Black and
White
Rated
R
Opens
Wednesday, April 5
Not since Mandingo, the 1975 plantation potboiler
of master-slave sexual shenanigans, has a film as offensive
as writer-director James Toback's Black and White
surfaced. Toback (Two Girls and a Guy) has crafted
a convoluted story so universally odious and inflammatory
that it should spark debates and, if anybody bothers to
see it, could set interracial relationships back 60 years.
Charlie (Bijou Phillips) is one of those upper-middle-class
white kids trying to be black. Charlie listens to hip-hop,
wears a gold tooth, calls herself "nigga" and has sex with
black men. She and her friends enjoy "slumming it," as if
this brings them closer to some sense of nirvana that wealth
and privilege can't provide. Sam Donager (Brooke Shields)
is a dreadlocked filmmaker documenting Charlie and her friends,
but she too is a culture vulture and, like every white woman
in this film, is eager to spread her legs for a black buck.
One of Toback's underlying themes seems to be that in their
insatiable desire to be sexually ravaged by black men, white
women devolve into something less than human.
Then there are the black men (black women are spared the
indignity of being included in this mess). First there is
Rich Bower (Wu-Tang Clan's Power), the head of a hip-hop
empire built on crime and violence. Bower is rich and powerful,
and, as the film's opening suggests (he's sexually servicing
two white chicks in Central Park), he's got a magic johnson.
Dean (New York Knicks' guard Allan Houston) is a college
basketball player who grew up with Bower but chose a different
path. Dean is also coupled with a white woman, Greta (Claudia
Schiffer), who happens to be an anthropology major. In Toback's
world, a black man's measure of success is how much money
he has and how many white women he can screw.
The plot takes an unexpected (and clichéd) twist
when Dean accepts a bribe from Mark Clear (Ben Stiller)
to shave points off a game. Turns out that not only is Mark
an undercover cop looking to bring down Bower, he's also
Greta's ex-boyfriend, and he's pissed that his true love
is getting shagged by a brotha. Stiller is so miscast as
an undercover cop that only Woody Allen or Albert Brooks
could be less convincing.
The only real laughs come from Mike Tyson in his film debut,
playing himself. Believe it or not, Tyson serves as a spiritual
and emotional guide to Bower when the rap mogul is faced
with a potentially violent situation. The irony, of course,
is that seeking advice on how to handle violence from Mike
Tyson is like asking John Wayne Gacy for child-care tips.
Still, the few scenes with Tyson are the most entertaining
in a film that fails to entertain--only enrage. Black
and White has no likable characters, just black and
white stereotypes that elicit disdain, contempt and nausea.
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Willamette Week | originally
published April 5,
2000
|
