Black Dynamite is nonsense, but then again of course it's nonsense. Films like Black Dynamite are of those rare breed wherein labelling it anything else OTHER than nonsense is, in a way, derogatory. If the film makers have set out to make a winking, nudging exploitation film chock full of everything inside of Black Dynamite that we get, then it's hardly complimentary to then come away and speak of how much the plot made sense; how much the character stuff was bang-on and how 'non' nonsensical it all was. True, there is the odd misstep in Scott Sanders' on-the-whole-pretty-darned-good self-referential, self-aware-stab at one of those predominantly African American 70's exploitation films; jokes about the sizes of genitalia and some less than pleasant moments involving unnecessarily gory violence dampen the experience, but it's a worthwhile experience all-the-same. It's better than Death Proof, which is what those behind the production will want to hear while it's also better than something like Michel Hazanavicius' quite awful "OSS: Nest of Spies", a French film toying with the espionage genre where these other examples have been more inclined towards horror and grindhouse movements.
The film begins with an amusing sequence wherein a well-spoken black individual, who's well out of his depth in being undercover, is caught as not being on the criminally minded level of those in his immediate vicinity. Black and whites are in the process of doing a shady deal involving hard drugs, but brother Jimmy (Vaughn) is found as a fake and mercilessly eradicated. Big mistake, for this man's brother is the titular Black Dynamite, played by Michael Jai White; an ex-CIA veteran of the Vietnam War who's a Hell of a ladies man and will kick down the front doors of most residences if it means garnering access, regardless of threat levels or apparent ease of access. For Black Dynamite, the case of finding out the truth behind the deal and his brother's killers offers the meekest of character arcs in that he always promised their mother he'd keep young Jimmy on the straight and narrow and away from the likes of drugs, et al. Thus, when his corpse turns up with all this drug related content surrounding him, not only is there a lust for payback to be quenched but for a sense of self correction to be attained. Later on, the lead will have to venture to a very Vietnam-like secluded jungle locale where the chief hostilities lie and the confrontation of his wartime demons must be vanquished if he is to succeed.
There is no discernible narrative to proceedings, just a series of scenes with their own self-referential guile wherein double takes; poorly implemented stock footage and outtakes which have infiltrated their way into the final cut are the norm. Characters and would-be villains come and go; maybe the film is incomprehensible on purpose, maybe scenes are in the wrong order – perhaps some are even missing but you go along with madness incarnate approach to plot on its energy and often amusing moments. For all the references and general content leaning so heavily toward exploitative African American cinema of yester-decade, it is 1971 British film Get Carter to which it seems to doff its hat most. Like Mike Hodges' sensitive and yet all-at-once explosively brutal crime masterpiece, we observe someone out to avenge the death of their brother before further still unravel a plot to do with tight-lipped higher ups of a dominant hierarchy running a racket for their sordid thirsts and business-like gains: the difference being there's a bit of kung-fu here.
I know little of exploitation cinema myself, but I image it was a process of liberation to be able to go to a cinema specialising in stuff that you knew, deep down, you weren't supposed to be watching and/or liking. Whether it was violence; sexual content; bad language or crass gender and racial politics, I suppose there was a sense of the whole exercise being a rising up against the authority embedded in the roots of opting to tune in to one of these films. One's parents, or guardians, would frown upon such things while academics would, I'm sure, almost invariable dismiss said nights out engaging with said pictures as the "lesser" of several cinematic options. Whatever the reality, the film maintains a sense of going up against administrative figures or figures of authority: the people in charge. In Black Dynamite, the enemy for a long while appear to be these suit-clad politicians whose idea to solve problems through words and talk instead of the "old fashioned" way of violence and dishing out a bit of retribution. This rubs the lead the wrong way and I think the film captures that sense of going up against a sort of moral physicality. It doesn't glorify these things, but it does well to, I think, capture the essence of how one might have arrived at watching the film, now, on top of everything that once was. Sanders' film is in the spirit of things, and it does this instead of feeding off petty indulgences alá Death Proof. The film is by no means a masterpiece - it's a bit better than the usual fare of this sort, although does pale in comparison to another one of Tarantino's from this field: From Dusk 'til Dawn. Even so, it's a short, sharp burst of titillation and shenanigans with only a couple of false steps that worked more than it had any right to.
The film begins with an amusing sequence wherein a well-spoken black individual, who's well out of his depth in being undercover, is caught as not being on the criminally minded level of those in his immediate vicinity. Black and whites are in the process of doing a shady deal involving hard drugs, but brother Jimmy (Vaughn) is found as a fake and mercilessly eradicated. Big mistake, for this man's brother is the titular Black Dynamite, played by Michael Jai White; an ex-CIA veteran of the Vietnam War who's a Hell of a ladies man and will kick down the front doors of most residences if it means garnering access, regardless of threat levels or apparent ease of access. For Black Dynamite, the case of finding out the truth behind the deal and his brother's killers offers the meekest of character arcs in that he always promised their mother he'd keep young Jimmy on the straight and narrow and away from the likes of drugs, et al. Thus, when his corpse turns up with all this drug related content surrounding him, not only is there a lust for payback to be quenched but for a sense of self correction to be attained. Later on, the lead will have to venture to a very Vietnam-like secluded jungle locale where the chief hostilities lie and the confrontation of his wartime demons must be vanquished if he is to succeed.
There is no discernible narrative to proceedings, just a series of scenes with their own self-referential guile wherein double takes; poorly implemented stock footage and outtakes which have infiltrated their way into the final cut are the norm. Characters and would-be villains come and go; maybe the film is incomprehensible on purpose, maybe scenes are in the wrong order – perhaps some are even missing but you go along with madness incarnate approach to plot on its energy and often amusing moments. For all the references and general content leaning so heavily toward exploitative African American cinema of yester-decade, it is 1971 British film Get Carter to which it seems to doff its hat most. Like Mike Hodges' sensitive and yet all-at-once explosively brutal crime masterpiece, we observe someone out to avenge the death of their brother before further still unravel a plot to do with tight-lipped higher ups of a dominant hierarchy running a racket for their sordid thirsts and business-like gains: the difference being there's a bit of kung-fu here.
I know little of exploitation cinema myself, but I image it was a process of liberation to be able to go to a cinema specialising in stuff that you knew, deep down, you weren't supposed to be watching and/or liking. Whether it was violence; sexual content; bad language or crass gender and racial politics, I suppose there was a sense of the whole exercise being a rising up against the authority embedded in the roots of opting to tune in to one of these films. One's parents, or guardians, would frown upon such things while academics would, I'm sure, almost invariable dismiss said nights out engaging with said pictures as the "lesser" of several cinematic options. Whatever the reality, the film maintains a sense of going up against administrative figures or figures of authority: the people in charge. In Black Dynamite, the enemy for a long while appear to be these suit-clad politicians whose idea to solve problems through words and talk instead of the "old fashioned" way of violence and dishing out a bit of retribution. This rubs the lead the wrong way and I think the film captures that sense of going up against a sort of moral physicality. It doesn't glorify these things, but it does well to, I think, capture the essence of how one might have arrived at watching the film, now, on top of everything that once was. Sanders' film is in the spirit of things, and it does this instead of feeding off petty indulgences alá Death Proof. The film is by no means a masterpiece - it's a bit better than the usual fare of this sort, although does pale in comparison to another one of Tarantino's from this field: From Dusk 'til Dawn. Even so, it's a short, sharp burst of titillation and shenanigans with only a couple of false steps that worked more than it had any right to.