I Wanna Dance with Somebody: Celebratory

I Wanna Dance with Somebody (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for drug use, profanity and emotional abuse

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Film biographies live or die on the basis of the starring performance, and Naomi Ackie is by far this project’s strongest asset (although, in fairness, she’s surrounded by an equally strong supporting cast).

 

As her career explodes, and she finds herself surrounded by an increasing number of
"takers," Whitney Houston (Naomi Ackie) knows that she always can trust
Clive Davis (Stanley Tucci) to look out for her best interests.

Ackie persuasively runs the complex emotional arc of Whitney Houston’s tempestuous — and tragically brief — career: modest ingénue; giddy breakthrough artist; savvy judge of what works best; regal diva; betrayed daughter; out-of-control mega-celebrity, blind to the way in which she’s torching her own brand; and, ultimately, wan and emaciated substance abuser.

During the best and brightest moments, Ackie’s mimicry is almost eerie: the warmly radiant smile; the shrewd, theatrical hand gestures and body language; and — most crucially — the sheer magnetic presence this woman displayed, both on stage and during quieter moments. She lights up an otherwise quiet room, sucks all the air out of a massive, sold-out theater.

 

What Ackie does not do, however, is sing; she lip-synchs everything to Houston’s actual vocals. (It is, credit where due, extremely convincing lip-synching.)

 

This, perhaps, is the most visible example of the compromises, omissions and tread-very-carefully decisions that director Kasi Lemmons and scripter Anthony McCarten were forced to make, every step of the way: both in order to please the many surviving associates and family members, and to avoid potential defamation lawsuits.

 

This is most obvious during McCarten’s “softening” of Bobby Brown (Ashton Sanders), and the ludicrously restrained manner in which the film deals with his abusive behavior during their 14-year train wreck of a marriage.

 

On the other hand — and no doubt a reflection of our more enlightened times — McCarten’s depiction of Houston’s bisexuality is refreshingly frank, along with her long, complex relationship with best friend (and eventually executive assistant) Robyn Crawford (Nafessa Williams). 

 

Their flirty, meet-cute connection, as young women, is one of this film’s many pleasures. Williams is similarly excellent as the effervescent lover turned steadfast, truth-telling watchdog, as Whitney’s career ascends and then heads into troubled waters. Robyn’s feisty, take-no-prisoners loyalty cracks only briefly, when the necessity of a heterosexual “image” derails any chance of a longstanding romantic relationship.

 

Robyn’s crestfallen expression — and rage — are heartbreaking, when this moment of truth arrives.

Black and Blue: Badly bruised

Black and Blue (2019) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for profanity and considerable violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.25.19

As a gritty urban thriller, this is one helluva ride.

Director Deon Taylor and production designer Frank Zito make superlative use of post-Katrina New Orleans’ still ravaged wards; such scenes evoke the bombed-out European cities during all manner of World War II-era film dramas. One can’t help viewing this setting as a deplorable condemnation of the U.S. government’s failure to put any effort into rejuvenating NOLA’s poorer neighborhoods.

With corrupt cops closing in from all sides, Officer Alicia West (Naomie Harris) and
Mouse (Tyrese Gibson) have little chance of surviving the next few seconds, let alone
long enough to get crucial information back to her precinct house.

Taylor also draws a persuasive, crowd-pleasing performance from Naomie Harris, starring as rookie police officer Alicia West: an intelligent, compassionate and admirably (foolishly?) stubborn individual who genuinely believes that change begins one person at a time. She gets solid support from Tyrese Gibson, similarly strong as Milo “Mouse” Jackson, a local fixture whose tenuous, long-dormant tie to Alicia puts him in mortal danger.

And if this film had nothing beyond its suspenseful, heroine-in-peril scenario, this would be an entirely different essay.

But no: Peter A. Dowling’s original script is equal parts (supposedly) barbed social commentary, and in that, this film fails utterly. Indeed, this story is an equally offensive example of that which it intends to indict.

We begin as Alicia, enjoying an early morning jog through her attractive suburban neighborhood, is stopped and thrown against a fence by two white cracker cops intending to bust her for EWB (existing while black). They back off — very reluctantly — only when her ID reveals that she’s “on the job.”

Her day having gotten off to a lousy start, she nonetheless works a full shift alongside mentoring partner Kevin Jennings (Reid Scott), a decent enough guy who laments that their beat — the Ninth Ward — has deteriorated significantly, since she left years earlier and served several army tours in Afghanistan. Chance encounters with Mouse and former best friend Missy (Nafessa Williams) elicit savage contempt from the latter, now that Alicia has become “blue,” rather than black.

A personnel shortage prompts a second night shift detail, with Alicia now working alongside veteran Officer Deacon Brown (James Moses Black). As dawn approaches, they roll up to an abandoned warehouse, Brown having gotten “an assignment” on his personal cell phone. He orders her to remain in the car; when shots are fired, she rushes into the building, intending to support Brown.