Episode 21: Crooklyn
Justin:
I was first introduced to Spike Lee in the mid-90s as I watched him have words with Reggie Miller while sitting in the front row at Knicks-Pacers games. He was a mixture of obnoxious and passionate and his appearance on screen was often met in my house with some version of “sit down, Spike.” It was easy to dehumanize him, especially as a sports fan, and even moreso when rooting against his team. I didn’t get anywhere near his films through my teens and even into my early twenties, and I can’t give any real reason other than I was being an ignorant asshole avoiding the man’s work. Over the last decade, though, as my outlook on just about everything has matured and shifted, I’ve jumped into his films and found myself really taken by his vision, even when I have issues with some of his choices (I’m looking at you, last scene of He Got Game). It’s truly very easy to see why he’s as divisive as he is!
I’m now hovering around 10 Spike films and I’ve found them all to be varying levels of odd and thoughtful and in the best cases, powerful. Over the course of watching his films, I’ve noticed something that Spike does really well, almost to the point of it being a calling card (and no, I don’t mean his famous double dolly shot that makes his actors look like they’re floating). Spike manages to find ways of showing quiet and touching moments within family units, displaying real love and connection despite the craziness, or even ugliness, of the actual surrounding situation.
Crooklyn has several moments like this and I found each one to be simply beautiful. First, there’s Troy and Nate sitting in bed next to their mother, Carolyn, just after the big fight when she kicked out their father, Woody. Then, there’s the candlelit dinner scene in their house with no power, but everyone is together. And of course, there’s the devastating family hug after Woody tells the five kids their mother has passed away, and then just a little later when Clinton takes Troy’s hand at the funeral.
Each one of those moments, and those like them in his other films, is genuinely sweet and uniquely positioned to do the exact opposite of what I took Spike’s antics to be at Madison Square Garden all those years ago: they’re humanizing. Not just him, mind you, but his characters: almost always a person of color, and a very high percentage of that, black. It’s easy to just say that Spike Lee is one of the most influential black directors ever, and his work speaks for itself, to be sure, but I think it’s in those moments in particular when he proves just how important he and his work have become. I don’t believe that Crooklyn is his best film, nor is it my favorite of his, but I do think it certainly solidifies his place in cinematic history as a truly essential voice and one I hope we hear from well into the future.
Pete:
I’ve always admired Spike Lee’s willingness to always be who he is. Whether it’s giving the choke sign to Reggie Miller, or showing up to the Oscars in a purple suit and gold Jordan’s, Spike is distinctly him. As any filmmaker worth their salt does, he brings his POV into the director’s chair with him. Even in his mainstream Hollywood fare like Inside Man, he’s still able to sneak in some shots at things he’s never been too fond of (yes, like police). It’s this being true to yourself nature that, a fair amount of the time, leaves me respecting Spike Lee the director more than I do the latest Spike Lee joint.
When it came to Crooklyn, it was also that very Spike Lee-ness that I associate with him and his work, that left me wholly unprepared for the combination of authenticity and sentimentality shown onscreen. Lee shows us a family in their environment, complete with all the financial, emotional, and medical problems that inevitably arise over the course of a lifetime. He also doesn’t shy away from the quiet, tender moments of love and kindness between parents and children and siblings. At its best, Crooklyn captures growing up and nostalgia as well as it’s ever been captured onscreen - a bittersweet look back at a time that will never be again. It’s a wonderfully sweet, affecting movie full of small, touching moments. More than that, though, it’s Spike being Spike – true to himself, his family, and his hometown…as he always does. Mars Blackmon forever.
