“Just what do you mean by ‘somewhat
experimental’?
‘Blaxploitation’
was essentially exploitation cinema but specifically ‘commercially-minded films
of the ‘70s for a black audience’. In the era of Nixon and Watergate, the civil
rights struggle of the 1960s had still left black people disempowered in the real
world - yet on screen between 1971-1976 there was a ground-breaking new
sub-genre of films featuring black representatives who won battles, effected
change and were bursting with charismatic confidence. They kicked ass, looked
good and were underscored by super-cool soundtracks. They portrayed aspects of
the black experience but with the politics almost wholly removed for maximum
box-office - hence the exploitation label rather than 'Black Cinema'. This
would always be a controversial move, laying it open to accusations of
degradation instead of cultural advancement.
The
acceptance of African-American actors in Hollywood lead roles had taken an
appallingly long time for a progressive society. After decades of relegation as
utility ‘negro’ servants and other offensive, slow ‘Yassir’ drawling comic
sterotypes, change was a long time coming. In the late ‘60s Sidney Poitier
emerged as a black leading man without a trace of tokenism in the Virgil Tibbs
films beginning with the terrific In the Heat of the Night. It wasn’t until
1969 though that Jim Brown became the first black actor on-screen to play a
love-scene with a Caucasian woman (Racquel Welch) in 100 Rifles. The success of the film at last convinced
studios that there was an audience for empowered black characters in movies.
As much as
it arguably exploited their heritage for white studio bosses, Blaxploitation
also made money and created opportunities for black actors, film-makers and
spread its fan-base to a wider audience, even more so in the decades since.
Blaxploitation was no different to regular exploitation cinema; it took
advantage of big box-office crazes from other genres. Urban crime flicks were
supplemented by the new fashion for Bruce Lee’s imported kung-fu and Hammer
horror with varying success. If it was popular, it was incorporated and no idea
was too outlandish if the public queued for it. ‘Black Hollywood’ as it could
be labelled briefly was driven by trends not agit-prop politics, just like the
mainstream.
After
Blaxploitation’s varying success with the Blacula
films and then the embarrassingly poor Blackenstein,
the director of Blacula, William Crain, along with Dimension
Pictures gave audiences a transmutation of another Universal icon in Dr Black, Mr Hyde. It’s fitting that the
studio chose the Jekyll and Hyde story as the resulting film has the split-personality
of many from the genre - movies that earnestly want to represent the black
community as a weapon of some integrity amidst the crowd-pleasing, whilst simultaneously
shooting itself in the foot. Whilst its tone suggests a knowing humour, time
and again characters are drawn with positive attributes and then the script
delivers a face-palming error of representation that undoes the good
intentions.
Dr Black, Mr Hyde overall has relatively decent
production values, not that you’d know it from the beginning. Dr Pride (black pride?
– a hint at the political conscience attempted) played by Bernie Casey spends
most of his work-time at a hospital staffed apparently by just two orderlies,
two nurses and only him as the MD on duty. Casey had a long career on screen
following eight years in NFL American football, appearing in all genres from Guns of the Magnificent Seven, roles for
Scorsese and John Landis (Boxcar Bertha
and Spies like Us), to TV sci-fi in Deep Space Nine, to name but a few.
Pride starts
off either weighed down by the ennui of unfulfilled life, or it’s Casey’s
possible resignation about the woeful material in the opening visitor tour
scene. Certainly the character is making the best of things as he moonlights
part-time, sharing his skills for free at the local Free Clinic and Thrift Shop
- although his prostitute friend Linda (Marie O’Henry) feels he is not being
true to his people: “The only time you’re
around black people is when you’re down here clearing your conscience”. To
be fair, Pride probably deserves this for two reasons. Firstly, the poor girl
is unnecessarily topless in the scene where all he needs to perform is a
stethoscope check on her breathing from the back and a cursory inexplicable
jiggle of her pelvis. (The producers’ crass bid for populism warps Malcolm X’s call
to mobilisation into ‘tits by any means necessary’). Secondly, he’s just insulted her by stating
the obvious about her own work: “Obviously,
prostitution’s not the healthiest job to have”. Linda tries to dignify
being a hooker as a self-empowered choice rather than lowering herself to be
someone’s minimum-wage toilet cleaner. This is meant as an admirable moment of
social realism, but any sympathy for sex workers is poorly represented later
when one of her prostitute friends decries the slow week as being bad for
business and because “I’m horny too” -
as though that’s another reason why she would resort to it.
Privately, the
not-exactly-good doctor is less of a saint than his altruistic slumming
suggests. He’s been testing a secret serum on lab animals that turns their fur
pigmentation white; however it also turns them into savage beasts. Knowing the
limitations of his rats and guinea-pigs, he decides he must upgrade to “A human factor”. No prizes for guessing
where there’s a plentiful supply of those nearby. It isn’t long before a female
patient is wheeled in sans next of kin and before you can say Hippocratic Oath,
he’s injected her with the drug. Soon she develops the albino skin, pale eyes and
whitened hair reminiscent of Rosalind Cash in The Omega Man, who by pure coincidence plays Pride’s colleague Dr
Billie Worth here. The impatient patient attacks a nurse before changing back
into normal human appearance.
Incidentally,
the prosthetic make-up in the film is by effects maestro Stan Winston of Terminator, Jurassic Park and Aliens fame. Clearly, he also helped
those less fortunate than himself.
Pride’s
conscience thus far doesn’t bother him, despite Billie’s appeals. “I don’t know where I’m going to get another
patient” he ponders, staring off into the distance in a meaningful poised
close-up like a bad soap-opera. Eventually, he opts to get high on his own
stash and subjects himself to the serum. As the effect kicks in, he writhes in
agony, or seemingly indigestion, and rises up to reveal the same facial changes
as his human guinea-pig. With the added heavy Neanderthal brow, the combined
result on him is reminiscent of Lou Ferrigno’s Incredible Hulk of two years later. This is a Hyde with a
difference though. Rather than simply being Pride’s bestial altar-ego, added to
his primitive super-strength and rage he retains his civilised self’s articulacy
and displays a nifty line in flamboyant martial arts – complete with Bruce
Lee-style cawing.
Pride/Hyde
gets to flex his newly-acquired skills on a trio of street pimps, not the last
time in the film we see examples of this (by now dated?) caricature of
entrepreneurialism. Meanwhile, inside the Moonlight Lounge club another
posturer by the name of Silky parades his top-hat and cane stereotype. He’s
fooling no-one though. Underneath his Mack preening, he’s a snivelling
inadequate who gets his ass kicked not only by a threatening mobster, but
literally so by one of his own girls. Enter the doctor, who proceeds to beat up
all the thugs in the bar before transforming back just in time in the parking
lot to avoid being identified.
The writer,
Lawrence Woolner (who later went on to co-found New World Pictures with Roger
Corman) feels the need to reinforce Pride’s virtuous credentials by showing him
slipping money to a hard-up mother in the hospital who cannot afford to pay for her
son’s drugs. Maybe he’s trying to pay off his latent conscience because it
still doesn’t inhibit him in an argument with Billie from continuing his
experiments and a vendetta against the pimping fraternity. We soon discover
from a date with Linda why Pride makes such a personal crusade of erasing these
ghetto lowlifes and why he has such an interest in her welfare. His alcoholic
mother struggled to raise him whilst working as a cleaner to the rich, often
leaving him in the care of hookers. This is Bernie Casey’s best scene in the
film, a poignant confessional that has him tearing up as he recalls running to
the neighbours as a boy after she collapsed.
Back at
Pride’s home, he then renders the evening even more of a downer by heavily
suggesting she also inject the drug. When she refuses, there is a disturbing
tone to his “What if I insist?” He
shoots up first, which makes her understandably less than reassured by his
sudden bleached appearance and berserk anger management issues. She flees the
scene with him in hot pursuit - cue ‘70s wah-wah jive on the sound-track
The finding
of a hooker’s body the next day livens things up by ushering in the detective
duo of O’Connor and Jackson, played by Milt Kogan and Ji-Tu Cumbuka. In
real-life, Kogan was a trained MD, known for his cop namesake in the
long-running TV sitcom Barney Miller.
The 6’ 5” Cumbuka built up an impressive resume, mainly of TV work from a
challenged upbringing without the support of a Baptist minister father who
preached that acting was ‘the devil’s work’. His Detective Jackson is presented
as a sharply-dressed man of self-respect in the black community, and yet his
vocabulary veers from highly-sophisticated words such as ‘insalubrious’ to
rough bursts of ebonics. Discovering the corpse, he tells Kogan: “Somebody
has put some shit in the game, know what I mean?” His partner is as
perplexed as us. In the office, after taking some heat on the ‘phone he slams
down the receiver with a street-hustler’s “Jive-ass
sucker!”.
Back on
those streets, Silky the crap pimp still hasn’t got the message that he’s not
cut out for this line of work. Replacing Linda with a white pro prompts a brief
girl-on-girl cat-fight: “Who you callin’
bitch, ho?” before Pride turns up and uses kung-fu and a car to effect a
career change by running over his new employee and ramming Silky with it.
To try to
balance the vicarious thrill of seeing our vigilante ‘hero’ sweeping the scum
away, we see a brief split-personality inner struggle in front of his bathroom
mirror a’la Smeagol/Gollum. Unsurprisingly, his commercially exploitative dark
side wins out, despite Casey’s quietly effective playing: “This is real – and it’s too late to change”. Even Billie’s threat
to turn him in can’t stop his confused vendetta borne of a haunted childhood. He
has always been mother’s Pride.
The climax
where Pride captures Billie and is corned by the police at Watts Towers is
well-staged and makes good use of aerial footage as he scales the tower solo.
The deliberate homage to King Kong is
an uncomfortable racial issue, especially if too close a comparison is made
between Kong and the doctor’s ape-like transformation. Regardless, Pride comes
before a fall, and fall he does – in an impressive stunt dive off the tower.
Released in
1976, Dr Black, Mr Hyde was the last
gasp for Blaxploitation as a viable economic movement for black advancement in
the entertainment industry. There was never a question of film-makers lacking
the talent so much as judgement. Whenever
valiant bids were made in the genre to sew in subtle references to the modern black
experience, all too often they were lost in favour of appealing to
the lowest and widest denominator of audience. (Did anyone really register
Pride’s experiments as a metaphor for the U.S. government’s notorious covert syphilis testing on black college students in Tuskegee?).
Dr Black, Mr Hyde hints at what could have been
possible, but in solely celebrating primitive fun ends up failing to do either
very well. The terrific artwork of the poster campaign shows where the energy
went instead.
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