I just finished watching "25th Hour". It is one of the very few Spike Lee films I hadn't seen, and I avoided it because I misunderstood the subject matter from a synopsis I'd read somewhere, and it seemed dismal. But finally I watched, because I've read more about it here and there, and it seemed important to see. I had mixed feelings going in, as sometimes I like Spike's films and sometimes I don't. I must say that I admire every film he's made in the past 6 or 7 years (with the exception of "She Hate Me"), and think he's grown and matured tremendously as a filmmaker. There were others involved that I have mixed feelings about; sometimes I like Ed Norton's performances, and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I like Rosario Dawson, sometimes I don't. The Black Actor blog asked the question the other day...'Is Rosario considered a black actor or no? Should we claim her or not?' Her roles are usually never specifically defined by race, and I have a feeling that she chooses it that way, so ultimately it really doesn't matter. Just like you can say "Is '25th Hour' Black Cinema?" There are really no central black characters. It's very subjective, but Spike is a major Black Hollywood icon, so the point is moot. I always love Philip Seymour Hoffman, who was excellent in "Capote", and truly and beautifully off the freakin' hook in a film I just saw called "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead"--one of the best films I've seen for a while--but since my blog is all about Black Cinema, I'll leave it at that. As for this film, in the same vein, "25th Hour" is a testament to everything you love about New York and sometimes don't.
Any film that starts off with a muscle car automatically drags me in. I am a sucker for them in every way, and Ed Norton's in this movie was no exception. Some of my favorite films have a muscle car as a central set piece; i.e. "Bullit" and "Grindhouse". That was the first indication that this film might be alright with me.
For those of you who don't know, "25th Hour" is the story of a successful drug dealer (Ed Norton) who gets caught with serious weight by the DEA, and has to turn himself in for a seven year stretch. He is a pretty good guy, despite his occupation. It focuses on his last 24 hours before going in.
I moved to New York from California straight out of high school to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology, no fear, at 17 (too young and dumb to know any better). There were a good amount of scenes in this film that brought back memories; the Brooklyn Promenade; the busyness and energy of the city, and namely the club life. To me the clublife was almost like a religion...I went out almost every night--the music was incredible, the people were incredible to look at--the music was like God and the Spirits speaking to you,--the atmosphere was like heaven. You felt like no matter what else was going on on the planet and in your life, as long as you were in this club, listening to this music, nothing could really touch you. New Yorkers have a way of partying that I have never seen anywhere else in the world; they just don't give a f--k. They get lit, and it's on. 100% pure joy, and nobody cares about where you came from or how you're supposed to look when it gets to it's pinnacle. It is a straight scene, and one of the best elements of the city. And this film captured that feeling perfectly.
There was an intense soliloquy where Ed Norton is speaking to himself in a restaurant mirror where someone had scribbled "Fuck You" on it. It goes like this:
Fuck me? No--fuck you. Fuck you and the whole city and everyone in it!
Fuck the panhandlers grubbing for money and smiling behind my back. Fuck the squeegees dirtying up my windshield. Get a fucking job!
Fuck the Pakistanis and Sikhs bombing down the avenue in their decrepit cabs. Terrorists in fucking training...slow the fuck down!
Fuck the Chelsea boys and their waxed chests and pumped up biceps, going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, fucking up my Channel 35! (IW: public access television for non-NYers)
Fuck the Korean grocers, with their fruit and roses wrapped in plastic--10 years in this country and "no speekie English"?
Fuck the Russian mobsters in Brighton Beach, sippin' on tea in their teeny glasses--wheelin and dealin and schemin. Go back to where you fuckin came from!
Fuck the black hatted Hasidim trollin down 47th Street in their dirty gabardine and their dandruff--selling South African apartheid diamonds!
Fuck the Wall Street brokers--Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabees, figuring out new ways to rob hardworking people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break!
Fuck the Puerto Ricans--20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls--worst fucking parade in the city! And don't get me started on the Dominicans, cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good.
Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians, with their pomaded hair and nylon warm-ups and their St. Anthony medallions, acting like they're auditioning for the Sopranos!
Fuck the Upper East Side wives, with their Hermes scarves, and their overfed faces--pulled and lifted and stretched, all taught and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart!
Fuck the uptown brothers! They never pass the ball, and they don't wanna play defense. They take 5 steps to every lay-up to the hoop, and then turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended 137 years ago. Move the FUCK on!
And so it goes. But even while I was watching this montage, relating to some of what he was saying, I knew full on that all the things you hate about New York are the very same things in hindsight that you love. And guess what? Towards the end of this film, all of those very same people that he was ranting about in that sequence were smiling at him and wished him well on his journey. He learned from them and he loved them for it.
Ultimately, this movie is a love letter in full to New York, in all it's good and and all it's bad--and I loved every minute of it; oversaturation of soundtrack nonwithstanding. I don't know if you have to have lived in New York to really get this movie, but at the very least you know in your heart of hearts that New York is not for punks. I don't care if you're Jay Z, or Donald Trump, or the crackhead on the corner--you know that no matter where your life is in New York, everyone is in the same boat, and there is always danger, and uncertainty, and ruin lurking in every corner. Strong emotions are always simmering just below a shallow surface, and all it takes is one small thing to completely bring it on and change the scope of everything in your life. And in a strange way, it unifies all New Yorkers, whether they know it or not.At the end of the film, Ed Norton's father gives a beautiful monologue which got to my very soul. You see, one of the phenomenons I've noticed about native New Yorkers is that they tend to think New York is the beginning and end of all that's going on in the world. Nothing else that exists really matters. The father encourages his son to go past Philadelphia--that that are other forms of life out there, and not just this microcosm of survival that is New York. Yes, there are people that wear cowboy hats and think it's the thing to do. Yes, there is a desert. Yes, there are people that live small, and have normal jobs and normal lives, and don't think twice about it. Places that doesn't smell like piss and don't have rats walking around like they have a right to be there. And mountains, and farms, and clean beaches. And maybe that is where you belong and never even knew it. And when they say "If you can make it there you can make it anywhere--New York, New York" it is the straight gospel, cause you bring that strength, energy, and charisma to anywhere you go on this planet, and you can see the beauty in everything in it's contrast to New York. And you make everyone around you so much stronger because of everything that you've been through in that city.
This film was the s--t, and one of the finest I've ever seen.
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