This film is a great big stick of dynamite, destined to offend as many
people as possible; it’s both a comedy and a tragedy, a musical, a manifesto, a
battle cry, and a lament. The “star” of the film (there are many characters
that might share this title) is Lysistrata, played by the radiant Teyonah
Parris, girlfriend of an up-and-coming hip hop artist who calls himself
Chi-Raq, but without the irony. He embraces the violence, and is one of the
gang leaders who live and die by the gun. Lysistrata refuses to see past the
façade of fame and glory and music, until several violent attacks hit too close
to home. Then she meets Miss Helen, a neighbor who spends most of her time
reading. She’s a self-contained social activist just waiting for circumstances
to unleash her and call her to action. Miss Helen convinces Lysistrata to do something about the
violence, and Lysistrata unites the women in her community, convincing them to
go on a sex strike. “No peace, no piece” is their motto, and their decision
erupts across the globe as women from every tongue join in the fight against
violence by denying sex to their men.
Along the way, we get Samuel L. Jackson, spruced up in colorful suits
and a hat, as our emcee, narrating the film with his usual wink-and-a-smile
charm and his brash, commanding presence. And we get John Cusack in an unlikely but powerful performance as a white minister of a black church, serving the community he grew up in. Cusack delivers an intense
monologue-sermon-eulogy during a funeral for a 7-year-old girl. (She was killed in the midst of a recent episode of
gunplay between gangs.) Cusack’s sermon is at times a grand-standing lecture on
the statistics of gang violence and racial injustice, at times a riling call to
action. Lee is deliberately ambiguous here: The emotionally-driven service is by turns a show-stopper and a place to mourn out in the open, in a community.
Chi-Raq is in many
ways a throwback to some of the more influential work of Luis Bunuel and Jean-Luc Godard. In Weekend (an insufferable movie), Godard
often pointed the camera at people so they could rant about the evils of
capitalism and other assorted topics. Lee uses his camera similarly. Chi-Raq is a really good rant of a movie, but it's more than that. In Chi-Raq, these moments of sermonizing are just
part of this movie’s garish, delightful, indignant brio. Lee celebrates the various possibilities of movies, never holding his movie hostage to the constraints of realism or plotting. Some may call it
uneven—and there are moments when the film doesn’t totally hang together—but Chi-Raq is ultimately a masterful piece
of filmmaking. It evokes extreme emotions, and the performances are big and powerful and in your face.
Angela Bassett's performance emerges as possibly the best in a slew of standout performances. Bassett has such power in her voice, and she commands the screen in every scene she's in. And Teyonah Parris is like a gift from the gods. She's a stunning beauty, she's witty, and like Angela Bassett, she can part the seas with a word or a look.
Of course, Chi-Raq isn’t for
everybody, but it should be. The film's brash discussion of
sexual politics and its complicated dissection of racism in America is inflammatory, but that's kind of the point. Moreover, Spike Lee doesn't enshrine his movie in moral rectitude. He's not here to play by the rules or tow any lines, which is why Chi-Raq is a gaudy, messy, blistering movie. And it's alive. So, so alive. Those who criticize Spike Lee for turning the
movie into a farce in the second half are missing the point (and missing a bold and wonderful move of a talented director). The mark of a
great movie is that it can hold an array of emotional experiences without
losing its footing, without compromising its characters or its values. And moreover, that it takes chances where conventional movies play it safe. Chi-Raq blissfully flies too close to the sun, and what a beautiful flight it is.
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