Scott Sanders’ Black Dynamite, a pitch-perfect satire of 70s blaxploitation flicks, is just a little too accurate. This isn’t so much a spoof of one of the good efforts in the genre, like Shaft or Superfly or Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song (an admittedly tough sit that would seem ripe for this treatment), it’s more a satire of the Dolemite films starring Rudy Ray Moore, which were funny enough by themselves.
This results in a film that – if you’re game – is entertaining in spots and even laugh-out-loud funny. But because it’s such a committed recreation of a terrible movie, over the course of an hour and a half it really does start to feel terrible. That it’s supposed to be bad is little consolation while we’re sitting there checking our watch every fifteen minutes, sifting through a generic plot and waiting for the next gag.
An Adam West cameo informs us that he’s comin’ – comin’ – comin’ to avenge the death of his little brother. Yes, Black Dy-na-mite (Michael Jai White) is here to kick some ass when he’s not busy keeping his bitches in line.
What starts out as a detective story – with the aid of friend Bullhorn (Byron Minns), Dynamite gets some info about his brother’s last days from Cream Corn (Tommy Davidson) and heads out to take on Chicago Wind (Mykelti Williamson) – is quickly dropped when Detective O’Leary (Kevin Chapman) tells Dynamite his brother was working for them to keep drugs off the street when he was gunned down.
Now Dynamite takes up his late brother’s cause, and in fifteen minutes, the film will be about something else entirely, as he hooks up with Pam Grier lookalike Gloria (Salli Richardson) and a militant group fronted by Black Hand Jack (Bokeem Woodbine). Then there’s Anaconda malt liquor, anti-black agendas, awful kung fu, political intrigue, and a slew of jokes that aren’t exactly politically correct.
There’s also some terrible camerawork full of random pans and zooms, choppy editing that has accidentally left in some miscues, and a wide range of acting. Giant afros fill the screen, decorated by hippy-era sets and costumes. This thing is so spot-on in its recreation that it deserves all the praise in the world. No faux-70s-film effects like Tarantino and Rodriguez used in Grindhouse; this is a genuine relic.
But does it work? For every good gag here – and there are plenty of ‘em – I found my interest level waning as the disconnected plot progressed. This stuff is great in small doses, but it drags as a whole. The finale, however – out-of-this-world stuff that, no, I didn’t expect even from Black Dynamite – salvaged the movie in my eyes.
The soundtrack is still ringing in my ears. Dy-no-mite (beat) Dy-no-mite. Cult audiences will eat this up, but others would be wise to proceed with caution. Still, you owe it to yourself to at least check out the (excellent) trailer. Filmed in Cinemaphonic Quadrovision.
