One might have hoped that, by this hour, the very sight of chains on Black flesh, or the very sight of chains, would be so intolerable a sight for the American people, and so unbearable a memory, that they would themselves spontaneously rise up and strike off the manacles. But, no, they appear to glory in their chains; now, more than ever, they appear to measure their safety in chains and corpses. ~ James Baldwin

The above-mentioned quotation is from James Baldwin’s An Open Letter to My Sister Angela Davis . I choose to begin this post with that quote because a) its Baldwin b) its a brilliant truth and c) I was introduced to George Jackson by reading Angela. Regardless of how one views our fight for liberation, or those who fought and continue to fight that good fight, we must acknowledge the sacrifices of so many men and women who only had our ultimate freedom in mind and at heart.

Immediately upon beginning George Jackson’s Blood In My Eye I felt inspired and strong and a part of something amazing, resplendent, brutal and real. He reminded me so much of Malcolm (which hardly anyone does), especially his journey from street kid to master-mind. Our brothers are so beautiful… George, like Malcolm found himself behind prison walls at an early age. Growing up on the hard and impoverished streets of Chicago, Jackson acknowledged that prison seemed an inevitability for Black boys. So, in the sad tradition that has become the reality for so many of our men, George was incarcerated for stealing seventy dollars from a gas station cash register at eighteen. I don’t defend or condone theft, or any crime for that matter, but I certainly understand the complexities at play when one considers a sentence of one year to life for such a trivial offense. Today, we call this system the prison industrial complex and a form of neo slavery.

Jackson would approve of our progress in identifying it as such. It’s progress, a progress almost as beautiful as watching a man child argue the complexities of American facism with his mother, that brings us one step closer to emancipation. Those are my favorite letters from Jackson’s Soledad Brother, him attempting to comfort his mother’s grieving heart, but also explain to her why him putting his life in danger, every day, for our freedom and evolution was so necessary.

Jackson’s mother lost both her sons to our freedom struggle- Jonthan, just a baby of seventeen years when he died, was fearless, audacious and urgently for our cause. It was August 7, 1970 when Jonathan pulled weapons and held up a courtroom in an attempt to free the Soledad Brothers, including William Christmas, James McClain, and Ruchell Magee, (he perished in the throws of the escape). The state would finally succeed in assassinating George as well. He was murdered August 21, 1971.

It was Mumia Abu Jamal (who was scheduled to be executed on August 17, 1995) that began to to link together other revolutionary events and movements that took place during the month of August. So although Black August began with a desire to commemorate the lives of George, Jonathan and the other slain brothers, it has become a celebration of the lives and efforts of all past and present political prisoners, including the likes of Mumia, Herman Bell, Sundiata Acoli, Angela Davis, Assata Shakur and Mutulu Shakur- to name a few.

I try, at least a few times a year, to write letters to the political prisoners that I admire in an effort to offer my thanks and solidarity for all that they have sacrificed. A list of political prisoners and addresses (although the addresses may not be up to date) can be found here . My sister-friend,Aisha, who is a public defendant and a revolutionary in her own right, suggests that the addresses be cross referenced with the federal prison database to ensure accuracy (since most political prisoners are held in federal prisons).

In addition to taking a moment to write a letter to our brothers and sisters who have indeed traded their freedom for ours, you can join me on Thursday (August 26th) at Lincoln Center for the screening of Dream Hampton ’s Black August: A Hip Hop Benefit Concert. Details of the event can be found here .

I wanted to say so much more in this post, but time restraints and fatigue prevent me from “going in”. Use the web to begin the study our liberation movements and Black August (if you have not already). I’ll leave you with one of my favorite George Jackson quotes that always makes me think about my personal desires and dedication towards my own emancipation and the emancipation of my people:

Settle your quarrels, come together, understand the reality of our situation, understand that fascism is already here, that people are already dying who could be saved, that generations more will live poor butchered half-lives if you fail to act. Do what must be done, discover your humanity and your love in revolution.

Free ‘em all!!!

via NewsObserver

As far as time travel yarns go, “Hot Tub Time Machine” has to be one of the weakest ones I’ve ever seen. It’s even weaker than those “Austin Powers” sequels in which Mike Myers kept bouncing back-and-forth in time, breaking every rule of time-travel continuity just so he can say “Yeah, baby!” in different decades.

“Machine” revolves around a trio of buddies: the recently dumped Adam (producer John Cusack), whipped dog groomer Nick (Craig Robinson) and loutish loser Lou (Rob Corddry), who might or might not have tried to kill himself in his garage. Disillusioned with their adult lives and estranged from one another, the boys, along with Adam’s introverted nephew Jacob (Clark Duke), travel to their old teenage hangout – ski resort town Kodiak Valley – to party like they used to.

Thanks to the malfunctioning, titular mode of time travel, which they hop into during a hedonistic night of binge drinking, they get sent back to a crazy weekend they spent in 1986. Once they’re there, they attempt to relive the events that took place, not screw up the natural, presumably predetermined order of their lives.

“Machine” is a winking compendium of time-travel clichés, even making references to “Timecop,” “The Butterfly Effect” and “The Terminator.” It also casts Crispin Glover – Marty McFly’s dad himself – as a potentially deformed bellhop. And yet, the movie makes no effort to make its own time-hopping premise at least remotely logical. The movie’s concept of time travel is so flagrantly full of holes (when these guys travel back in time, they quantum-leap into their younger selves, with Duke’s not-yet-born character flickering in-and-out like a TV signal), I feel kinda silly for complaining about it. After all, this isn’t “Lost.”

The movie seems to exist just to make a bunch of raunchy gags, many of them, I have to say, quite funny. (Most of them are delivered by Corrdry, who really lets it all hang out – literally. I’ve never seen a man get naked so quickly so much in one movie.) It appears that director Steve Pink (who collaborated with Cusack on the scripts for “Grosse Pointe Blank” and “High Fidelity”) and his crew of writers are doing their own Judd Apatow knockoff, complete with disappointed, emotionally stunted grownups, R-rated humor and the occasional bare breast.

But “Machine” is a movie that’s even more unabashed in its crudeness, from its ceaseless collection of gay and penis jokes to the cruddy look of the film itself. It’s as if Pink, who directed the equally crass, college farce “Accepted,” has directed the ’80s screwball, teen sex romp he always wanted to make and threw in the present-day, time-travel element to frame the whole thing.

In the end, “Hot Tub Time Machine” pulls off something that’s almost as impossible as going back in time: It manages to be both enjoyably and infuriatingly stupid.

craig.lindsey@newsobserver.com or 919-829-4760

via NewsObserver

It’s time for me to rant about something that’s been on my mind for a long time. I would like to spend a few moments opening up about people who get on my last nerve, people I try my best not to smack upside the head when I see them in public.

That’s right, I’m talking about pretty people.

Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, attractive – whatever you wanna call ‘em, they make my jaws tight. Yes, I’m prejudiced against pretty people. I’m usually an open-minded guy, respecting people of all races, religions, creeds and sexual preferences. But if you happen to be pretty, I got no love for ya.

A while back, I wrote about why I don’t like Sarah Silverman without bringing up the major reason: She’s too pretty. Funny women aren’t supposed to be pretty! They’re supposed to be neurotic nerds or loudmouth pit bulls! Less attractive people work their whole lives to be funny just so they can get people’s love and attention, and here comes a pretty, foul-mouthed girl like Silverman swooping in and taking all that love and attention away from them with her cute, little, provocative jokes. It’s not fair, I tell ya!

As you’ve probably guessed, pretty women get my disdain. And not just pretty women, but pretty, young women. And not just pretty, young women, but pretty, young women who don’t know anything.

These days, it seems that many pretty young girls are just coasting on their looks, a camouflage for ignorance and inexperience. If there’s anything we’ve learned from MTV’s “Jersey Shore,” it’s that being sexy and stupid will get you very far in this society.

Yet pretty men are worse. What’s with all these guys who are prettier than the women they’re with? I know people get all excited about adorable dudes like Robert Pattinson, Zac Efron and Justin Bieber (who is making little girls cry on YouTube, by the way). But grown men aren’t supposed to have perfectly coiffed hair. Get a crew cut or something, fellas!

Not too long ago, talk-show host Craig Ferguson talked about another of my complaints. “Beautiful people aren’t allowed to be talented,” he said. “People get very angry when very good-looking people are talented.”

Ain’t that the truth. I respect George Clooney, Johnny Depp and Kate Winslet for making offbeat choices as actors. But, man, why do they have to be so good-looking? Not only that, they’re decent human beings to boot. Why must they rub their photogenic good-naturedness in my face?

I can’t fault these genetic freaks when it’s simply our culture’s fascination with beauty and perfection that designates them as the cream of the human-civilization crop. We are inundated with images of unattainable beauty: Beauty sells everything. I’m pretty sure if someone took a photo of a bikini model hovering over an AMC Pacer and plastered it on billboards across the country, guys would be trying like crazy to get their hands on one (the Pacer, that is).

The pressure to be beautiful can hit all points of the globe. Argentina is where painter and English teacher (and my former high school newspaper editor) Paula Lifschitz , who calls herself a former pretty girl, lives. She says Argentina has a tough beauty standard for women.

“Most of the girls get boob jobs, lipo and face-lifts, and they are all really skinny,” Lifschitz says. “So it makes meeting a guy who is interested in me almost impossible.” She says it’s hard for her gal pals to keep up. “Some girlfriends of mine fast every few weeks here in Buenos Aires,” she said. “They don’t eat food for, like, two days.”

Wow, is it really like that for the women of Argentina?

“Well, no, they’re American! But maybe that’s what they have to do to compete with the Argentines,” she said.

I’ve been raving like a bitter, lonely, ugly madman, but you have to admit that the importance of prettiness is getting out of hand. This is how our culture is: Beauty and prettiness are deified and cherished, while flaws and imperfections are damned and condemned.

But I like men who look like men, ugly cusses who look like they’ve been in a bar fight one too many times.

I like women with belly fat and stretch marks and bullet wounds and C-section scars. I also like women with craters and dents and wrinkles. That shows character – it shows they’ve been kicked in the butt by life!

Pretty people may rule, but it’s the regular-looking folk who keep everything going.

craig.lindsey@newsobserver.com or 919-829-4760

So apparently, everyone from German news sites, to Black men pedaling books, has the remedy to the issue of Black woman singlehood. It has become quite a market, this idea that Black women are desperate to mate and are unfortunate in doing so, apparently because they need “fixin”. The latest ploy appears to be a book entitled, “The Denzel Principle: Why Black Women Can’t Find Good Black Men” by Jimi Izrael. The premise appears to be that women want a balance of wealth, good looks, and success, amongst other things, and that we look for this special balance that doesn’t exist in real life. I haven’t had an opportunity to read the book, and I won’t go into the manner in which books such as these are mercilessly damaging the esteem of beautiful women who imagine that, because they are single, there is something wrong with them.

I don’t know that I identify at all with the single story that is being produced, displayed, projected, and shouted from the rooftops about Black women being beat into defeat by the S word. As a matter of fact, many of the women I know are happily single, and if more knew the work that went into long term relationships and marriage, I gather there would be more names to add to that list. The fairy tell love story that we feed all women is a topic for another blog, space, and time. For once I won’t go there.

However, on the anniversary of the assassination of one of the greatest leaders I have studied, regardless of race, I must interject that if I was to create a “type” list from which to measure potential suitors, Denzel Washington would not be the prototype. No disrespect at all to the beautiful brother, but I want more, a lot more. The man that we have come to know as Malcolm X means more to me, and most everyone I know, than words could truly express, which is an enormous feat for a writer. This considered, it is not actually his charisma, his ability to mentally and verbally dissect the dilemma of my people, his handsome smile, or his simple might that tops my list of characteristics to look for. My desires are much deeper.

Let’s begin with beginnings, with foundations, with the essence of brother Malcolm. We must never forget that, possibly, had it not been for another of our exceptional leaders, Marcus Garvey, we would not have had the good fortune to know Malcolm X. I would argue that Malcolm’s parents, who were Garveyites, instilled in him a respect for himself and his race that would have been difficult to produce from any other movement of that period. Malcolm watched his mother and father battle for a true emancipation, one that had not come with the proclamation perpetuated in 1865. That being said, I would like my future mate to have a strong foundation and understanding that we must work towards true freedom and equality, without limits and without a desire to fold.

Malcolm left his roots like a prodigal son after noting that fighting for freedom and justice saw his father murdered and his mother mentally and emotionally unstable as a result of her husband’s death. He was, at various points, thought to be a bookie, a pimp, a thief, a narcotics dealer and a narcotics abuser, among other indecent things, I’m sure. A low life for a high man, which unfortunately is sometimes how life plays out. But through his incarceration, and finding the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and the Nation of Islam, Malcolm evolved into what I can only describe as brilliance. A phoenix of sorts, rising from the ashes of what this country, many times, forces Black men to become. I desire that my mate be able to evolve, to grow, and to overcome adversity, as this life will surely be filled with it.

The dedication and loyalty that Malcolm showed his family and the Nation of Islam is, well, chilling. The thought of it, many times, gives me goose bumps, not in an eerie way mind you, but in a manner of sheer astonishment. It is often noted that as J Edgar Hoover and the FBI unlawfully tapped the conversations of Malcolm X, they never heard anything more than the brother solidifying thoughts and plans, and speaking with his wife about her and the children. It’s true, there is footage available of Dr. King that reveals some philandering that we would not like to acknowledge. Our leaders were human beings, in each and every sense of those words. And this is not to say that Malcolm was perfect, at various points his marriage to Betty Shabazz was in shambles, but over all he was purposeful, organized, and unrelenting in his passion, other qualities on my checklist.

The greatest lesson I have learned from the life of Malcolm X came from reading of his travels to Mecca to make Hajj, which is the fifth pillar of Islam, and should be carried out at least once in every Muslim’s life. Upon making Hajj, Brother Malcolm had to reconsider many of the things that he had been taught, and in turn had been teaching. Having one’s belief system challenged can be earth shattering, the courage to pick up the shattered pieces, renew, and rebuild, is another thing entirely. El Hajj Malik El Shabazz did precisely that. His break from the Nation was not merely a result of his contention with the Honorable Elijah Muhammad, but also because there were tenants of the religion that, upon experiencing Hajj, he could not adhere to. This caused immeasurable strife and ultimately death, but he had to live and teach his truth. The audacity of leaving what one knows is hindering one’s growth and beginning anew, this is what I desire in a partner. Courage under fire; the ability to walk and lead in truth, although living a lie would be easy and comfortable. Yes.

So you see, my checklist does not at all include spaces for income levels, six pack abdominals, and “good hair”. If I was to create a principle type by which I would measure the men I date, the list would not be centered around a famous actor. I’ve always been one to jump at the sun you see, one to desire the greatest among whatever is being compared. So I unequivocally choose Malcolm. Let’s see a brother write that book while deciding to direct women on what they should look for in a mate. Yup.

Here are a few of my favorite ways to celebrate the life and legacy our Black Shining Prince…

The great Ossie Davis eulogizes El Hajj Malik El Shabazz (audio/video) :

James Baldwin and Malcolm X debate being Black in America (audio, part 1 of 7)

Malcolm X discusses the white power structure at a roundtable disucussion.

Capitalism: A Love Story

Written & Directed by: Michael Moore

Starring: Michael Moore, The U.S. Government, American Tax Dollars

Ahh Michael Moore. Where do I begin on his latest documentary about the American love affair with making a profit? With the factory workers in Chicago that refused to be put out of their job without their proper severance? With the Congresswoman who urged any homeowners facing foreclosure to become squatters in their own homes and refused to be moved? With the ex CEO’s of Goldman Sachs that became in charge of the U.S. Treasury and used their power to bail their buddies out? The Dead Peasant policy, where your company profits from your death? No. I think I’ll start at the end of the movie. Where Michael Moore states that he refuses to live in a country like this. And no, he doesn’t plan to move.

Michael starts the film with footage of his childhood. Growing up in Flint, Michigan, the son of a factory worker. Where they own their own home, off one income. Taking vacations every other summer to New York. His father had healthcare coverage for the entire family, and his pension was safe and secure, ready for him in his retirement. The American Dream.

Somewhere between then and now, Americans’ dreams have shifted to making as much money as they possibly could and squashing whoever stands in there way. We work twice as much but don’t have the pay to show for it. Digging ourselves deeper and deeper into debt, “working jobs we hate to buy shit we don’t need” – Tyler Durden.

The documentary covers many aspects of the failing economy. Financial analyst, Harvard professors, foreclosed homeowners, property vultures, and even the clergy give their view on how we got to be where we are now, and what exactly there is to be done about it.

I was particularly interested in the clergy’s point of view on the evils of capitalism and the amazing power of propaganda, which is doing an excellent job of making the people support the very thing that is taking them down.

There’s tons more to the movie, but I don’t want to spoil it. I can’t say that Michael Moore breaks new ground on the government screwing over the people for their money, but it is a different perspective on some aspects of history (my mouth was wide open in shock during the part about FDR’s proposed Second Bill of Rights). I give it an A. Just like I would have given Sicko, Fahrenheit 911, and Bowling For Columbine. Yes you will be upset when you leave. And yes you will think of Huey Freeman calling Ronald Regan the devil. But do everyone a favor, and take someone who called President Obama a Socialist, like it was a bad word, with you to see it.

In my most selfish of moments I assume my daily life should be inundated with what I love. I reject the opinion that since I am an adult I have to wake up and spend a minimum of eight hours working at a job that does not fulfill my ultimate purpose. I feel that if the universe were fair and just everyone would be able to wake up and devote their day to work that is personally meaningful. On my best days, I return my bottom lip to its natural position, unclench my fists, restore the posture of an adult, and realize that with adulthood comes responsibility. However, I often wonder if we ever considered what that level of responsibility has to look like. I understand that financial obligations require adults to be gainfully employed however; I do not feel that my desire to turn my passion into profit is a mark of immaturity. In fact, it just may be the most responsible decision I have ever made.

When we are children we are encouraged to follow a very specific path; high school, college, well-paying job, marriage, and children. We set out on this path with a certain blind faith that it will result in success and happiness. The complete gut punch is that this is not everyone’s path. Purpose has a hand in the cards we’re dealt and often what is unconventional in the eyes of many is exactly what it had in mind for our success. This is the great cosmic tug o’ war we’ve played for centuries. We think of purpose as a game of hide and seek; the universe giving us a glimpse of our ideal life and snatching it back while we “search”. The search is as simple as a trip down memory lane. What sparked your imagination as a child?

This is my life. In elementary school I began singing in concert chorales and reading three novels a week. I gave my lunch money to friends that didn’t have anything to eat and staged a protest against my substitute teachers. At 13, I began writing poetry and articles for the school yearbook. I even went to college to study music education and by a twists and turns explained best over a glass of wine under dim light, I became an educator. This is not a decision I regret, there are days when my job is extremely fulfilling. I love my students with an unconditional quality many of my colleagues think is above and beyond my professional requirements. However, that love is simply a desire to see them grow into the person they were purposed to be. That very statement reveals my issue; my work for them is inhibiting me from accomplishing that very goal for myself. Now as I stare down the barrel of my last year in the classroom, I am filled with the same anxiety that I felt my first day of college. That feeling of embarking on something new…the fear is spectacular but the passion is all consuming. In 31 weeks, it’s me, not a safety net in sight.

I am not the only person is this type of predicament. How many people do you know have a deep desire to be something else, something different, something more and squelch that desire because an obligation to someone or something that requires their loyalty. I respect that decision. Trust me, I am very familiar with the act of sacrifice. However, I see that decision and raise you two words: educated risk. Maybe, the quality of the life we are meant to live will far exceed the life we’ve grown accustomed to sleepwalking through. Maybe our dreams are completely attainable with the proper research and preparation. I am not talking about a blind descent into the unknown; I am advocating a leap with a parachute to give us a soft landing on the lives of which we dream. Recall, discover, believe, and then…jump.

Make today count ,

CassandraDione
**Tharocksfinest**
“Representing Little Rock since 1982″

Funny People

Written & Directed by: Judd Apatow
Starring: Adam Sandler, Seth Rogen, Leslie Mann, Jason Schwartzman, Jonah Hill, Eric Bana

Rated R for language and crude sexual humor throughout, and some sexuality

George Simmons (Sandler) is an incredible famous comedian who is known for his crazy movies that feature his head on a baby’s body, or his body with a mermaid tail, or just him doing silly voices. He also likes to play guitar and has tons of celebrity friends. Ira Wright (Rogen) is a wanna-be stand up comedian/full time deli worker, who sleeps on the fold out couch of his TV “star” friend Mark (Schwartzman) and their other up and coming comedian friend Leo (Hill).

Sadly, George finds out that he has a very rare blood disease that will more than likely kill him and decides to get back to his roots and hit the Improv spot to do good old fashioned stand-up. Leo and Ira are super psyched to see one of their comedy idols up close and personal but George’s crazy-sad act leaves them a little freaked out. Especially when George tries to run Ira over in the parking lot.

But a short while later George calls the boys and asks them if they’d like to do a little writing for his act. Ira accepts but declines on behalf of Leo (unbeknownst to him). Ira and George get a little work done, then Ira gets hired as George’s assistant. They hit the road and do a few well-paying acts here and there and George’s career starts to get back in stride.

Things get a little screwy when Ira suggests that George reach out to his friends and tell them that he is in fact, dying, because surely they’d be more support than he can be. George reluctantly obliges and even calls his long lost love Laura (Mann) despite the fact that she is married to Clarke (Bana).

Ok first things first. The title of this movie is very misleading. Previews even sort of show that this isn’t just a pee-your-pants funny type comedy. It should be more “Funny People: Serious Shit” or “Watching Funny People live real life”. Don’t get me wrong. I laughed throughout the whole movie. But it’s not like 40 Year Old Virgin or Knocked Up. Not even close. It’s more of a humorous drama… full of dick jokes.

Firstly, the movie is waaay long. And I think it was because it’s two movies trying to be one. There’s the movie with the mentor and the mentee. And then the movie about the guy who gets a second look at his life and tries to amend his mistakes. Either movie would have been very solid on its own, but the two together left for very drawn out story once Ira and George go to actually visit Laura and her family (note: Leslie Mann and Judd Apatow’s two daughters play “Laura’s” daughters in the movie again. Just like in Knocked Up). It feel like they just totally moved in instead of a quick overnight visit.

That was really my only complaint with the movie, even though I couldn’t figure out George’s obsession with Ira’s penis. Now to the good.

On very first note I loved the soundtrack. Loved it! Turns out its some Lennon and Wilco (whom get plenty mention in the film). I loved Mark’s apartment and wanted every poster and record hung up. I loved Ira’s t-shirts. I loved the mock-up poster of Chris Rock dressed as Hendrix and every fake movie George Simmons was in. And it’s awesome that Apatow puts old home footage of Adam Sandler doing prank calls and stand-up in the scenes so you can establish how long this George Simmons has actually been around. And despite the glaring similiarties between “George” and Sandler, it didn’t feel like he was just playing himself. Like I don’t buy that Adam Sandler is that much of a dick in real life. George is tired of being in stupid movies just to make money and isn’t really close to anyone. Sandler plays it well though.

Seth Rogen isn’t as Seth Rogen-y as he has been in every other movie. He’s more shy and quiet in this one instead of crude. He has the hots for Mark’s neighbor Daisy, (Aubrey Plaza) another comedian, but is too scared to make a move. He slimmed down a lot so Apatow puts in plenty jokes about that.

For some reason or another I never really saw how George and Laura were oh-so-deep in love but I think it’s just cause the George character is such a jerk you don’t know how he was close to anyone. Leslie Mann plays it well enough. She’s not as bitchy as she usually is. The other supporting cast does well too. And there’s a bazillion cameos in the movie. I loved it, even though everyone looks crazy old.

Overall I give this a B. I see where Apatow was trying to go with this and I’m sure on his next go round he’ll get the bulls-eye. Go see it…but not with any children within earshot, and when you don’t have too many other obligations for the rest of the day.

Public Enemies

Written by: Ronan Bennett, Michael Mann
Directed by: Michael Mann

Starring: Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, Marion Cotillard, Billy Crudup, Stephen Graham

Rated R for gangster violence and some language
Public Enemies is a look at about a year and a half in the life of John Dillinger (Depp) as a notorious bank robber during the Great Depression in 1933.  He likes movies, fast cars, robbing banks, and Billie Frenchette (Cotillard).  Pretty simple guy.  J. Edgar Hoover (Crudup) is a government guy who is trying to start what is now the FBI.  He gets Melvin Purvis (Bale) to head up the Chicago division and gives him the difficult task of capturing Dillinger, “Baby Face” Nelson (Graham), and “Pretty Boy” Floyd.  

Dillinger is a pretty quiet guy.  He has a few close friends.  He’s loyal to them.  And it seems as if he has a few principles.  He won’t take any of the customers or tellers money, only the banks.  Purvis is determined to get his man and J. Edgar Hoover is making it a national campaign to stop the crime spree in the Midwest.

It was a great change to see Johnny Depp play a role that didn’t require makeup.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved…ok well I generally liked all of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, and I watch Edward Scissorhands whenever it is on.  But Johnny is a good actor period. I liked his Dillinger.  He was a cool bad guy.  Like you wanted to be friends with him.  He was charming and thought things through and was smart.  Plus anyone who can successfully rob a bank in under two minutes, with no casualties, without casing the joint, and give the hostage a souvenir is certifiably awesome.

Christian Bale was good in this too, just like he is in the other billion movies he’s been in the past couple years, but I wouldn’t call this a particularly stand out role for him. He kinda seemed like a dick, but I guess its because the guys he were working with pretty much botched every task they had before them. 

I really liked Marion Cotillard’s Billie.  She was young and was totally smitten with Dillinger, but she wasn’t stupid.  She knew what was at risk when getting involved with such an infamous guy, but she went for it anyway.  I think Stephen Graham had a great time playing the crazy “Baby Face” Nelson.  I was dying for him to say something along the lines of “I believe you, but my Tommy gun don’t.”

Normally I don’t pay much attention to the cinematography, but it was pretty cool in this movie.  I read that Mann uses HD cameras to do the filming, and its very noticeable.  Sometimes I couldn’t tell if they used actual old footage, or just were able to make the print look that authentic.  Mann also gives you a great car chase in the woods and plenty shootouts (I guess that’s what “gangster violence” is to the ratings board).  I did have some problems with the audio and at first I was pissed thinking that Bale was using his “Batman growl” but the sound was just low on what everyone was saying.  I actually read a lot of people’s complaints about this.

Overall I give the movie a B.  Mann does a good job showing you a general overview of crime in 1933, so we don’t get much background info on why Dillinger is who he is, but we’re also introduced to all these other gangster guys that you’ve heard about in rap songs (as soon as they mentioned Frank Nitti, the “I Got 5 On It” remix wouldn’t get out of my head) and have seen in Bugs Bunny cartoons, but its too many guys and nobody really gets the focus they deserve.  The 2.5 hours runtime actually flew by for me and it would be a great BluRay buy.