Super Fly (1972)

[StevePulaski]

Super Fly (1972)
Directed by: Gordon Parks, Jr.

Ryan O'Neal.

Rating: ★★½

Fewer metaphorical middle-fingers to Hollywood and large studio conglomerates are as watchable as Super Fly. Films like Freddie Got Fingered and The Room embarrass themselves trying to be daring and subversive whereas Super Fly has something to say even if it doesn't always know the best way to do so. Gordon Parks, Jr.'s film has gone on not only to be highly regarded for its soundtrack, often cited as one of the best movie soundtracks ever, but for helping pave the way for "blaxploitation" films as a genre, alongside Shaft and the indelible films of Mario Van Peebles. Even if you approach the film with a great deal of hindsight in terms of knowing the conventions of the genre — broadly drawn melodramas, usually set in Harlem, featuring a verisimilitude of pimps, hookers, and drug-pushers running the world in a resounding affront to racist policemen — the film still makes these devices feel fresh once again.

The film follows Youngblood Priest, played by Ron O'Neal, a black cocaine dealer who lives a comfortable life in Harlem. He's recently become disillusioned with the dope-gang, however, now desiring a cleaner life away from the hustle that has given him everything except a sense of comfort. He proposes a plan to his longtime friend, Eddie (Carl Lee), that the two buy over two dozen kilos of premium cocaine, flip it for roughly $1 million total over a couple months, and proceed to live a life of comfort without having to worry about making the next big score. In the meantime, rooked cops, shady dealers, and fake friends stand in their way of obtaining a life of security.

Parks, Jr. and screenwriter Phillip Fenty are eminently fascinated by the lifestyle choices of Priest and Eddie, for the film spends much of its time lingering on the former character, never losing sight of his daily routines even during the most banal activities. For someone engaging in dangerous and socially condemned practices, Priest is a character with a great deal of empathy that Fenty mines over the course of 90 minutes. He's not a caricature, but instead someone sweeter, even vulnerable to the tumultuous world around him. He's an anti-hero in the classical sense, but his transparency makes him much harder to write off in some aspects than most others.

O'Neal finds the right balance in portraying the character, and he's given a liberal amount of room in which to maneuver. Parks, Jr.'s film is slow and methodical for being so short, sometimes to a fault. Its editing techniques are extremely repetitive, if fascinating on a surface-level in helping tell a linear story in a bolder way. In one late-second act scene, Bob Brady devotes time to a montage that would've made Eisenstein grin, doing his part to splice stills and fragmented clips in a vertical order, like a narrow comic-book. This goes on for roughly three minutes, scored to soul singer Curtis Mayfield's infectious jam "Pusherman," and it's as mesmerizing as it is frustrating. While distinguishing its narrative as stylistically different from many films of the time, the redundant nature is the hurdle it can't clear. Brady's techniques are cool in the conventional sense, but little else, as it just shows the perils of a story that has stalled.

Yet even when Super Fly is extremely slow, its commentary on systemic injustices, racism, and the American Dream being easier for blacks to pursue through crime and drug-dealing is effectively communicated. Parks, Jr., O'Neal, and cinematographer James Signorelli (who later went on to produce hundreds of episodes of Saturday Night Live) avoid getting too entranced by the sleek vibes of 1970s Harlem, and with that, keep the aforementioned themes within arm's reach at all times. No matter how many times we hear Mayfield's incredible synths take over the groovy soundtrack or marvel at the charisma of both Priest and Eddie, there's an unshakable melancholic edge to Super Fly that suggests these characters will be doomed no matter what they try — and it's that honesty that keeps the film on the right track and steers it away from being a disposable piece of crime fluff.

The more intriguing aspects of the film come from behind the scenes. Thanks to a largely non-white technical crew and the community of Harlem and black business owners who managed to scrape together a few hundred thousand dollars, Super Fly came to fruition against all odds. Without the commitment of those who mostly went uncredited but found throwing their support for a film about the kinds of people they knew, blaxploitation as a genre wouldn't have had such as an incendiary beginning and quite possibly not as long of a run.

As average as it so frequently is as a film, Super Fly never lacks discernible personality. The passion on display is shown almost exclusively by the fact that much of the crew went on to do things related to the film after working on this project. Producer Sig Shore directed sequels, as did Ron O'Neal, who suited up as Priest in the followup, Super Fly T.N.T., but let Shore go at The Return of Super Fly alone in 1990, with Nathan Purdee as the famous cocaine dealer. Even if Parks, Jr.'s film lacks the quickness of the genre's other films, and the speed and energy that could've made it a more engaging affair, it nonetheless has both inspiration and swagger on its side, and those things are sometimes harder to produce.

Starring: Ron O'Neal, Carl Lee, Julius W. Harris, Sheila Fraizer, and Charles McGregor. Directed by: Gordon Parks, Jr.