American Gangster

What was it about the Nixon years that America just can’t seem to finish digesting? Was it the foreign policy faux pas that cost so many American and Vietnamese lives? Maybe it was the choking economy or a new-found lack thereof?

Maybe it was none of these things, but in any event they are all prominent threads in Ridley Scott’s true-crime drama American Gangster. Scott is no stranger to real-life drama (G.I. Jane) but has historically leaned more towards the fantastical (Legend, Alien) and the epic (Gladiator, Kingdom of Heaven). Maybe it’s his track record that makes his choice of translating the life of Frank Lucas-the most notoriously succesful black leader of organized crime- so suprising and the film so poignant.

Denzel Washington stars as Lucas, while Russel Crowe plays a pleasantly humble role as a Jersey cop named Detective Richard Roberts.  The two are fantastically matched as Washington displays his perennial grace and dignity that lends the drug lord a sympathetic air despite shooting a neighberhood gangster in broad daylight, and flooding the streets of New York with high quality heroin.  Crowe looks anything but grandiose as Roberts struggles to win a custody battle over his son, turns in a trunk full of bribe money and gets chased out of New York by some corrupt cops who treat him like a kid on the wrong side of the playground.

The movie plays out like a more grand update on the French Connection (the famous bust is outwardly referenced in the dialog) with all the typical, racist, stereotypes shuffled.  Instead of Gene Hackman’s Irish gumshoe, Roberts is a Jewish cop.  All of the Italian families and crooked cops marvel at the presence of a black druglord dominating their streets.  Ridley Scott doesn’t pull any punches either as both cops and criminals toss racial slurs with venomous hatred.

Nevertheless, race is not the picture’s prime concern so much as ethics. Repeatedly throught the film Detective Roberts is mocked for turning in the found cash, which was probably swiped from the evidence room by a less honest cop. Eventually Lucas himself trys to buy him off, begging the question: ‘what’s the point? The world is a screwed up place.’ Ridley Scott is not interested in wrapping the answer up with a bow. What he does give us is just violent enough, with carefully measured New York grit to give this true story an authentic sense of drama and personality.

****1/2

Scout Niblett-This Fool Can Die Now

Emma Niblett, stage name ‘Scout’ is one of a kind. Residing in Portland by way of Nottingham, Scout likes to keep her live shows spicy by wearing wigs, reflective safety vests and at points using only her rudimentary drumming as instrumentation for her eccentric songs. She waves her freak flag high, but is thoughtful and endearing enough to keep it from feeling contrived.

This Fool Can Die Now oddly balances the tender and the terrifying. Opening with one of several duets with Will Oldham (often known as Bonnie Prince Billy) Scout’s voice sounds shockingly sweet as her and Oldham span the opening two tracks contemplating (gasp!) love. Their inimitable voices sound so disarming together on ballads like “The River of No Return” and “Kiss” one can almost suspend their disbelief and buy it. Niblett and Oldham are like a weirder Dylan and Baez wandering through cities dropping songs out of their pockets and making love in front of typewriters and ashtrays. The ever-presence of death is the only thematic bitterness in all of their odd, love-lorn crooning. But let’s face it, Oldham and Niblett are probably just singing and Scout still wants to rock.

“Let Thine Heart Be Warned” has all of the minimalistic power she discovered on Kidnapped By Neptune. Matching brittle rhythm guitar that would make Kurt Cobain proud with Steve Albini’s up front production, Scout really digs her nails in and climaxes in a mammoth heap of distortion and wailing. It’s all the more suprising after the album’s graceful opening.

This Fool Can Die Now has an unsettled kind of idiosyncrasy. Affecting strings on “Elizabeth (Black Hearted Queen)” and “River of No Return” are enough to make a fan out of your mom, but the drums and vocals only “Moon Lake” might weird her out. It’s hard to tell where she’s really going, but the results are always mesmerizing. “Dinosaur Egg” seems to sum it up the best “I’d much rather be a golden ball of light, but still have sex.” Maybe she can have it both ways; yearning meditations on love/mortality and kinetic explosions of monochromatic grunginess.

****