Idlewild

Outkast's feature film debut suffers from the same problem that has plagued their recent musical output. Andre "3000" Benjamin and Antwan "Big Boi" Patton want to work separately, to follow their own individual muses and work in wildly divergent styles, yet they're never more successful than when they work as a team.

All the best Outkast songs feature the duo rapping together and all the best scenes in Idlewild (namely, the musical numbers) prominantly feature both performers. But like the smash-hit Outkast double release "Speakerboxx/The Love Below," (which provides most of the film's soundtrack), Idlewild constantly shifts focus to the point of bipolar disorder. A romantic comedy one minute, a violent gangster drama the next, with some far-out fantasy sequences and Christian moralizing thrown in for good measure, Idlewild feels like a rough outline for an opera cycle or an HBO series.

That's not to say it's a bad film. Quite frequently, it shows the makings of greatness. Writer/director Bryan Barber demonstrates some genuine filmmaking ability, and pulls out some terrific sequences. (His previous claim to fame was the terrific video for "Hey Ya".)

It's refreshing to see a black filmmaker taking on a period piece, working with an entirely black cast, who's given a reasonable budget and some creative freedom. The movie doesn't always work, but Barber was clearly provided with some room to breathe and some opportunities to take chances.



The Prohibition-era Southern setting is a perfect choice for an Outkast musical, considering the boys' Atlanta roots, heavy blues and gospel influence and interest in the cultural history of Black Americans. Better still, Barber's production really captures the era's odd mixture of demure formality and frank sexuality, particularly in terms of the sensational costume design. (An opening musical number starring Macy Gray and a stage-full of naked lesbian dancers sets the tone right from the start). Idlewild resembles a lot of boundary-demolishing '30s films - classy but sleazy movies about very good people who operate in a very bad places.

(Coincidentally, three of these '30s films will also be released on DVD this Tuesday in the Turner Classic Movies "Forbidden Hollywood" collection. Of particular note is Baby Face, a melodrama about a conniving but ambivalent gold-digger that shocked 1933 audiences despite significant pre-release cuts demanded by the New York Board of Censors and Warner studio chief Walter Brennan.)

In this case, our lost souls are Percival (Benjamin), a reserved mortician and part-time piano player, and his best friend Rooster (Patton), a relentless schemer and part-time singer. They perform together at The Church, a speakeasy and dance club run by the slimy Sunshine Ace (Faizon Love). The two leads are still a little green as actors but they manage to get by alright in roles designed specifically for their personas. Benjamin has appeared in smaller parts in several other films (including the never-released Guy Ritchie fiasco Revolver), but Patton gets the more interesting, likable character and more compelling storyline.

Percival's the quiet dreamer who is finally getting his shot at life, but he's almost too introverted to be sympathetic. Barber makes a few mistakes in developing Percival's character, including a really heavy-handed and obvious sub-plot about his cruel taskmaster father (Ben Vereen), but no misstep is more crucial than the paucity of songs. We're told early on, in a sequence featuring animated sheet music, that Percival composes his own songs, but we never really get to hear a full tune until the end of the film. The bits we do hear, including an odd half-melody about Chronomentrophobia, the fear of clocks, are repetitive and unfinished.

Love gives probably the films most enjoyable, lively performance as the perversely greedy Ace, but he's gunned down inside the first 20 minutes by Trumpy (Terrence Howard), a mean-spirited thug looking to get rich quick in the hooch business. With Ace and veteran bootlegger Spats (Ving Rhames) suddenly out of the picture, Rooster is placed in charge of the club, and therefore assumes Ace's rather considerable debt to Trumpy, along with various other headaches.

These scenes at The Church thankfully feature a few zippy, fun song-and-dance numbers in the midst of all the throwback gangster cliches. Tracks like "Bowtie" contain literally dozens of anachronisms in a '30s setting, both musically and lyrically, and I liked how the movie tosses them off without concern. (I find it unlikely that anyone in 1935 would refer to themselves as a "gangster mack.") The dancing is shot with a lot of flair, but not so much as to be distracting. (The end credits sequence, a nod to Busby Berkeley's '30s musicals starring Benjamin, doesn't work at all because the guy can't dance. It's a great idea that's so poorly executed, I assume it was meant to be funny.)

Despite the enthusiasm and affection on display towards the Cagney and Bogart classics of the genre, much of the actual plotting here is overly familiar. Howard, a really watchable actor, tries his best to bring some life to the stock villain role but doesn't really succeed. Unfortuantely, when Barber does try to move beyond referencing old films or relying solely on formula, he fumbles. Rooster has a talking flask (voiced by Diddy's former butler, Farnsworth Bentley), but the character adds nothing and gets irritating fast. A large-scale, CGI-enhanced gunfight and car chase looks kind of cool, but Barber makes the unfortunate choice of setting it to a poorly-chosen Big Boi song ("Church"), which throws off the timing of both the on-screen action and the music. There's a reason musicals don't usually set the songs against loud, quick-cutting chase sequences.

I should also mention, Rooster's random encounter with an impoverished but deeply faithful granny (Cicely Tyson) is meant to give the film some additional weight or deep meaning or something, but it's pretty ridiculous and out of place. The uber-convenient resolution of this plotline feels like something tacked on at the last minute.

The lugubrious Percival storyline collapses under its own weight. While Rooster at least gets a car chase and some songs, Percival's stuck in a predictable romantic arc lifted directly from Moulin Rouge. His sheltered, meek songwriter meets the glamorous singer Angel Davenport (Paula Patton) and is smitten immediately. That she likewise seems interested in him, and wants nothing more than to perform some of his original compositions and sleep over at his Dad's house, doesn't tip off Percival that something is not quite as it seems, but it was kind of obvious to me.

Though the script is credited to Barber alone, I'd have to imagine that both Outkast guys had some creative input in terms of story and character. So I don't understand why Benjamin would want to play this near-silent sadsack in his own film. Rooster gets all these big, show-stopping musical numbers and Percival gets a few dimly-lit scenes playing snippets on the piano to himself in an attic. When he finally gets to solo, he sings one of the weaker "Love Below" tracks - "She Lives in My Lap" - at the least appropriate moment possible. Every time I hear that song from now on, it will have a creepy undertone. Percival is just kind of a zero and Benjamin even seems bored playing the guy. It's no wonder Rooster spends so little time with him, despite claiming to be his best friend.

And that's what it really comes down to in the end. Idlewild is supposed to be the Outkast movie, but it's really just an stylish period piece starring two musicians in barely-connected storylines. The golden rule of film criticism, which I violate all the time, is that you should review the film as it stands, not the film you wanted to see. So I've tried to present my feelings on Idlewild in its actual real-world form, but it's hard not to wish these two guys could get their heads together, get on the same page and work cohesively as a unit again.