Landy (the always terrific Paul Giamatti); Wilson's shrink and self-assigned guardian. As the group exits the dealership, Melinda finds a note left behind by Wilson with three ominous words, which read as a kind of cry for help. The scene effectively and economically constructs a picture of Wilson's life in the 80s' and early 90s' and also introduces two pivotal people in his life; one who changes his life for the better and one who nearly drives him to insanity and financial ruin.

The film cuts to a montage of the Beach Boys in the early 1960s' as Brian, his brothers Carl and Dennis, cousin Mike Love and Beach Boys co-founder Al Jardin pose for promotional photos, perform onstage to screaming teenagers and record some of the band's biggest hits. We see the younger Brian Wilson (exceptionally played by Paul Dano) excitedly sharing his ideas for a new album; mentioning the many and varied instruments he intends to use. In discussing his expansive vision, he refers to The Beatles' music as a gauntlet the band must take up. While Carl, Dennis and Al Jardin show a willingness to share Brian's vision, lead singer Mike Love (Jake Abel) shows a stubborn resistance. Love's reactionary attachment to the Beach Boys' earlier songs grates on Brian, who would like nothing more than to move beyond surfing and car songs. As the story progresses, we see Love and Wilson continue to lock horns over the bands creative direction. But Love is only one of Brian's antagonists. Looming over the band and the lives of the Wilson brothers is their father Murray (Bill Camp); who, like Dr. Eugene Landy, is a brutal, controlling presence the Wilson boys fear and maybe loathe. Though a force behind the band's success, the father is of a mind with Love in his dismissal of Brian's new, more sophisticated approach to the Beach Boys sound. A scene where Murray expresses a strong dislike of one of Brian's new songs not only reveals his backward thinking but also his nature as a fatherly malcontent his son can never appease.

As the film swings between Wilson's later life and his early career, the story becomes a diptych of a man fighting two controlling forces in his life; his father and an unscrupulous man so domineering he thinks nothing of pulling a hamburger out of Brian's hand during a friendly get-together to teach him a lesson about restraint. The story parallels Wilson's two struggles: Wilson's self-extrication from his father's toxic presence and his fight to free himself from the sinister clutches of a man hellbent on destroying his mind and life.

Pohlad maintains dramatic tension in both chapters of Wilson's life. The barrier between past and present is often dissolved in nimble editing; scenes seamlessly drift from Wilson's early life to those of latter times.

The film would still be an affective drama if the story dealt mainly with Wilson's relationships but it offers something more. What sets Pohlad's film apart from lesser musical biopics are the scenes detailing Wilson's creative process in the studio. Seeing no need to continue touring with the band, Wilson devotes his time exclusively to writing and recording new music. Hiring some of the most respected musicians in the business, Wilson sets about creating a new album. His brilliance shines through as we see him direct the musicians with creative precision; requesting odd beats, melodic counterpoints, etc. Though many music biopics treat the subject's genius as a given, Pohlad's film troubles itself to show it.

During a break in recording, after the studio drummer rattles off names of the prominent musical talents he and the other musicians have worked with, he tells Wilson that his music stands tall among the best; an extraordinary compliment, to be sure.

The madness that Wilson was often prey to isn't ignored but shown as integral part of his psychological makeup. We begin to see bizarre behavior, such as Wilson holding a studio full of musicians captive while he gauges the vibes. Dissatisfied with what he finds, Wilson cancels a recording, in spite of the $5,000 cost. When Melinda asks the elder Wilson if he really did spend two years in bed, he tells her that it was actually three. In yet another scene, we see the younger Wilson sitting at a dinner gathering. Sensitive to ambient sounds that he might otherwise incorporate into his music, the collective din of cutlery becomes maddening cacophony until he screams for it to stop, which startles his guests.

In the film's final half-hour, we see Melinda's efforts to free Wilson from Dr. Landy's manic control become an ordeal. Wilson's housemaid uncovers a copy of his will in which the Doctor has made himself sole beneficiary of the estate, which makes it necessary for Carl Wilson to intervene on his brother's behalf. With Melinda's help, the Doctor's terrible machinations are brought to a definitive end.

I really liked Pohlad's film and for many reasons: superlative editing, imaginative visual compositions, top-notch script, et al. But a significant share of the credit for the film's artistic success goes to Paul Dano and John Cusack, whose compelling performances give us a sense of who Brian Wilson was and is. But the supporting cast is no less brilliant. Elizabeth Banks shows us Melinda's compassionate insight while Paul Giamatti conveys Dr. Landy's manipulative self-interest.

I can say I came away from Love and Mercy feeling I got more than just a docudrama about a rock star with his or her head in the music and a foot in the abyss. Pohlad (and the screenwriters) take the time to tell us why Wilson belongs in such rarefied company as Lennon and McCartney, Jagger and Richards or Bruce Springsteen.

As Paul McCartney himself once said, without The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, there would be no Sgt. Pepper. Though we see the recordings of a few tracks from the Beach Boys' landmark album in the film, we never hear it mentioned nor are we told anything about its impact on rock music.

There is also much more to be said about Wilson's erratic behavior in the period between the late 60s' and the decade thereafter but we can credit the screenwriters for exercising restraint. What we need to know we see. Anything more might be excess.

I think Love and Mercy is one of the better music biopics I've seen in sometime. How easy it would have been for the film to become a tawdry tale of drugs and hyperbolic behavior in the manner of Oliver Stones' The Doors. Pohlad's film may become one of summer's cinematic highlights.

The Amazing Spider-Man 2

Director: Marc Webb, Starring: Andrew Garfield, Emma Stone, Jamie Foxx, Paul Giamatti

I won't bother with a spoiler alert because what could I possible spoil in summarizing a story one could easily discern from the preview. I also won't be verbose (I'll try not to be anyway) because it just plain bored me--my typical reaction to Marvel Comic adaptations.

Peter Parker's problems from the first Spider-Man continue though I couldn't remember what they were exactly and I couldn't tell if I were recalling the Tobey Maguire Spidey movies or the rebooted franchise. Does it all matter? Peter's girlfriend, cash-flow, and Aunt May troubles are the same though the villains are slightly different; this time an electrically-charged bad guy named Electro (Jamie Foxx) threatens the city, Spiderman and the power-grid.

The story involves many things at Oscorp; one CEO dies, the next assumes control, while the company develops or hopes to develop serums and high-tech gadgetry; which all threaten to fall into the wrong hands. All the villains seen in the movie are all connected to Oscorp. If you're like me, you grow sick of hearing the word Oscorp.

Electro is born, develops a destructive contempt for Spider-Man, fights him and blah ad infinitum. In Marvel adaptations, suspense is never really created because we know the hero is indestructible, which leaves him intact for sequels. The villians never really develop an edgy menace because they never have any agenda other than a single-minded hatred for the hero.

And what a weepy hero he is! Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man tears so often I thought the movie was financed by the Oxygen network. I realize he was trying to breath vulnerability into the hero to make him more empathetic but it became a bit much. Even Gwen Stacy didn't deluge us with the water-works. Maybe the radioactive spider should have bitten her instead of Peter Parker.

Aside from one significant twist at the end, nothing in the story is left to the unanticipated or unheralded. One knows where the story and characters are all headed and of course the movie lays the groudwork for the next film. The first Spider-Man series began auspiciously then gassed out quickly. The current franchise has gassed out quickly but the movie studio must sell merchandise and Taco-Bell must sell Spider-Man mugs and there must be a movie tie-in to the U.S. Postal Service and everything else, which leaves solid storytelling and thrills sadly beside the point.