‘Straight Outta Compton’: N.W.A. as Messenger, Myth, and Erasure

And I don’t buy the excuse that Gray gives by calling these women story criticisms “side stories.” He showed Snoop Dogg in the film twice, and even had Tupac Shakur ( A.k.a. 2Pac) in a scene. Wouldn’t they be considered side stories too? Also, the movie is already long, so adding three minutes just to give us a glimpse of Yo-Yo with Cube, or a kick ass scene with The Lady of Rage in the sound booth rapping “Afro Puffs” with Snoop couldn’t hurt the narrative flow or length. It would take so little to show the world that women were there and are a part of N.W.A.’s legacy.

Straight Outta Compton poster featuring actors and original members of N.W.A.
Straight Outta Compton poster featuring actors and original members of N.W.A.

 

“To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all of the time” – James Baldwin

“To be a woman who loves hip hop at times is to be in love with your abuser. Because the music was and is that. And yet the culture is ours.” – Ava DuVernay after viewing Straight Outta Compton

 

To love hip hop as a woman, and as a Black woman in particular, is to wage a continuous battle of cognitive dissonance. One can love the beats and artistry of music production, head bob with the best of them while marveling at the creative lexicon spit over a mic, while also cringing at the ubiquitous violence, sexism, misogyny, and mysogynoir.  This has always been the burden of women who love rap. And yet we still listen and participate in all its incarnations as a culture. It has redefined music, dance, art, and fashion.

I remember my middle sister bringing home her first N.W.A. album by Ruthless Records. I was already knee deep into East Coast rap, and was initially put off by the antagonism towards women. When the Straight Outta Compton album dropped, I heard it on full blast everywhere when visiting relatives in Los Angeles. I was a fan of Ice Cube’s vocal confidence and that indignant anger he carried in all his rhymes. When he went solo, I used to laugh and marvel at his storytelling skills on his albums. They were at times hyperbolic performative masculinity comedies to me. Street poetry as hardcore storytelling.

Top: Ice Cube, Director F. Gary Gray and Dr. Dre. Below: O'Shea Jackson Jr., Jason Mitchell, and Corey Hawkins.
Top: Ice Cube, Director F. Gary Gray and Dr. Dre.
Below: O’Shea Jackson Jr., Jason Mitchell, and Corey Hawkins.

 

I was young, but smart enough to know that flinging terms like “bitches” and “hoes” was a reflection of male rappers’ insecurities with women, and the learned behavior of patriarchy. Rappers were no more, sexist, violent, or homophobic than America as a whole. But it was annoying to watch teen boys take on the negative mannerisms and posturing of their new rap Gods. Gangster rap blew up, and the only issues I had with the growth of that subgenre of  rap is that it dominated everything. Instead of hearing a variety of rap styles and unique tall tales on wax and cassette, everybody wanted to be “hard” and a thug. Rap became boring. I had to leave for a minute to enjoy Fishbone, Living Colour, and the new music coming from the Black British R&B scene.

I remember the N.W.A. split, the bitter rivalry, the first time I heard Ice Cube’s “No Vaseline,” the shock of the Dee Barnes‘ assault (and others like Michel’le Toussaint) and how I could never be comfortable with Dr. Dre ever again, even though his beats were always banging with his work on Death Row Records. I remember the shock of Eazy-E’s death from Aids. Heck, I was blasting “Fuck Tha Police” when the Rodney King verdict became the L.A. Uprising. Truth be told, I still blast it now with the current policing problems we face today. Shit ain’t changed. There was just so much rich drama and bad blood surrounding the rise and demise of N.W.A, I was not surprised that a Hollywood studio decided to tell their story with Straight Outta Compton.  The movie is a myth-making bromance steeped in the erasure (and hierarchal colorism—the casting call was racist colorism at its worst) of Black women in the rap game. It also highlights the historic and systemic law enforcement aggressions Black people still face.

It’s also one of the best music biopics you’ll see in awhile.

I went to see it three times. Once at the first showing it opened on Friday with only five people in the audience. (It was early in the morning.) My second viewing was with my family and friends in a predominately Black and Mexican audience. The third time was in a rich white neighborhood where I was the only Black person in the audience. Don’t let Hollywood fool you. A culturally diverse audience with women representing many of the viewers went to see this film. I predicted on its second day that it would make at least $60 million dollars opening weekend. It did. It’s an origin story, a coming-of-age tale, a historic snapshot, and a rare glimpse into Black male friendships on the come up.

Jason Mitchell as Eazy-E.
Jason Mitchell as Eazy-E.

 

Let’s be real: Ice Cube, Dr. Dre (and Eazy-E’s widow Tomica Woods-Wright) are executive producers, so there is bound to be a watering down of controversial or less than flattering portrayals of their legacy. With that said, Straight Outta Compton’s greatest strength (besides a slamming soundtrack) lies in the casting of its key players. It really helps that they are all relatively unknowns, and the two standout s in particular are Jason Mitchell (Eazy-E), and Ice Cube’s spitting image, and real-life son, O’Shea Jackson Jr. (Ice Cube). These two are the nucleus of the film, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if the film would’ve been as good to me if Jackson hadn’t been cast to play his own father. It’s such a meta film viewing experience to see Jackson’s version of Ice Cube telling a record executive that he’s about to have a baby (which was himself at that time). Jackson brings a low-key urgency to Cube’s persona within the movie version of the group’s dynamic. It is a wonderful contrast to Jason Mitchell’s vulnerable and playful depiction of Eazy-E.

O'Shea Jackson Jr. playing his father, Ice Cube. So meta.
O’Shea Jackson Jr. playing his father, Ice Cube.

 

The synergy of all the actors pop, and you find yourself rooting for their success. It’s typical rags to riches lore, and the plot hums along despite the two and a half hour length. In real life they may have been considered the World’s Most Dangerous Group, but in the soft focus light of film, there is no complexity or hard edges. Eazy-E was a drug dealer, but he’s the nicest drug dealer you’ll ever meet. He’ll act hard when he’s jammed up, probably compensating for his small frame, but that’s about it. Cube is the family man, fighting to earn his fair share of profits. Dre (Corey Hawkins) just wants to make music and hates having to choose between homeboys when the inevitable group break-up happens. The cops may be external antagonists in the film, constantly reminding us that Black men need to be kept down just for being Black and breathing, but it’s the in-fighting over money that is the root antagonist. Many a group has broken up over big egos and non-paydays.

DJ Yella (Neil Brown Jr.) and the obligatory booty shots.
DJ Yella (Neil Brown Jr.) and the obligatory booty shots.

 

Women in the film, not surprisingly, play small tertiary rolls as doting mothers, comforting wives/girlfriends, and of course playthings to be used and disposed of immediately. There’s the obligatory pool parties with plenty of low angle male gaze booty shots, the after parties in hotels and tour buses with groupies who are tossed aside, and locked out of rooms naked. It is what it is. A film made by men who want to see T and A and think it’s funny to use women as punchlines. Typical. A drawback of the film is the erasure of women artists who were part of the success of Ruthless Records and Death Row Records. Women like the rap group J.J. Fad (who performed at my highschool back in the day), whose album Ruthless Records released first, to great success, which solidified the company as a legitimate business in the eyes of the music industry. Their album paved the way for the Straight Outta Compton album to come through blazing. These ladies opened the door, but there is no mention of them. Nor is Yo-Yo who rapped with Ice Cube with his Lench Mob Crew, or The Lady of Rage (one of the best lyricists to represent the Death Row crew).

Missing from the story, the women of West Coast rap, Yo-Yo and The Lady of Rage.
Missing from the story, the women of West Coast rap, Yo-Yo and The Lady of Rage.

 

Both the screenwriter Jonathan Herman and director F. Gary Gray have made comments regarding the lack of  visibility and the importance of the women to the accurate portrayal of the group (F. Gary Gray’s remarks in this one was disappointing). In a recent Rolling Stone interview, Ice Cube said some things that made me question why he still holds onto an outdated binary of women and sexual agency.

As a screenwriter, I must concede that I understand that a movie can’t have everyone and everything in it. To get everything in would require this to become an HBO/Showtime mini-series (which would be dope as hell). The take on the group this time around is just focused on the group. Juggling several narrative/character strings is difficult, and Herman does a good job of helping us track the core group. Like I said, I get this. It keeps the script tight and the plot moving. But it lessens the power of the story in the end.

By tabling the real-life misogyny for a less complicated narrative that would force people to see the group as flawed humans like everyone else, we get a sanitized version that doesn’t interrupt the audience’s investment in their likeability. There is no complexity to them, and therefore no messiness. This lack of complexity in showing how patriarchal police brutality, American racism/sexism/classism create self-hate in Black men that is then projected onto Black women and their rap lyrics, keeps Straight Outta Compton from being a great film classic. And I don’t buy the excuse that Gray gives by calling these women story criticisms “side stories.” He showed Snoop Dogg in the film twice, and even had Tupac Shakur ( A.k.a. 2Pac) in a scene. Wouldn’t they be considered side stories too? Also, the movie is already long, so adding three minutes just to give us a glimpse of Yo-Yo with Cube, or a kick ass scene with The Lady of Rage in the sound booth rapping “Afro Puffs” with Snoop couldn’t hurt the narrative flow or length. It would take so little to show the world that women were there and are a part of N.W.A.’s legacy. Scenes with Dre’s future wife could’ve been cut to make room for women in the rap game. Those scenes added nothing to the story.

Ice Cube (O'Shea Jackson Jr.) facing everyday police harassment in Compton.
Ice Cube (O’Shea Jackson Jr.) facing everyday police harassment in Compton.

 

L.A. Uprising after the Rodney King verdict. The film shows the relevance of N.W.A.'s music and real life police aggression.
L.A. Uprising after the Rodney King verdict. The film shows the relevance of N.W.A.’s music and real life police aggression.

 

With the strength of its weekend haul, their viral marketing campaign, and great word of mouth, Straight Outta Compton should be in the top five successful films of 2015. I doubt if it will be nominated for any major awards because there are no slaves, maids, hookers or overly downtrodden Black people. (There may be director award nomination nods for Gray, maybe even screenwriting noms for Herman, but I don’t see them winning because of Hollywood’s notorious lack of diversity in the Academy and other big time film awards members.) This is a movie about young Black men with odds against them turning themselves into iconic rap legends. All because a young drug dealer took a chance on some friends who had talent, and invested in the possibility of being more than what they were, and more than what people thought them capable of. It’s a classic Horatio Alger story, with dynamic young actors bringing life to the fabled history of West Coast Rap. It does what it is supposed to do: entertain. Once again, I will live through my cognitive dissonance, lament not seeing my girls Yo-Yo and Rage, but admire the music, nostalgia and history Straight Outta Compton brings to the masses. It’s a film with heart and soul, not perfect or completely honest with itself, but so worth the viewing.

 

 

Straight Outta Women: NWA Biopic and Lack of Female Representation

Director and Compton native F. Gary Gray and the two rappers, who also serve as the film’s producers, made sure to include some of their best male comrades like Snoop Dogg and Tupac, but there are no signs of the women they helped bring into the music scene.

Clip from Murder She Wrote (YouTube)
Clip from “Murder She Wrote” (YouTube)

 


This guest post by Tamara Dunn previously appeared at Standard-Speaker. Cross-posted with permission.


Pioneer rap group NWA has its rise in the music business projected on the big screen in Straight Outta Compton. The young lives of Dr. Dre, Ice Cube, Eazy-E, MC Ren, and DJ Yella are illustrated with scenes from their upbringing on the unforgiving Compton, California, streets to NWA’s formation in the late 1980s. Any fan of “Rap City” on BET or “Yo! MTV Raps” was familiar with their music videos, depicting violent environments that reflected their rhymes and beats and the troubles of youths all over.

Aldis Hodge, from left, as MC Ren, Neil Brown, Jr. as DJ Yella, Jason Mitchell as Eazy-E, O’Shea Jackson, Jr. as Ice Cube and Corey Hawkins as Dr. Dre, in the film, “”Straight Outta Compton.” (Jaimie Trueblood/Universal Pictures via AP)
Aldis Hodge, from left, as MC Ren; Neil Brown, Jr. as DJ Yella; Jason Mitchell as Eazy-E; O’’Shea Jackson, Jr. as Ice Cube; and Corey Hawkins as Dr. Dre, in the film Straight Outta Compton. (Jaimie Trueblood/Universal Pictures via AP)

 

Looking at the Straight Outta Compton cast members listed at Internet Movie Database, there’s a clear lack of women in the NWA biopic. There are relatives and some significant others who have small roles in the movie, but there are key people who are missing from the frame. As NWA was making their first records, Dr. Dre and Ice Cube produced solo female acts as part of the fledging empire. Director and Compton native F. Gary Gray and the two rappers, who also serve as the film’s producers, made sure to include some of their best male comrades like Snoop Dogg and Tupac, but there are no signs of the women they helped bring into the music scene.


Here are three influential women who didn’t make the cut:

Michel’le

R&B singer Michel’le (BET)
R&B singer Michel’le (BET)

 

The songstress with the deep singing voice but high-pitched speaking voice was previously engaged to Dr. Dre and married to controversial music mogul Suge Knight. Michel’le appears as a Jackie Kennedy type figure to Dr. Dre’s John F. Kennedy in the 1989 music video “Express Yourself.” She also made her own music, with her 1989 debut album Michel’le going double platinum with Eazy-E’s Ruthless Records. In a March 20 interview with The Breakfast Club, from New York’s Power 105.1, Michel’le described the abuse she endured during her six-year relationship with Dr. Dre. She currently appears on the reality show R&B Divas: Los Angeles on TV One.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHC-zIvtgt0″]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u31FO_4d9TY”]

 


Yo-Yo

Rapper/actress Yo-Yo appears on the talk show “Mo’Nique.” (BET)
Rapper/actress Yo-Yo appears on the talk show Mo’Nique. (BET)

 

The Compton native broke out with anthems like “Can’t Play with My Yo-Yo” with producer and collaborator Ice Cube in 1990 and “Black Pearl” in 1992 long before Spice Girls were promoting girl power. Yo-Yo created songs and a new sound that contradicted hyper-masculine gangsta rap that NWA was making and released positive messages for women. Her rapping success led to acting roles in Boyz n the Hood and Menace II Society as well as television roles on Martin and The Jamie Foxx Show.

These days, Yo-Yo’s focus is on an organization promoting the performing arts and academics among young people called the Yo-Yo School of Hip Hop. According to IMDb, she also has two acting roles in the works.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZ-UEn11aDs”]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10nZly0tTlU”]

 


Tairrie B

Eazy-E and Tairrie B on the set of “Murder She Wrote” video.
Eazy-E and Tairrie B on the set of the “Murder She Wrote” video.

 

From Anaheim, California, Tairrie B is one of the first white female rappers in the 1980s and 1990s. Her music video for her 1990 single “Murder She Wrote” is a mix of Madonna’s “Vogue” laced with gangster cliches, but it shows that she can be just as tough as her producer Eazy-E. Tairrie has also accused Dr. Dre of physical abuse during the time she was recording her debut album Power of a Woman for newly formed Comptown Records. It was her only rap album with her labelmate. After Eazy-E’s death in 1995, Tairrie switched to alternative rock and metal, fronting various bands.

This year, Tairrie released her first rap album in 25 years titled Vintage Curses. With a deeper voice and years of forgiveness, she pays tribute to NWA and her former mentor. In a July 2 interview with the Daily Mail, Tairre shares no hard feelings and sees their impact on her music.

“Their music and lyrics had a significant impact on me, which has resonated for over two decades, much like it has with many people. They put gangster rap on the map and there is a reason NWA are considered a monument and the root of it all which makes their story hugely important.”

Her new album was released on the same day as Straight Outta Compton was released in theaters.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yG45At8jhd8″]

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epAVR82R6J4″]

 


The failure to include their stories should come as no surprise following a damaging casting call released last year for the film. The call was for women ages 18-30 who lived in the Los Angeles area during the time of shooting. However, the women were classified and ranked according to skin color, hair, and size. In a July 17, 2014 Gawker article, the release described “A Girls” the top of the list, as the “hottest of the hottest” models of any race with real hair and no weave. On the opposite end were the “D Girls,” African-American women who were “medium or dark skin tone” and were “poor, not in good shape.” The casting call, from Sande Alessi Casting, went viral, with Internet users sharing their unfavorable opinions on TMZ and The Huffington Post.

There’s plenty of room for women in hip hop to be well portrayed in movies. While it may not be happening with Straight Outta Compton, it’s time for their light to shine in Hollywood.

 


Tamara Dunn is a card-carrying cinephile and the resident film expert at the Standard-Speaker. Her favorite films are The Battle of Algiers and Traffic.

 

 

Homegirls Make Some Noise: ‘Antônia’ and the Magic of Black Female Friendships

Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of ‘Antônia.’ But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

Antonia One Sheet “Antônia Movie Poster”
Antônia Movie Poster

 

This guest post by Lisa Bolekaja appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Antônia is a Brazilian film from 2006 that I watch at least once a year. Its fictional female characters are ones that I consider my cinema family, ladies who I like to visit with for a spell and reminisce about rap music and female MCs. It’s an uncomplicated story, and perhaps even a little melodramatic. However it boasts one of cinema’s rare contemporary explorations of Black female friendship while navigating the hyper-masculine world of hip-hop. The simple slice-of-life storytelling using real-life female MCs resonates with authentic sisterhood.

Antônia chronicles the rise and fall (and rise again) of four young women from Sao Paulo who sing backup for a male rap group called “Power.” Scratching out a basic living in the Brasilandia favela are Preta, a single mom who recently left her cheating husband; Mayah, a songwriter into fashion as much as her lyrical prowess; Lena, a hardcore lyricist who juggles her music career with her insecure boyfriend; and Barbarah, a martial arts expert who lives with her closeted gay brother.

These four women, friends from childhood, named their group after their respective grandfathers who coincidentally all had the name “Antonio.” What makes them all so special to me is the fact that all four women have an exuberant agency and a nuanced security in their Blackness, which is refreshing to see onscreen. From their hair, clothing, skin color, to the way they walk and rap, there is a sense that they have never doubted that they were fly and worthy of respect. This confidence they display doesn’t come from the stereotypical and clichéd tropes of the sassy Black woman, or the Black chick with neck swiveling finger-pointing “attitude,” or the hyper-sexualized Black female dimepiece.  Even the tiresome “strong” Black woman trope is absent in this film. These women are vulnerable, assertive, flawed, supportive of one another, and critical of one another. This confidence comes from their collective need to persevere in the face of undeniable hardships.

Walking above favela “Barbarah (Leilah Moreno), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Mayah (Quelynah), and Preta (Negra Li)
Walking above favela: Barbarah (Leilah Moreno), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Mayah (Quelynah), and Preta (Negra Li)

 

Although the film is only 90 minutes long–time for only light character sketches at best–the subtext I read is a world of complexity and pride beneath each woman. At one point, while waiting for a train after a late night performance, they sing a cappella about their love for the curl in their hair and being “Criollo” (Creole in the sense of being Black Brazillians who, like Black Americans and others outside of the African Diaspora, exist because of blendings of African, Native, and European blood). Mayah even raps this in one of her rhymes, which reinforces the notion of self, a self rooted in the pride and knowledge of Black cultural history. I’ve never really seen that in a contemporary film before.

While most American films featuring Black female friendships deal with misogyny, rape, drug use, damsels in distress, broken families, crime, poverty, and the often contrived horrors of being…gasp… single—flicks like Sparkle, Dreamgirls, Set it Off, Waiting to Exhale, The Color Purple, Daughters of the Dust, et al (notice that I had to reach way back for titles) —  Antônia stands out as the one rare film where the Black women are the captains of their own ships, beholden to no one but themselves. Men support them, but don’t run them. They are sexual beings without being overwhelmingly sexual. (Mayah loves high heels and mini-skirts when she performs, but her attitude shows us it’s just for her pleasure and not for the male gaze.) Having a young child doesn’t deter Preta from performing; she brings her young daughter Emília to rehearsals where the women help care for her there and also outside of performing. Men don’t save them physically; they can handle male bullies with one kick from Barbarah’s Capoiera skills. Most importantly, they don’t wait for someone to discover them. Early on Mayah convinces the male rap group Power that the group Antônia has a hot song that they should consider opening their next show with. The guys agree and back them up. The women even tell the rap fans directly that they are feminist because they spit it in their lyrics to predominately male audiences. The real beauty is that their feminism is centered in a deeply Black female narrative vein. Alice Walker calls this being “womanist.” And the audience will deal.

Antônia surpasses the well-known Bechdel test and what I call the People of Color Agency Test: 1.) More than one Black person or PoC, 2.) Who speak to each other, 3.) About anything other than saving/serving White characters. That is the greatest joy I get from this film–watching beautiful, talented, and engaging Black women live their lives and cultivate their friendship without the heavy burden of structural racism brow-beating them All-The-Damn-Time.

The favela in the film is evidence of historical shenanigans. The scene of the women singing “Killing Me Softly” at a private and very White birthday party (because it’s less threatening musically) speaks volumes visually, especially when we know the group’s core audience is very Black and very rooted in the public streets. Classism, racism, sexism, and colorism are very real in the world of Antônia. But the film shows us a fresh narrative of Black women succeeding despite living in a slum, despite poverty, despite violence and all the ills that pervade real life. For just a moment, I’m able to watch Black women who are free to be themselves. They don’t have to unpack external baggage based on a checklist of intersections involving their skin color, social status, or gender. That is a rare treat. It’s their tight friendship that sustains them. Music is friendship, and friendship is music.

When an up-and-coming promoter and new manager of the group tries to shape Preta’s image into a solo career, one pleasing to a cross-over audience, Preta lets it be known that toning down her Blackness is not what she’s about. Singing mainstream pop hits is not her goal. Rap is. Without her sister-friends and their powerful energy, performing means nothing.

Mom and Daughter “Emília (Nathalye Cris) and Preta (Negra Li)"
Mom and daughter: Emília (Nathalye Cris) and Preta (Negra Li)

 

The only negative criticism I have of the film is that I wish the music, the literal sounds backing the lyrics of the female MCs, was just as good as the tracks the men had. Scenes in a local hip-hop club bristle with a restless kinetic energy when male performers inhabit the stage, but for some reason, the backing track for the ladies’ signature song is softened to a listless and defanged pop sound. This music doesn’t match the fierce content of the lyrics. The writer/director Tata Amaral ran an open casting call for local female rap talent, and the casting of real-life MCs makes a huge impact on the performances. The actors, Negra Li (Preta), Cindy Mendes (Lena), Leilah Moreno (Barbarah), and Quelynah (Mayah) hustled for this dream in their real lives. They know how to spit fire on a mic. They wrote their own verses performed in the film and those verses deserved beats that slayed.

Ultimately it was friendship that brought Antônia together as children. Nurturing that friendship is the only thing that stabilizes their chaotic lives while hustling for the showbiz dream.  The simple narrative and the real-life raw talent of the women playing Preta, Mayah, Lena, and Barbarah makes Antônia a rich film that broadens the role of Black female friendships in cinema. It’s the friendship that makes me watch this film so often. And as corny as it sounds, I also get a happy ending. Perhaps if there were more films showing Black female friendships being nuanced, vulnerable, and just plain regular (no Super-Duper Negroes, no Magical Saviors, no There-Can-Only-Be-Exceptional-Black-Folks), I probably wouldn’t have to watch it so much. Antônia will always be in my regular film viewing rotation.  I wish I had friends like these young women. The Sistren are here. Don’t sleep on ‘em.

 


Lisa Bolekaja co-hosts a screenwriting podcast called “Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room” and her work has appeared in “Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History” (Crossed Genres Publishing), “The WisCon Chronicles: Volume 8” (Aqueduct Press), and in the upcoming Upper Rubber Boot Books anthology, “How to Live on Other Planets: A Handbook for Aspiring Aliens.” She can be found on Twitter @LisaBolekaja