Okay, here's the deal. I don't know how it's going out in your neck of the woods, gentle readers, but here in Carver Point, I've been busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kickin' contest. This funky flu that's sweeping through the country has had me hopping, and everywhere I turn, there's someone coming up to me, describing symptoms that I'd rather not hear during my Meatloaf Special at the Carver Point Diner.
I sympathize with all of you sufferers, though, because I too have had my battle with the can't-help-it-don't-want-it flu of 2000. Two days out of my Y2K bunker, I shook hands with Harley Pressman over at the Elks Club, and, boom, I got it. I felt like I'd been eaten by a wolf and crapped over a cliff. But, like the trooper I am, I kept working -- folks were depending on me. Oh, now, I whined and moaned all day long until my nurse and general keeper, Martha Nell, cornered me in Exam Room 2 and said, "Doc, with all due respect, if you don't 86 all that carryin' on, I'm gonna smack you with a clipboard!"
Needless to say, I shut up. And, like most any other flu, it passed. But I felt the need to apologize to Martha Nell, so I asked her if I might treat her to dinner as a way of making up for my whining. I knew her husband was out of town on his annual mallard hunting trip to Kentucky, so I thought the gesture would be nice. Well, she bowed up on me again. "If you think for one minute that I want folks in this town to think you and I are sportin' around while my husband is out of town, you're crazy!" She had a point, too. A man who'd kill a duck could be easily convinced to shoot a doctor who bought his wife a sirloin and 'tater combo plate.
She did, however, say that she and Jaynelle, the other nurse at the ol' clinic, were gonna see the new Denzel Washington movie that night, and, if I were to buy their tickets and spring for popcorn and Junior Mints, well, she'd see her way to forgive my recent childish behavior. So, after the last patient, I pulled the truck around, picked up Martha Nell and Jaynelle, and off we went to see The Hurricane. And, while I could've saved a fortune by buying that steak dinner, I had to admit that I more than got my money's worth, 'cause The Hurricane is one tough movie.
For those of you that don't know the story of Rubin "Hurricane" Carter (played by Denzel), it's a sadly simple one. Carter was a talented middleweight fighter, well on his way to being the champion, when in June of 1966, he was pulled over by a policeman. He and a friend, John Artis, "fit the general description" of two New Jersey murder suspects. Carter and Artis were African-American, and, in 1966, two black men suspected of killing white people were hard-pressed to find justice of any sort. The two were railroaded and convicted of the crimes, and both Artis and Carter were sentenced to three life terms. Carter served nearly 20 years of his life for a crime he didn't commit. It was not until an alienated American teenager named Lesra Martin (here played by Vicellous Reon Shannon) read a book Carter had written called "The 16th Round," and inspired a group of Canadians to work for Carter's release.
Director Norman Jewison knows how to tell a story of injustice. His previous works include A Soldier's Story, and one of the pivotal films in the history of racial equality on film, In the Heat of the Night, starring Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger. He tells this story in similar fashion, showing how, despite Carter's reputation as a model citizen and legendary athlete, he was deemed a murderer simply because he was black. But Jewison doesn't preach from a pulpit of racial injustice, and he doesn't bang the prejudice drum too loudly. He simply tells the story. Granted, he fiddles with certain facts (like most movie bio directors) but as a film presentation, it's a strong piece of work.
I do have to say this though. Jewison's movie hits its heights because of his lead actor. There are very few actors of any race that are as dynamic and powerful onscreen as Denzel Washington. From the time I saw his defiant performance in Glory (his single tear in that whipping scene is forever etched on my brainstem), I knew Denzel Washington would be a force for years to come. This time out, Washington spent months working out to reach a middleweight contender's look. More importantly, he grabs Carter's awakening mental and spiritual intensity and lets it rip through every muscle of that boxer's form. He's solid in and out, and it puts the role of Hurricane Carter right alongside Washington's best work.
I do congratulate Jewison too, for his use of black and white photography to capture the look of Carter's fight scenes. These scenes are tight and precise re-creations, and they show not only the director's art and Cinematographer Roger Deakin's chops, but they also show off Denzel's legitimate boxing skills. The crowds in these fights are just as important as the people in the ring, because their reactions show how Carter was both respected for his talent as he was sneered at because of his race. Consider the crowd as a microcosm of 1960s America, and you get a nice political statement disguised as boxing footage.
If there are any stumbles in this movie, they come in the "purist" vein. Not in their very existence, but in the way they are used. Character actor Dan Hedaya (Dick, A Civil Action) is stuffed into the role of a fictional detective named Vincent Della Pesca. His character is an amalgam of every racist and corrupt policeman, and the character's blustering pursuit of Carter throughout the trial and appeals push him into the world of Archetype. Suddenly, Hedaya is forced to play the Evil Within, and it becomes tiresome. It makes the story slip into a Les Miserables territory -- the relentless detective, hounding his criminal through the years, and it's wholly unnecessary. I did catch myself smiling too, in a fictional scene where Carter is allowed to speak in a post-court appearance. It's a soliloquy moment, and it's a powerful one, but there should be a flashing banner over the screen that says, "OSCAR MOMENT!!!" If this is not shown as Denzel's nomination clip before the Best Actor award is announced, I'll personally eat three Caesar salads. (If this sounds trite to you, please consider that the last salad I voluntarily ate for my health was in 1981.)
Long and short of it, folks, this is a fine movie, and unless the world stops turning and they invent a lowfat Big Mac worth eating, Denzel will make the Golden Five list next month. He might just take home the Golden Boy itself, if the voting gets a bit crazy and Spacey and Russell Crowe, two others I expect to catch nominations, split a tally or two. If Denzel wins, his speech will be one for the record books.
Treat yourselves to a sure-fire winner, and see The Hurricane. Don't let all the hoo-rah about factual missteps and dropped details steer you away from one of Denzel's stellar performance. In short, to miss this movie would be the biggest injustice of this new year.
Image copyright Universal Pictures.
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