Hustle & Flow vs Last Days

I do a lot of vicarious living through movies, so if someone jumps their car over a gulch or whatever, I can play along and keep ‘em at ten-and-two in real life. If someone’s fighting injustice or the system or the Crazy 88, I can just chill on the couch with a beer and some comics, knowing that I’m doing my actual living up there on the screen. And now, I’ve seen Hustle and Flow, so I can tell you, from experience, it is truly hard out here for a pimp.

Hustle and Flow is the story of D-Jay, a Memphis pimp and drug dealer in the middle of what appears to be a mid-life crisis. Out of nowhere, he’s speaking philosophically to his hookers, crying in church, and most importantly, putting those rhymes and beats in his head down on paper. D-Jay is going to turn his life around by becoming a rap music superstar. Join the club. Like Maggie in Million Dollar Baby, D-Jay is probably too old for this new career, but he’s got her drive as well, and just maybe the right amount of talent to make the big-time.

D-Jay hooks up with Key, a music producer who records gospel music in a church. They set up a studio in D-Jay’s home (which he shares with Shug, Nola and Lexus, who are lovely ladies who work hard for a living, but aren’t rappers or gospel singers.) D-Jay has a bit of stage-fright, and takes a bit to warm up each time he’s on the mic, but when he does, he’s electrifying, rapping his tales of dirty Memphis pimpin’. He’s relying on his girls to keep the money coming in (between the three ladies, they’ve got one kid and one on the way), and on a visit from a former acquaintance turned rap superstar named Skinny Black (Ludacris, proving once again that rappers make better actors than any other kind of singer). Whether or not either of those comes through for him, I’ll leave for you to find out. What I can tell you is that Hustle and Flow is quite good, and has more of an identity than most anything else released this year. Hustle and Flow is shot and scored like blaxploitation and cop movies of the 1970s, with the bricks and neon of Memphis living in each background.

The performances in Hustle and Flow are beyond adequate. A movie like this could often get by with just the lead making an impression, but everybody, down to the tiniest detail, is exceptional. Terrence Howard makes D-Jay damn near iconic; by the end of Hustle and Flow, you’ll swear he was a real guy. And as the three prostitutes, Taryn Manning, Paula Jai Parker, and especially Taraji P. Henson take stock characters and burn away any chance of calling them clichés. Each is independent and significant in D-Jay’s life, but they don’t come off as fierce finger-snapping divas or meek put-upon hos. They’re regular women, in a bad situation, doing their best. Watching each come more alive as the movie progresses is one of the pleasures of Hustle and Flow, which surprises up until the final frame.

Hustle and Flow was written and directed by Craig Brewer, who has a Quentin Tarantino love for thugs, soul records and sharp dialogue. There’s a somewhat shocking bit of violence at one point, but more than that, there are shocking moments of humanity between D-Jay, Key and the women in their lives. Brewer should be proud, and in a just Hollywood, he’ll be writing his own ticket for the foreseeable future. Hustle and Flow is that rare movie: one that continues to live long after the credits have rolled.

On the other hand, we have Last Days, which I longed to tell to shut up, if only it would have said anything. Anything at all. Last Days plays like a movie that has settled a fight by declaring that it will never speak to you again. Fine. Hustle and Flow, could you ask Last Days to pass the salt? Thank you.

Last Days is the third (and the last oh please oh please) of Gus Van Sant’s quiet, cinema verite’ death trilogy (after Gerry and Elephant) and I think it’s the worst. Last Days follows the last days of a Kurt Cobain stand-in, played by Michael Pitt, who is a fine actor and would probably rock in a regular Van Sant movie like To Die For or Drugstore Cowboy. Plus, he can sing, and he actually does look like Kurt Cobain, so keep him in mind if you ever make that movie. This isn’t that movie. Pitt plays Blake, and he’s in a grunge band in the early 1990s, and he’s in Seattle, and he’s gonna kill himself, but he’s not Kurt Cobain. And here’s how I know: Kurt Cobain wasn’t boring. He couldn’t possibly have been. I know he did some regular everyday stuff like eating cereal and watching television and walking around in the forest, but I never had to watch it, and thus was never inspired to shout, “Just hurry up and eat your fucking cereal already!” I didn’t need to do any vicarious living during Last Days, cause that dude was just doing the regular shit I’m already doing.

Listen, I’m not sure Blake ever even eats cereal in Last Days, but he definitely doesn’t do anything else either. I’m pretty sure I was supposed to love Last Days, and I really wanted to, desperately, but there’s just nothing there for me. There might be for you, and you’re welcome to check it out. (Although, seriously, alongside Hustle and Flow, you’re better served to rent John Singleton’s Shaft remake, with Sam Jackson, Christian Bale and Jeffrey Wright—you didn’t remember the cast being that cool, did you?)  If you’re into it, the silent voyeurism of Last Days might make a nice contrast to the bravado, fun and style of Hustle and Flow. If you’re not into it, well, what do you say, wanna be best friends?

Hustle and Flow: A
Last Days: D