2.28.2005
don't hate she hate me
having read its "tomatometer", as well as an infinite number of best-of-2004 lists, it's disappointing that a more complex dialogue surrounding spike lee's she hate me has yet to emerge. i'm not surprised that it hasn't faired well critically or commercially. but it does seem unfortunate--and even downright lazy-- that, in a year when lars von trier's equally uneven, quasi-offensive dogville has become the contrarian "critic's-darling" of choice, lee's film has fallen to the wayside (although roger ebert has some interesting things to say about it). structurally, one might argue that she hate me is the inverse of dogville-- trier is a nihilist in the guise of a moralist, and lee is a moralist in the guise of a nihilist. both films are a bit of a mess, but i think lee's is the more interesting mess.
for once, the obligatory plot-description is a pleasure, on account of its wackiness... anthony mackie plays john henry "jack" armstrong (who's name is your first indication that all is not what it seems), a corporate whistle-blower who finds his bank accounts frozen after exposing widespread, enron-like corruption (*sidenote: the film's most literal and inexcusable homophobic moment occurs at the end of the opening credits, when george w. bush appears on an enron-stamped "three dollar bill"). jack then finds a new source of income when his ex-finacee, now in a committed relationship with a woman, shows up at his door offering him 10,000 dollars to impregnate her and her lover. from there, the story snowballs off in a million directions: jack becomes stud-for-hire to the rich, children-seeking lesbians of manhattan, we are treated to a long digression about watergate featuring a point-break-esque rubber nixon mask, there is trouble with the mafia, sexual tension with the ex, and a good old-fashioned courtroom-as-lecture-hall finale.
if you've made it through the above paragraph, i'll assume you can close your eyes at this very moment and visualize an array of knee-jerk reactions. and i'm sure that spike lee could imagine you imagining them, as well. if lee has been unfairly labeled as a belligerent button-pusher (and the complexity of the films i've seen of his make me think he has), then she hate me is a trigger-happy indulgence in that very act. and while that doesn't excuse its excesses, it does situate them in a different climate than the critical chorus would have you believe.
first off, barring the downright ugliness of its opening credits, the film isn't so much homophobic as it is profoundly and unusually phallocentric. not since 2001 has this much reverence been devoted to a big, black phallic-member. as i watched "jack" (again with the double meanings) bring each of the film's movie-star-attractive lesbians to their inevitable hetero-climaxes, a question emerged: is this a parody, a cruel joke, a fantasy or a commetary???
and, for me, the answer is all of the above. what is most distasteful about the film-- at least to most of the critics i've read of it--is often what's most important to me in a film of any sort: its vulnerability. lee is radically subversive on account of his widespread overtness. his canvas of clashing cultural caricatures knows no bounds. and most alarmingly, he attempts to pull an agenda out of its mess. in the case of the sexual scenario, a million interpretations are possible: it points allegorically to a crisis in african-american fatherhood (later discussed in the film), it exposes the stereotype of black male potency for the thin cartoon that it is, it is politico-porn for its straight male audience on account of indulging that same stereotype, it reduces lesbians to a group of sad spinsters too afraid to want dick, it elevates those same lesbians as the pioneers of a new (and multi-racial) concept of the millenial family, and on and on and on...
lee's previous film, 2002's underrated 25th hour, concludes with a fake happy ending that would do douglas sirk proud. and without spoiling it, that ending concerns a very tidy, multi-cultural future too cartoonish to seem effectively attainable (both in the context of the film and the culture it came out of). if there is any logic to she hate me-- and certainly there ain't much if there is-- it makes a logical next step from 25th hour's conclusion. lee overrides the cautious pluralism of so many well-meaning indie films by exagerrating the sterotypes they fail to put to rest. everyone gets dirty in his film, including lee himself. if his film is homophobic, it is because lee has confessed his own prejudices with the blunt frontality he's afforded to eveything else. which is no excuse, of course-- but it's occasionally refreshing to find a film without "excuses." for all of its crassness and stereotypes, lee's two-hour-plus scrapbook of agendas left me dizzy with questions, problems, affections, and points-of-contention. its value arised not so much from the pedantic display that i viewed on the screen, but from the very nuanced interior dialogue it provoked as i got up from my seat.
for once, the obligatory plot-description is a pleasure, on account of its wackiness... anthony mackie plays john henry "jack" armstrong (who's name is your first indication that all is not what it seems), a corporate whistle-blower who finds his bank accounts frozen after exposing widespread, enron-like corruption (*sidenote: the film's most literal and inexcusable homophobic moment occurs at the end of the opening credits, when george w. bush appears on an enron-stamped "three dollar bill"). jack then finds a new source of income when his ex-finacee, now in a committed relationship with a woman, shows up at his door offering him 10,000 dollars to impregnate her and her lover. from there, the story snowballs off in a million directions: jack becomes stud-for-hire to the rich, children-seeking lesbians of manhattan, we are treated to a long digression about watergate featuring a point-break-esque rubber nixon mask, there is trouble with the mafia, sexual tension with the ex, and a good old-fashioned courtroom-as-lecture-hall finale.
if you've made it through the above paragraph, i'll assume you can close your eyes at this very moment and visualize an array of knee-jerk reactions. and i'm sure that spike lee could imagine you imagining them, as well. if lee has been unfairly labeled as a belligerent button-pusher (and the complexity of the films i've seen of his make me think he has), then she hate me is a trigger-happy indulgence in that very act. and while that doesn't excuse its excesses, it does situate them in a different climate than the critical chorus would have you believe.
first off, barring the downright ugliness of its opening credits, the film isn't so much homophobic as it is profoundly and unusually phallocentric. not since 2001 has this much reverence been devoted to a big, black phallic-member. as i watched "jack" (again with the double meanings) bring each of the film's movie-star-attractive lesbians to their inevitable hetero-climaxes, a question emerged: is this a parody, a cruel joke, a fantasy or a commetary???
and, for me, the answer is all of the above. what is most distasteful about the film-- at least to most of the critics i've read of it--is often what's most important to me in a film of any sort: its vulnerability. lee is radically subversive on account of his widespread overtness. his canvas of clashing cultural caricatures knows no bounds. and most alarmingly, he attempts to pull an agenda out of its mess. in the case of the sexual scenario, a million interpretations are possible: it points allegorically to a crisis in african-american fatherhood (later discussed in the film), it exposes the stereotype of black male potency for the thin cartoon that it is, it is politico-porn for its straight male audience on account of indulging that same stereotype, it reduces lesbians to a group of sad spinsters too afraid to want dick, it elevates those same lesbians as the pioneers of a new (and multi-racial) concept of the millenial family, and on and on and on...
lee's previous film, 2002's underrated 25th hour, concludes with a fake happy ending that would do douglas sirk proud. and without spoiling it, that ending concerns a very tidy, multi-cultural future too cartoonish to seem effectively attainable (both in the context of the film and the culture it came out of). if there is any logic to she hate me-- and certainly there ain't much if there is-- it makes a logical next step from 25th hour's conclusion. lee overrides the cautious pluralism of so many well-meaning indie films by exagerrating the sterotypes they fail to put to rest. everyone gets dirty in his film, including lee himself. if his film is homophobic, it is because lee has confessed his own prejudices with the blunt frontality he's afforded to eveything else. which is no excuse, of course-- but it's occasionally refreshing to find a film without "excuses." for all of its crassness and stereotypes, lee's two-hour-plus scrapbook of agendas left me dizzy with questions, problems, affections, and points-of-contention. its value arised not so much from the pedantic display that i viewed on the screen, but from the very nuanced interior dialogue it provoked as i got up from my seat.
