Black Review

• 1st Feb 2011

The nutshell: A 21^st century French take on blaxploitation goes to Senegal and loses its mojo.

The guts: Black is the film version of Charlie Sheen – despite its many advantages it can’t help behaving like just another skeezy loser. Sure, it’s superficially charming, but no good will come of accepting that drink. By dawn you’ll have a black eye or herpes. Maybe both.

Of course, you don’t wind up getting cosy with a no-good letch without a bit of champagne to start with. The first ten minutes or so of Black are pure bubbly giddiness, helped along by a thumping disco remix of Thus Spake Zarathustra and super sexy aerial camera work.

The camera zooms in on a little green dump truck as it trundles into Paris’ 18^th Arrondissement. This is the equivalent of a smooth operator telling you a few self-deprecating stories to get you off guard. Mais non! Stop giggling and don’t let that hand rest on your thigh! For the cute little green dump truck is a Trojan horse containing our hero, Black, and his band of thieves. While they are stopped at the lights (they’re armed robbers, people, not reckless drivers) a man in traditional African robes points at Black’s facial scar and starts raving about lions, snakes, panthers and a prophecy. You bet your rum cocktail this is significant. The robbery itself quickly goes les seins up, and soon it’s all violent gun battles, grenades, exploding cars and bullet-riddled torsos. Black barely escapes (by leaping from a bridge on to a moving train, naturellement) and wakes up next day to a phone call from his cousin, a bank guard in Senegal, who promises the easiest diamond heist ever.

At this point, it might appear first-time director Pierre Laffargue is going to deliver the promised Gallic update on 70s US blaxploitation films. French hip-hop star MC Jean Garb’1 (pronounced ‘Garbin’) is not much of an actor, but his dialogue is minimal and Laffargue wisely lets the MC’s gargantuan biceps do most of the talking. This means Garb’1 spends most of his time clad in that most un-chic of garments, the white ‘wife beater’ vest. But fashion woes are the least of Black’s problems. After scooping up his remaining hommes, Black bunks off to Senegal where the filming permits are cheaper and the plot is well and truly lost.

Like a glutton at a buffet, Laffargue overloads his tray. The plot doesn’t so much twist and turn as it does twitch and drop dead with the effort of trying to keep up with itself. Black is betrayed by his cousin, and then arrested by a hot Interpol officer called Pamela. Pamela and Black fall in love while being pursued by Russian terrorists and machete-wielding mercenaries. The mercenaries work for a white arms dealer who is slowly turning into a snake under the watch of his sorceress girlfriend; to save Africa (no, really) Black and Pamela must defeat him by undergoing some sort of cod-ritual bonding with lions and panthers. The ‘climatic’ battle was filmed through a blue filter so dark that it was hard to tell what the hell was going on.

There were brief moments suggesting a more interesting story about French Africans returning ‘home’. For example, Black’s first impression of Dakar is “What a dump. As soon as this is over, I’m going back to Paris.” His cousin accuses him of being ‘patronising’ and a ‘real Parisien’. And when Pamela sarcastically asks Black if he thought he’d just “come over, rob the dumb Africans and go home again?” his response is, “Something like that.”

It’s possible that if Laffargue had ever intended to make a slick heist flick with serious points about colonisation, immigration and cultural identity to make, he was quickly dissuaded by the complete lack of acting ability among his cast. Most look like they were selected from the free-weights area of Gold’s Gym. Other reviewers have commented that Garb’1’s acting chops are far superior to those of every other actor in the movie. That’s true, but it’s also true that, in a field of chickens, a mule can’t help but look the most like a racehorse.

If there is anything to take away from watching Black, it’s this: if a film that looks a bit like Charlie Sheen asks you to stay for another round, say no. Even if it does have a sexy French accent.

Black is out on 14th February.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nazKDtTxMtQ

Clare Moody