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Don't Sleep on "Hustle & Flow"
We know there is seemingly a dearth of good movies these days (we’re not looking at you, March of the Penguins and Broken Flowers), and that has led some people to go to extreme measures in search of cinematic happiness. (Sorry, ‘bout your bad luck, Ben.) But let us give you a little heads up on a movie you may have slept on recently.
About three weeks ago, our father (yes, Austinist has one dad, and the dude is krazy with a ‘k’) told us about a movie we needed to see. A movie we, in fact, HAD to see. So it was with great joy that upon saying goodbye to us last weekend he slipped us $20 and said, with gangsta smoothness, “Ten is for the Hustle and Ten is for the Flow.”
In a career-changing (and arguably Oscar-worthy) performance, Terrence Howard plays DJay, a struggling pimp disillusioned with his life and failures as a pimp who lacks the juice to even provide the lone pony in his stable with air conditioning in his ride. DJay is not your typical pimp. He waxes poetic about life and its meaning, while not seeming campy. You feel the sincerity in his search for purpose while not feeling bamboozled by any cheesy sentimentality. For though he understands that man is a unique animal, conflicted by his fears, desires and dreams, he is still a pimp and when he is not happy, he lets his bitches hear it. But it is his dissatisfaction with the life he has built, or not built, for himself that resonates with viewers.
While waiting for his ho to cool off in the mini-mart he runs into an old friend who is buying batteries, not for his dildo, as DJay implies, but for a microphone. This peaks DJay’s curiosity, leading to a touching ‘coming to Jesus’ scene in a church, where DJay finds inspiration to extricate himself from his miserable existence.
What ensues is a story about a man taking a risk in life – the risk of failure, the risk of not realizing ones dreams, the risk of having to face the stark reality that we are who we are and not what we believe ourselves to be. In his struggle to find his voice as a musician and his belief in himself, he is surrounded by a slew of characters played beautifully by his the ensemble cast: A pregnant ho who wants to find a sense of belonging and love; a worn out ho who wants to become the maker of her own destiny; a vending machine stocker looking to make a living with his beats; a church musical director looking to make music that comes more from his heart and less from his need to earn a paycheck while managing a marriage that is not as happy as he has led himself to believe. We can identify in theirs our own struggles, whatever they may be. And we end up caring and rooting for these wandering souls. And, of course, it is our investment in these people that makes the movie’s most climatic scenes (with his foil played to ghetto fabulous effect by the surprisingly adept Ludacris) the most intense and almost unwatchable. If he fails, we fail. If he loses hope, we lose hope.
Coming in around two hours, the movie is a little long, but it is the length that makes it believable, that makes it seem like this story could actually happen…and has. He does not decide “pimpin ain’t easy, I wanna be a rap star,” and presto change-o he is the next Snoop. He labors with his love, culling prose from the narrative of his urban plight. The movie does not try to put a pretty face on an ugly part of life, but it does offer redemption and hope. Redemption that comes from following our dreams in earnest, and even if the movie were to not have a happy ending, we come away feeling that much of the redemption comes from the process of trying to improve our lot and following our dreams, even if they do not turn out the way we hope.
So while the studios continue to try and shove summer slop down our throats like an abusive summer camp hash cook, newcomer writer/director Craig Brewer brings to our palate a refreshing alternative, a movie we feel far too few have seen. So go out and see it, ya heard?
