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 by
Vince Rogers
Memphis, Tennessee-based filmmaker Craig Brewer is
a talented and visionary artist. He obviously understands and sincerely
loves the South. Brewer’s second feature film Hustle
& Flow was nearly perfect. Following the critical and
commercial success of that Academy Award-winning effort, he vowed
to make movies that would capture the special charms and rich heritage
of his dearly beloved Nu-Old South. He promised to insure that the
song of the South would be included in the symphony of American
cinema.
Against all odds, Hustle & Flow succeeded at the
inestimable task of making the story of D-Jay; a country, Black,
middle aged, White woman pimpin,’ weed dealer with a dream,
into the “Rocky” story of the new millennium. So in keeping
with his mission of chronicling the sound and the fury of the Southland,
Brewer returned to his Memphis roots for his next film. He dug down
deep into the gutbucket of Tennessee tall tales and dredged up a
Black Snake Moan. The title of the film is taken
from an old Blues tune by Blind Lemon Jefferson, which deals with
a fundamental Blues theme, the pain of love between a man and a
woman.
To tell this particular version of that ages old story, Brewer focused
his Kinescope on Lazarus Woods, played by Samuel L. Jackson in typically
superb fashion. Laz is a broken down Blues man turned butterbean
farmer in the midst of a lost “Love Jones.” He needs to
find a way to exorcise his demons before he does something he’ll
regret. Miraculously, “Old Scratch” seems to present him
with a way to redeem himself. One great morning he finds a beat
up young White pussycat doll named Rae (a fine performance by Christina
Ricci) on the side of the road. He learns that she has a habit of
catting around town with any old body and he decides to “cure
her of her wickedness” by chaining her to his hot tin roof
shack’s radiator. He succeeds in putting her back on the right
track, just in time for her soldier boy fiancé Ronnie (Justin
Timberlake) to bring sexy back home and make an honest woman out
of her. Brewer definitely cannot be accused of lacking ambition
and imagination. However, unlike the intense frustration and combustible
ambition that ran hot throughout Hustle & Flow, Black Snake
Moan has the feel of a smoldering pine straw needle fire that has
already been put out. The story seems to be hopelessly weighted
down by its limitations, much like the weight of the heavy chain
wrapped around Rae’s waist.
 Tales
of redemption like this are usually the formula for a can‘t
miss tear jerker. People usually eat this stuff up like a plate
of fried chicken and hot buttered cornbread. Unfortunately, Black
Snake Moan fails to convince the audience to feel that Laz
and Rae have experienced any true redemption and thus prevents viewers
from becoming emotionally invested in the characters or the story.
Black Snake Moan ultimately doesn’t work because
it is weighted down with too many unanswered questions and implausabile
plotlines. Whenever there is an event in the story that won’t
be easy to explain, Brewer solves this problem of plausibility by
simply skipping ahead to the next scene without explanation. There
are ultimately no surprises in the movie and everything you expect
to happen does happen without exception.
The idea of a Black man in the Deep South keeping a White woman
chained to his radiator is intriguing and conjures up unlimited
possibilities and plot twists. Instead all we get is some old Southern
Baptist Bible thumping, some light Sunday sermonizing and a Gospel
hymn or two. Ultimately, the films initial display of imagination
becomes its eventual undoing. Just like the limitations imposed
by the chain around Rae’s waist, the limitations of the storyline
begs the question, “How far can this thing really go????”
The answer quickly becomes apparent that it can’t go very far.
When Lazarus whips out the “Good Book” and his guitar,
it becomes pretty clear that he’s just going to rescue this
fallen Angel with some old scriptures and get his groove back by
playing some ole “Down Home” Blues.
Despite being disappointed with Black Snake Moan,
I am still impressed by Craig Brewer’s imagination, authenticity,
attention to detail and his sense of place and story. It would appear
that Black Snake Moan had all of the tall tale hyperbole and “Man
you got to be lying” implausibility that makes Southern storytelling
such a rich and entertaining source. However, like many a great
story being told on Magnolia shaded front porches and in Juke Joint
pool halls all over the South, some stories seem to work a lot better
when the details are left to the listener’s imagination. Hopefully
Craig Brewer has many more great stories to tell though and Black
Snake Moan was just a whimper before he fires his next big
bang.
(All photos © Paramount Classics)
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