Poetic Justice (R)

‘Poetic Justice’ (R)

Perhaps it's best to talk first about John Singleton's frustrating new film, "Poetic Justice," in terms of what it isn't rather than what it is.

What it isn't is "Boyz N the Hood." Singleton's volatile first film earned him Oscar nominations and brought him the sort of instant respect that is rare in this country. In the wake of this bounding success, the road to the 'hood became quite familiar and well traveled. Suddenly, the 'hood was smokin', gunz and all.

In "Poetic Justice," Singleton heads off in the opposite direction. If "Boyz N the Hood" was about gangs and guns and killings, then this new one had to be its balladic flip side and not be about gangs and guns and killing.

I put it this way because "Poetic Justice" feels as if it were conceived in the negative rather than the positive. It's really a mess, this curious, wandering thing. At the same time, it's stubbornly bold in its uncompromising determination to stay off the main roads, to remain steadfastly, even perversely, unpredictable.

A goodly portion of the picture takes place, in fact, on the road -- in reality, on Highway 1, along the spectacular Pacific shore, north to Oakland. The boyz in this case aren't gang members, they're postal workers. About once a month, Lucky (Tupac Shakur) and his man Chicago (Joe Torry) have to drive a postal truck from L.A. up to Oakland. They call it a "run," and for some time now Chicago has been trying to talk his girlfriend, Iesha (Regina King), into coming along. This week, not only has she agreed to come, she's also promised to bring along her best girl, Justice (Janet Jackson).

Lucky couldn't care less. When he goes to Oakland, about one thing matters -- his music. His cousin there is already laying down his own tracks, and with his help maybe Lucky can get something going for himself too. That's his dream, at least, and all he wants is to make it to his cousin's as quickly as possible. And when he sees that his blind date for the day is Justice -- who, by coincidence, had just recently dissed him when he asked her out at the beauty salon where she works -- he pulls his backward White Sox cap further down on his head and readies himself for sexual war.

The term "war" is not used here as hyperbole, because the clashes that take place inside this postal van seem nearly as ferocious as the gang wars on the streets. Confrontation is the principal mode of interaction for Singleton's characters -- they're brutally honest with each other, as if the goal of conversation were to break the other person down, to get inside his head and mess with his game.

This pattern of conflict, escalation and climax is set up repeatedly throughout the trip, sometimes between Iesha, who's a budding alcoholic and a nasty one too, and Chicago, a typically self-absorbed macho home boy who's constantly primping and brushing down his fade, and sometimes between Lucky and Justice.

This long journey, during which Chicago and Iesha break up and Lucky and Justice court and spark, is the heart of "Poetic Justice," and as it unreels, you can feel Singleton fumbling to come to some conclusions about black men and women. Especially women.

But Singleton -- who is only 25 -- appears to be working here in territory that is foreign to him. In "Boyz N the Hood," he had a penetrating message to deliver, and he did so with passion and urgency. With its focus emphatically on the inner lives of his characters, "Poetic Justice" is a much more exploratory work, and a much more searching and uncertain and far less satisfying film.

You get the feeling here that Singleton has almost forced himself to examine this mostly uncharted aspect of modern black life -- as if he locked his characters inside that truck and wouldn't let them out until they revealed themselves. Or, on the other hand, until the director discovered his true point of view.

Singleton never does. From the turbulent scenes before the postal run, we have learned that Justice is mourning the loss of her boyfriend, who was killed right before her very eyes. And that as a kind of therapy she has taken to wearing black and writing poetry (the text for which is supplied by Maya Angelou).

In another early scene we see that Lucky has a baby daughter who still lives with her crack-addicted mother. And in another we meet Jessie (Tyra Ferrell), a battle-toughened veteran of the sexual wars who owns the shop where Justice works and who thinks men should be used, "like tools." She's coldblooded and practical about men, using them for money or whatever else she needs, because "love don't live here no more."

In one of her poems, Justice writes, "Nobody, but nobody, can make it out here alone." But for most of the film, Singleton examines the emotional forces that make coming together so close to impossible. In this regard, the movie transcends race, because though the backgrounds of the characters might change -- as well as the styles of conflict and the language -- the obstacles between men and women are universal.

Singleton gets around to making this point, but just barely. And yet there are virtues along the lurching, meandering path he takes to it. All four main actors give fully felt performances. In her movie debut, Jackson makes the same kind of vital contact with the camera that she does in her music videos, but she shows a soft, sadder, more vulnerable side as well. As beautiful as that face is when it lights up, it may be even more radiant and compelling in sorrowful contemplation.

Both she and Lucky are damaged goods; the life in south-central has left them scarred and self-protective. That's partly why Singleton's glib resolutions ring false. First he sets us up with intractable divisions between the sexes, then imposes easy solutions. "Poetic Justice" isn't the work of a director in full control of his material; instead, it's a picture by a director who has almost consciously thrown himself out of control. It's more a brave movie than it is a good one, but at least Singleton has faced the unknown. And he deserves credit for the attempt.

"Poetic Justice" is rated R for language, violence and sensuality.

Copyright The Washington Post

Back to the top

ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7uK3SoaCnn6Sku7G70q1lnKedZMSxedKrrWirpK65pnvLqKWgrJWnunC5zq%2Bgnqtfq7alsc6sZqmnlam2pLbUrKuim5Wntaq60qilmJlgloV0hY2hq6Y%3D