Great Monologues, Part 1: Clockers

"If I ever see you again... I'll book you on charges of criminal solicitation and conspiracy to commit murder. I'll let Andre beat you down again. Then pick up Rodney on the same charges and I'll make sure you two share the same cell, the same fuckin' bed. Do you understand me clearly?"

 In terms of length, this isn't much of a monologue.  I imagine that most actors might deliver these lines as mere threats from one character to another.  But as delivered by Harvey Keitel at the end of Clockers, these lines become a powerful moment.  As Rocco Klein, a police detective whose most recent case has damaged the lives of all concerned, Keitel delivers the lines with the character's newly found world-weariness.  This case has, quite simply, worn Rocco out.

The story involves Ronald "Strike" Dunham, a small-time drug dealer in the 'hood.  Strike is not your average movie drug dealer.  He dreams of getting out of the business, and although none of the characters ever realize this, Clockers, in a way, is about destiny's struggle with whether or not to allow Strike to do this.  Strike is no saint -- he never struggles with either the illegality nor the immorality of his job -- but he isn't a bad man, either, and he sincerely hopes for the best for those around him.  One key moment to understanding the duality of his nature is a scene in which he lectures a pregnant woman who tries to buy drugs for him.  Good business sense should tell him not to give this lecture.  Good morality would prevent him from making the sale.  Strike compromises between the two by finally agreeing to sell her the drugs -- but with reluctance, and "only this one last time."  Writers Richard Price and Spike Lee intentionally make it unclear whether he will stay true to his word and refuse to sell the pregnant woman any more drugs.

Strike, like many characters in this film, is a victim more of circumstance than of his own sins.  One misunderstanding leads his boss Rodney (Delroy Lindo) to believe that Strike has betrayed him to the police.  Another misunderstanding leads police office Andre the Giant (Keith David) to believe that Strike is responsible for a young boy's possession of a gun that ultimately led to trouble.  Strike is actually innocent of both charges, but despite Andre's altruism and Rodney's villainy, neither of them can be faulted for their erroneous beliefs.

At the center of all of this is Rocco, who, despite his job as a police officer, couldn't care less about Strike's day job.  Rocco is a homicide detective, and he's out to solve a homicide; he's interested in the fact that Strike is a drug dealer only in so far as it provides leverage against Strike when Strike becomes a suspect, but if Strike turns out to be innocent of murder, Rocco doesn't seem that interested in whether Strike ends up in jail for his drug dealing or not.

Slowly, gradually, Strike's life of crime does catch up with him, however, and one by one, even former allies become enemies, despite Strike's constant attempts to do what's right (except, you know, for the fact that he deals drugs for a living).

When I first saw Clockers, I interpreted Rocco's monologue of threats to Strike as extreme cruelty.  Both Andre and Rodney want to victimize Strike (by beating the shit out of him at best, murdering him at worst), and Rocco is threatening to allow them to do so.  In retrospect, however, I now lean toward an opposite interpretation:  Rocco's threats are actually a veiled act of extreme kindness.  He knows that if Strike returns to the 'hood where he currently lives, he'll get sucked back into the life of a drug dealer.  He'll be surrounded by enemies.  Either Andre will kill him, Rodney will kill him, a rival drug dealer will kill him, or, if he manages to avoid all of that, he will still lose his soul to the business he had initially chosen.

Rocco is offering Strike a way out -- a way out of a dangerous, immoral life that will chew Strike up and spit him out as either dead or evil.  But the only way to make sure Strike has any future at all is to make absolutely clear to him that he cannot return, ever.

What's more, Rocco's monologue emphasizes one of the film's biggest mysteries.  Just as Rocco's about to drop Strike off at the train station, so that Strike can make his escape, Strike asks, "What made you care about me?" -- a reasonable question, considering that Rocco started out the investigation with indifference, and even a touch of racism.  But Rocco refuses to answer, and instead delivers his litany of threats.  Paradoxically, we are given insight into the film, precisely by Rocco's refusal to allow insight into his character's motivation.

retro movie review: Wonderful World

Wonderful World isn't a Great Movie -- it's too unambitious for that -- but it is a very good movie, and a pleasant surprise.

It is, however, easy to understand not only why it didn't do well at the box office, but also why it was immediately and completely forgotten after its release.  There are no explosions, fart jokes, wacky sidekicks, or superheroes.  No special effects sequences or chase scenes.  There is a movie star in the lead, but he disappears so completely into the role that you don't think of him as a star, which, as was the filmmaker's intention, diminishes his glamor.  The lead character is a challenge to like; he's exceedingly cynical, and occasionally rude both to those who deserve it and those who don't -- and yet not cynical and rude in a fun, showy, movie-star way, such as, say, Jack Nicholson in As Good as it Gets.  No, Ben Singer is more of a quiet schlub, and when he does open his mouth, those around him often wish he was even quieter.  As performed by Matthew Broderick and written by Joshua Goldin, Ben is an extremely convincing everyman.  He may be a purely fictional movie character, but he feels more like a real person.

I said before that Ben's cynicism is extreme, and I meant it.  When he hallucinates from smoking too much weed, he imagines conversations with the Man (as in "workin' for the"), a business-suit attired gentleman who is played by Philip Baker Hall with a mixture of amusement and sincerity, and who lectures Ben about the all-important bottom line.  ("The bottom line," Ben explains to a foreigner, "is the fictional standard people use to justify themselves when they're about to do something immoral.")

That's not to say that Ben doesn't have his good points.  Heck, his flaws are so prominent that without the redeeming features Goldin gives him, the character would be unbearable.  But among Ben's good qualities is an obvious love (friend-love, not romantic love!) for his only friend, Ibou.  Ben and Ibou share a one-room apartment, their only privacy provided by a homemade curtain dividing the room down the center.

The story is set in motion when, one day, Ibou suddenly collapses into a diabetic coma, causing a crisis that forces Ben's better nature to emerge almost despite himself.  Ibou's sister, Khadi, arrives from Senegal to be near Ibou's bedside, and, perhaps because she cannot afford a hotel, or perhaps just because Ben is more in need of human companionship than he's willing to admit, she ends up temporarily taking up residence on Ibou's side of the apartment.

Wonderful World is the story of how first Ibou and then Khadi inspire Ben to re-think his cynical way of looking at the world.  Director/ screenwriter Josh Goldin never goes so far as to argue that Ben's cynicism is misplaced, and there are several scenes that in fact argue in favor of that cynicism, illustrating that the world can indeed be a cruel and unfair place.  But Ibou points out to Ben that there are also joys to behold, even joy in things that we often take for granted, even, if you know how to look at it, joy in things that we would otherwise find annoying.  Through Ibou and Khadi, Goldin argues that despite its frequent cruelties and injustices, the lives we live do take place in a wonderful world.

Again, it's worth emphasizing that Goldin doesn't argue that Ben's cynicism is right or wrong.  But there's a definite dichotomy in the world, reflected in each of us.  Several times throughout the film, Ibou, both accurately and affectionately, refers to Ben as "the Angry Man."  At the end of the movie, we learn Ibou's secret other nickname for Ben, and while I will not dream of revealing it (hint: it's definitely not "the Happy Man"), the two nicknames do speak volumes about Ben's character, and about the film itself.  This is a very thoughtful, and very good movie.  You probably haven't heard of it.  But it's worth seeing.