Someone ought to produce a two-man show based on the lives of long-time friends
and Dayton, Ohio residents Paul Laurence Dunbar and Orville Wright. It would be
a natural vehicle to cash-in on some duo’s movie buddy chemistry, while also
telling some little-known history. The truth is the pioneering aviator was a
classmate of the great poet, who even helped his friend print Dayton’s first
African American newspaper (during its brief tenure). Frustratingly, some of Dunbar’s
best-known lines, like “I know why the caged bird sings” are now better known
from other writer’s usages. The poet gets the prestigious biographical
documentary treatment he deserves with Frederick Lewis’s Paul Laurence Dunbar:
Beyond the Mask which screens virtually as part of the 2020 NY African Diaspora International Film Festival.
Dunbar
was the son of parents who were slaves before Emancipation. The life of his
father would also make a compelling film, considering how Joshua Dunbar escaped
bondage through the Underground Railroad, but subsequently enlisted twice with
Union Army, to fight during the Civil War. His mother gleaned reading lessons
from neighborhood children to pick up enough understanding to encourage his
studies. Obviously, he excelled, facing little prejudice during his school
years, but a great deal after.
Eventually,
Dunbar became probably the most prominent African American poet of his day—and in
that day, contemporary poets were much more widely read than they are now. He
had significant champions including Frederick Douglass, but even after he
attained literary fame, he still experienced career ups-and-downs.
Hopefully,
American Masters will eventually pick-up Paul Laurence Dunbar,
because it perfectly fits their mission and it is of greater quality than at
least half of what they present. Lewis does terrific work grounding Dunbar as a
product of Dayton. In doing so, he also inspires fresh new respect for Orville
Wright (fittingly, the city has rechristened their old neighborhood Wright-Dunbar,
anchoring the district with a museum dedicated to their three favorite sons).
As a delivery person for her mother’s down-market Chinese restaurant, Tera
Wong would be considered an essential worker in 2020 parlance. Her side gig
ferrying drugs did not make many state essential services lists, but her boss’s
customers consider it essentially essential. Unfortunately, drug delivery is
not the sort of sideline she can easily walk away from in Hisonni Johnson’s Take
Out Girl, which screens virtually as part of the 2020 NY African Diaspora International Film Festival.
Wong’s
mother Wavy is literally working herself to death, so she drops out of high
school to work at the restaurant, even though she hates it there. Usually, her
wannabe gangster brother Saren handles the deliveries, but on a day when they
are slammed with orders, she makes a run to a particularly iffy customer. That
would be Lalo, a fairly big-time drug dealer, who makes no attempt to conceal the
product his crew is packing. The gangster gives her a generous tip, because he
is impressed when she stands her ground. Nonetheless, he is genuinely surprised
when she returns a few weeks later, offering her delivery services.
As
an Asian teen, Wong never attracts the cops’ attention and she has a perfect justification
for driving around sketchy neighborhoods at night. Of course, we know things
can’t be that simple. Nate, her nice-guy ex-con potential love interest, eventually
tells her his own cautionary story, but by that time, she is already in too deep.
Johnson
and Hedy Wong, his co-screenwriter-lead, tell a gritty story about crime and the
grinding frustration of just barely getting by. It is touch-and-go for Wavy
Wong’s family restaurant during the film’s pre-Covid days. Just imagine how
much difficult it would be for them if they could only open for 50% capacity.
Regardless, they do not sugarcoat the implications of Wong’s decisions (despite
throwing a few third act contrivances at us).
Tera
Wong is terrific as the titular delivery worker. We get her rage and
frustration, but she also brings fuller, subtler dimensions to her namesake.
Indeed, her awkward courtship scenes with Dijon Talton (as Nate) are some of
the film’s best. He impresses too, while Lynna Yee is absolutely heartbreaking
as long-suffering Mother Wavy.
No film noir anti-hero ever starts a movie in media res to marvel at all
the shrewd decisions they just made. That is especially true of Charlie
Jenkins, a small-time under-bookie, who handles payouts and collections for his
far more powerful and dangerous boss, Big Slim Fizz. He tries to turn a bad
collection into a big score, but obviously he is in over his head in director-screenwriter-producer
McKenzie Woodward’s Mr. Weekend, which screens virtually as part of the
2020 NY African Diaspora International Film Festival.
Jenkins
always liked old-school gun-dealer Hyman Steinberg, even though he is always especially
reluctant to pay up. However, booking a ticket to Thailand when you owe $67K is
definitely a no-no. Worry not, he assures Jenkins, because he has a
multi-million-dollar bag of crystal LSD to flip. However, when Jenkins returns,
Steinberg is in the process of being murdered, so instead, he sneaks away with the
drugs under their noses.
Naturally,
Jenkins wants to move the illicit merch fast, so he can run-off with his
prostitute girlfriend, Nora Fiddledown, even though some very angry people are
out there looking for the drugs. He also has to settle Steinberg’s debt, to
keep Big Slim Fizz off his back. It sounds like a great plan, but we know things
get dicey from the prologue.
Mr.
Weekend hooks
viewers right from the start, with one of the best opening credit sequences in
years, thanks to its clever title design, accompanied by Mulatu Astatke’s eternally
cool “Tezeta.” Woodward maintains the vibe impressively, immersing us in
Jenkins’ dodgy bookmaking milieu. The film nails the noir elements, notably including
Jenkins’ cynical narration and Evan Avtal’s super-slick black-and-white
cinematography.
Badman ("Bra Max") is a Sophiatown gangster who wants to be a Robin Hood.
Unfortunately, his gang, “The Vipers,” wants to double-down on being a gang. This
inevitably leads to conflict at a most inopportune time in Angus Gibson’s Back
of the Moon, which screens virtually as part of the 2020 NY African Diaspora International Film Festival.
Badman
is a gangster in the James Cagney-Angels with Dirty Faces tradition, who
serves as the guardian of Kidonkey, a brainy orphan and generally tries to
peacefully coexist with the Gerty Street neighborhood. Unfortunately, it is slated
to be forcibly demolished by the Apartheid authorities, after this fateful night.
Badman was already considering mounting a futile last stand against the cops,
before “Ghost,” his chief rival and lieutenant in the Vipers started challenging
his authority. Things come to a head when Ghost and his cronies abduct Eve
Msomi, the vocalist at the Back of the Moon club.
Msomi
is scheduled to leave South Africa for the London production of a jazz musical
that sounds a lot like King Kong, the show that launched Miriam Makeba’s
international career (which happened to be about an ill-fated boxer). Off
stage, Msomi has been seeing “Strike,” an up-and-coming fighter, who
frequently abuses her. Of course, saving the grateful Msomi from Ghost inevitably
earns Badman Strike’s wrath as well.
Gibson
(who co-directed the Jonathan Demme-produced, Oscar-nominated Mandela
documentary) pulled off a Roger Corman-worthy feat when he successfully wrapped
Moon using temp sets that had been constructed for a TV show his company
was producing. They definitely look convincingly like 1950s back-alleys. The
noir atmosphere is heavy and evocative. However, the limited locations make the
film feel a bit stagey (but that’s not the end of the world).
In
fact, Gibson’s intimate stage turns out to be an effective showcase for Richard
Lukunku, who burns up the screen as Badman. He personifies “dangerous charisma.”
Frankly, there are times he portrays the gangster with uncomfortable
brutishness. Yet, he is also keenly seductive and sensitive in his scenes with
Moneoa Moshesh (as Msomi). She is a fine torch singer, but Lukunku outshines
her on-screen.
You have to give Latin Jazz credit, because it never lost its popularity
with dancers. Bop and free jazz became the stuff of serious listeners, but
Latin Jazz had people dancing the mambo, son, and cha-cha-cha, eventually morphing
into salsa—and if you’re not dancing to salsa, there’s something wrong with
you. New York gets a lot of attention in Latin music histories, but the Bay Area
also had a distinctive scene that gets its due credit in Rita Hargrave’s The
Last Mambo, which screens virtually as part of the 2020 NY African Diaspora International Film Festival.
Those
who know their jazz history recognize San Francisco’s Fillmore District ranked
alongside LA’s Central Avenue and New York’s 52nd Street. Hargrave and musician
Wayne Wallace (the associate producer) make a case for Oakland too, especially
the beloved Sweet’s Ballroom, where terrific local talent like Merced Gallegos,
Carlos Federico & the Panamanians ruled the roost. It is actually surprisingly
entertaining to watch Wallace’s walking tour of the former Raider town’s old
musical haunts.
Sadly,
Gallegos and Federico can only be seen in archival footage now, but Hargrave incorporates
(relatively recent) interviews with the legendary Pete Escovedo (you might also
recognize his percussionist daughter, Sheila E.), as well as the late, great
Benny Velarde (the percussionist with Cal Tjader’s breakout group).
