A soulless and oddly voyeuristic white boy's visit to the South Side – seemingly for the first time – "Crips and Bloods: Made in America" offers few insights and much editorial gimmickry in an extended, ninety-three minute rock video which ultimately concludes that yes, THEY are human. Oh my goodness! Who knew?
About fifteen years ago filmmaker Randy Holland made a documentary about the 1992 Los Angeles riots, "The Fire This Time," which covers the same material, with the same structure. Using interviews with scholars, statesmen and the mothers of murdered Black Panthers along with members of the community, this earlier film provides an intellectual context that explains the emergence of gangs from the ashes of militancy, whereas the Pearlta doc shows little more than a litany of anger and self-pity.
"Crips and Bloods: Made in America" was made in America on a nifty computer, by a filmmaker who thinks good editing entails hammering on the keyboard as though it were a drum kit; how cool. And while we're at it, let's use every single special effect available in Final Cut Pro – or was it Avid? These jitters, shakes, blurs and flashes, especially when used during talking heads or emotion laden file footage, totally disrespect the experience of the film's subjects. And even worse, the incessant, wall-to-wall music, dull and hypnotic to the max, opens up a giant chasm between the film and the viewer. In the end, a pointless and arty documentary. Look for the Holland film; libraries have it.
About fifteen years ago filmmaker Randy Holland made a documentary about the 1992 Los Angeles riots, "The Fire This Time," which covers the same material, with the same structure. Using interviews with scholars, statesmen and the mothers of murdered Black Panthers along with members of the community, this earlier film provides an intellectual context that explains the emergence of gangs from the ashes of militancy, whereas the Pearlta doc shows little more than a litany of anger and self-pity.
"Crips and Bloods: Made in America" was made in America on a nifty computer, by a filmmaker who thinks good editing entails hammering on the keyboard as though it were a drum kit; how cool. And while we're at it, let's use every single special effect available in Final Cut Pro – or was it Avid? These jitters, shakes, blurs and flashes, especially when used during talking heads or emotion laden file footage, totally disrespect the experience of the film's subjects. And even worse, the incessant, wall-to-wall music, dull and hypnotic to the max, opens up a giant chasm between the film and the viewer. In the end, a pointless and arty documentary. Look for the Holland film; libraries have it.