July 06, 2006


The woman sitting behind me and Cindy during the 7:40 showing of Wassup Rockers was Larry CLark's ideal audience--she gasped in horror, gasped in shock and said "Oh My God" and scoffed at the racist white people. Not so much for us --Cindy hoped the movie would be a flashback to her youth, but transpiring in LA rather than a border town in TX--but i think it was more reminiscent of my youth at the arts high, watching interminable films-with-a-message made by my 11th grade class mates, starring the cute seniors from the theatre department. What is the message of this film? Racism is bad but skating is fun? Everyone in LA has an unquenchable appetite for cock? White people are awful? Latino kids in south central have it rough but they make the most of it?! Ultimately, in Clark's efforts to ennoble the latino skaterat gang, he portrays them as so guileless, he turns them into a punxsploitation Cheech & Chong + 5, teen dopes on decks, starkly bewildered by the racist white world, their plight viewed only through the lens of Clark's fetishization of "the other"--though he primarily uses slutty latinas, predatory queers and vicious white ladies to manuever the consuming gaze. JR Jones compared it to The Swimmer in The Reader this week; it's like as if that scene where Burt Lancaster, coppertoned and barefoot in a bathing suit, jumps, in slow-mo, around the horse ring in slow with the hot babysitter--but it last for two hours. Actually, it's like this movie , but with more ollies.

Posted by Jessica at July 6, 2006 12:43 AM | TrackBack