A viewing experience a long time in the coming, due either to some form of unintentional, subconscious racism, or simply due to the films being set in the 1970s, the decade that taste and style forgot. I dearly hope it’s the latter. A lack of distribution in snowy-white England may also have been an issue, as, even today, the boxset now in my possession had to come from mainland Europe.
While the fine details of John Shaft and his adventures weren’t well-known to me prior to my sitting down to experience them today, the iconic theme song, by Isaac Hayes, certainly was. I’ve heard parodies of it multiple times, across multiple platforms, from other films, to TV shows, and even podcasts. I know there are now two reboots that exist, confusingly also called “Shaft”, but I have little-to-no interest in those.
I’ll try not to discuss racial politics as best I can, even though the films appear to bring it up themselves. I’m just not educated enough in that area to do the subject justice. All I’ll say is that, after returning from a holiday in America, a friend informed me that, still to this day, you can cut the racial tension there with a knife. What with the country voting in elderly right-wing lunatics as their leader, I can only assume another civil war is on its way.
As with all my movie marathon posts, this will be a “living document”, in that I’ll be writing it as I go along. Not always though, which should go some way into explaining the confused tense used. You know, instead of just pure incompetence. I’ll also avoid backtracking as much as possible, only doing so in order to clean up my usual poor grammar.
Anyway, on that note, let us flip the detective agency’s sign from CLOSED to OPEN and see what cases saunter on in.
SHAFT (1971)
“I’m supposed to take you to visit a lady. Come on.”
“I haven’t finished my espresso.”
I generally don’t find forced-“cool” to be particularly cool, instead preferring moments, like the above dry exchange, to be much more refined in the art of coolness. There are many moments like this in the original Shaft, which is what I enjoyed the most about it. Protracted scenes of characters stood around talking usually don’t make for great cinema, but these scenes are laced with so much menace and tension that I feared my television would break under the stress. They should be taught in schools like Shakespeare. Wouldn’t that be great?! 8-year-olds being able to quote Shaft verbatim! The answer is “yes”. The actual action scenes are sparse and Howard Hawks/John Carpenter-brief, but they are well staged. The story, about our hero being hired to locate a rich man’s kidnapped daughter, is the average stuff of private detective fiction, but that’s fine. The simple case even blows-up into something bigger, threatening to incite a race war. I appreciated the scene where Shaft gives money to a shivering little street urchin, which aided in deepening Shaft’s character. He’s a complicated man, after all. The film doesn’t need this scene, but it’s there all the same. The final infiltration of the villain’s lair surely inspired Brian De Palma as much as Alfred Hitchcock, with the set piece’s music reminding me of Elliot Goldenthal’s scoring of the finale bank heist in Michael Mann’s Heat. I’m glad the two sex scenes didn’t go on too long, as gratuitous love making in movies is not welcome by this reviewer. I prefer the two art forms to be kept separate. Keep awkward groping out of cinema, and keep thoughtful cinematography out of porn. Deal? Deal. Overall, Shaft’s laconic pace often threatened to detach my concentration, but, after taking a brief powder to reinvigorate myself, I returned with glee. A thoroughly enjoyable experience indeed! Right, let’s up the “whakka-chikka-whakka-chikka” for…
SHAFT’S BIG SCORE! (1972)
“You oughtn’t talk to a lady that way! Where’s your fucking manners anyway?!”
Preach it, sister! Now the aspect ratio widens, as does the visual ambition of director Gordon Parks. While the gritty atmosphere of the first film sure was, erm, gritty, I’m a cinephile who prefers their slick framing/blocking. This all means the chaotic intimacy has gone, but I admire Parks for not trying to repeat himself. After all, this one does largely take place in the homes of the wealthy, which doesn’t work well in a documentary style. The plot is as inexplicably complex as the aforementioned Hawks’ own The Big Sleep, but I quite enjoyed being baffled by the goings on. Richard Roundtree’s titular “hero” is less honourable this time, with one scene in particular, where he beats up a mafioso out of revenge, lowering him to the status of a common thug. Two wrongs don’t make a right, John. Tsk, tsk. I initially thought said clarinet-playing mafioso was being portrayed by Alex Rocco or Sydney Pollack, but it’s some other dude. I guess you can’t have everything. The love scene is, once again, mercifully brief but genuinely erotic. Perhaps I’m going, ahem, “soft” in my old age. I enjoyed the jazz-based, rather than funk, musical score, which just goes to show that Parks wanted a different vibe to this one. There’s also a classic 70s car + boat + helicopter chase, which is always welcome. That’s the one thing Barry Lyndon definitely lacked! By the end, I still had no bloody idea what was going on, but this fact never stifled my enjoyment or made me want to cut today’s marathon short. Oh and the film features the one and only upper-floor apartment in the universe with a rear entrance. Go figure. Anyway, let’s get packing for…
SHAFT IN AFRICA (1973)
“Uptown dude like me, [they’ll] spot me a mile away.”
“Not if you’re briefed in tribal ways.”
Sigh. Ever since learning of the Shaft trilogy as a dumb teenager, I’ve yearned to see this one the most. I mean, just look at that title! Such glorious schlock. Saying that, it did bring to mind the embarrassing imperialist adventure films of the early-20th century, but I’ve always assumed none of that regrettable stuff would feature here. Well, as it turns out, we’ve lost Gordon Parks this time, being replaced by John Guillermin, the caucasian director behind the 1976 King Kong remake, Death on the Nile, and multiple Tarzan movies. Oh good grief. Now I’m worried! Yes, folks, Shaft has officially been sucked up by the Hollywood machine. We don’t even hear a black character speak until 7 minutes in, not until we’ve witnessed one being chased down and executed, like an animal, by white people. I said I wouldn’t naively bring up racial politics in the post, but this one’s really pushing me. The film mentions female circumcision twice, which is two times too many. I mean WTF?! The action is upped, but these moments are nowhere near as riveting as the subtle dialogue exchanges of its predecessors. Guillermin shoots as flatly as if he were making a sitcom, with none of the personality of Parks’ world. I’m now halfway through as I type these words, but struggling to continue. This is not a “Shaft” film, it’s something… ugly. The black characters here are merely a curiosity to the white filmmakers who have somehow infiltrated the series. End of story. I dearly hope Roundtree was strongarmed into returning out of contractual obligation. I haven’t read anything about the making of it, so there’s always the chance this was a passion project for the actor, but I sincerely doubt it. I did eventually crawl to the finishing line, but have nothing else to say. Don’t give Shaft in Africa your time and, if you can avoid it, you money. What a shame.
So, there you have it, two classic pieces of cinema and one piece of dated imperialist junk. It was a tragedy to end on such a sad note, but now I know why they never made any follow-up films. And why they keep trying to make amends for Shaft in Africa with numerous reboots.
Richard Roundtree has been a sterling guide through it all, with enough charm and charisma to even get me through that bizarre third one.
I’ve enjoyed today, two-thirds of it anyway, so I’ll hopefully do another marathon asap. I never did get around to the second half of my Pirates of the Caribbean one, but I’m so traumatised by the first three entries that my mind keeps blocking out my commitment. I do not believe this to be a bad thing.
Shut yo’ mouth, darlings.
Toodles!
