SpottieOttieDopalicious Reflections on Cinema
"Cuz the streets is a pit stop/ either you slangin' crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot."
--from "Things Done Changed" The Notorious B.I.G.
I'd have to say that Boyz N The Hood is the one film that still affects how I perceive the world. John Singleton's 1991 debut depicts one South Central Los Angeles drug dealer, Doughboy, (played by Ice Cube) as a human being without passing judgment on him in the way that a preacher or politician would. Singleton sees the bigger picture. He's critical of a government that enables crack to flood throughout inner-cities, and of the lack of options that have become appealing to blacks: slanging rocks and gang-banging. These limited choices create a paradox in which those who're college-bound are deemed "the exception". I must slow my role for a moment, though, because the teenaged versions of Doughboy and of the other three main characters, whose primary goal is to matriculate into a university, do not appear until the second act.
The first shot we see is of a Stop sign that's been pegged by a bullet. This is pure cinematic genius in that it introduces us to the current history of an environment in a split-second. Next, we catch a glimpse of a kid luring a young Tre Styles (the main character) to a dead body. The symbolism behind the bullet-pierced Stop sign is deep. However, after a recent viewing, I've noticed a much starker metaphor resonating with political overtones that I couldn't comprehend when I'd watched this film for the first time as a twelve-year-old. The corpse of the aforementioned black male just so happens to be decaying underneath President Reagan's campaign fliers, which urge a community that he's blatantly ignored to elect him for four more years. The image of Tre's schoolmate strutting toward the fliers and giving a middle finger to the Establishment is classic hip-hop: it takes the sting right out of the President's patronizing smirk. This black child's level of precociou sness is an aspect that's rarely seen in Hollywood, or even in the news for that matter. Director Singleton's mission seeks to do more than just alter the way that blacks have been portrayed in the media. Like rap music, Singleton wants us to realize that film, too, can become the black CNN: a forum that addresses pertinent issues such as crack addiction, AIDS, misogyny, self-hatred, gentrification, and the importance of having knowledge of self.
In a moving classroom scene, the young Tre Styles, who is disturbing the class by making wisecracks, is compelled by his history teacher to give an impromptu lecture. His topic of choice: "Africa: The Origin of Civilization". The same kid who has shown Tre the dead body disagrees with his perspective. A fight ensues, thereby, prompting Tre's single mother (played by Angela Basset) to make her child live with his no-nonsense father (Laurence Fishburne). Although Tre is very smart and his departure from home will be painful, his mother still feels that he needs male guidance. On the way to Tre's father's house, his mom admits that she will not allow her child to stray: to become a thug; to become content with standing in front of the liquor store twenty-four seven. When we see Fishburne, he's more than excited not only to see his son but to teach him responsibility. We also see the neighborhood kids Doughboy and Lil Chris (a minor character) who're eager to see Tre as well. Later on, we meet Doughboy's brother, Rick, who never leaves the house without his football. We meet their mother, too. Actress Tyra Ferrell delivers a devastating performance as another single mother. She shows nepotism towards Rick and holds bitterness against Doughboy (all due to the fact that she was treated differently by their fathers). And we're also introduced to Tre's future love interest, Brandy. The older Brandy is played by the stunning thespian Nia Long. Tre's relationship with Brandy and the one he develops with his father are crucial buffers that help prevent Tre from becoming the type of man that his mother and the rest of America fear: a person like Doughboy.
When the time frame switches from 1984 to the early 90's, we encounter the seventeen-year-old versions of Tre Styles, Brandy, Lil Chris, and Ricky. They're all gathered among other people celebrating Doughboy's return home from prison. Tre and Brandy are struggling with their relationship. Meanwhile, Ricky, a much sought after football prospect, is a loving boyfriend and proud parent. And Lil Chris is deep in the drug game despite the fact that the game has placed him in a wheelchair. Singleton not only shows us how crack affects the lives of dealers but he illustrates how it affects the lives of addicts as well. After Tre leaves Doughboy's party, there's a heartbreaking scene of him rescuing a baby just as she's about to get pummeled by a car. When Tre delivers the baby safely, the mother is so far gone in her addiction that she offers him a sexual favor in exchange for drugs instead of offering him gratitude for saving her child.
In another pivotal scene, Tre's father invites him and Rick to Compton where he drops some serious science that unveils the larger forces at work that contribute to self-destruction: "Why is it that there's a gun store on every corner in the black community? I tell ya why because it's the same reason why there's a liquor store on every corner in the black community? Why? They want us to kill ourselves. You go down to Beverly Hills, you don't see that shit." And Tre's father, whose name is Furious, dismantles the media's skewed portrayal of blacks as being the real cause of the crack epidemic: "That's what you see on the news: the black man pushin the rock, sellin the rock. But how does it get here? We don't own any planes. We don't own any ships."
Up until now, the audience has most likely written Doughboy off. However, it appears that Singleton suggests that instead of pointing your finger at Doughboy why not place more of the blame on your federal government that has systematically engineered war zones for people of color (This is not to say that Singleton is asking us to condone what Doughboy does). Singleton is a crafty screenwriter who refuses to acquiesce to the strength of stereotypes: that prejudices are so strong that people cling to their false assumptions even when they're confronted with evidence that speaks to the contrary. If Singleton truly believed that stereotypes couldn't be challenged and subverted, then he wouldn't have expended all of his energy and time. The mark of a great screenwriter is a person who can make the audience identify with someone that society has trained us to loathe. Yes, Doughboy sells death to his own people. Yes, he's an atheist and refers to women as bitches and hoes. But when tragedy strikes I guarantee that you'll find yourself rooting for Doughboy to bust a cap into the man who murdered his brother, Ricky, for no reason at all--especially after you see the expression on his mother's face when he plunks Ricky's bloody body on her living room.
In a previous scene before Ricky's death, Doughboy and his brother get into an altercation. When their mother breaks up the quarrel, she slaps Doughboy in the face and immediately rushes to Ricky's aid. So, later on, Doughboy's mom goes into a state of shock as she sees her dead son propped on the couch. Based on the fight that Doughboy and Ricky had earlier, she automatically assumes that Doughboy is the one who has killed her beloved child. When Doughboy tries to console her, she goes off into a fit of rage screaming the jarring refrain, "What did you do?"
What's even more staggering for Ricky's mother and for us is realizing how Ricky's future would've turned out. Skeptical of whether he'd procure a football scholarship to USC, he was seriously contemplating the Army as a back-up choice (a decision Tre scrutinized). After his mother breaks up the fight between him and Doughboy, the mailman hands Ricky's mother a document that we wish he'd stayed home to read: his SAT scores. Ricky only needs a 700 to qualify for the football scholarship; he makes a 702. He dies without ever tasting this success.
There's more ground that I want to cover, but I've already divulged way too much. All I can say is that you will walk away from this coming-of-age film having encountered many memorable performances.
Jonathan Moody is a poet/cosmic funkateer who grew up in Ft. Walton Beach, FL and is currently grooving in Houston, TX. He received his Bachelor’s in psychology from Xavier University of Louisiana and received his MFA from the University of Pittsburgh.