Welcome to Filmmaking 101! Today’s
guest lecturer, director David LaChapelle, will show us how opening your movie
with a title card that reads “The footage in this film has not been sped up in
any way” is tantamount to — yet less labor intensive than — stapling each
audience member to his or her chair.
Seriously, if you’re going to kick
things off with a bold yet cryptic disclaimer like that, you had better
deliver. And celebrated photographer LaChapelle does just that with his debut
feature Rize, a stirring documentary
that ensconces itself in South Central Los Angeles to take a look at the
phenomenon known as krumping.
What’s krumping, you ask? It’s a
kinetic form of dance that could maybe be described as part hip-hop, part mosh,
and part tribal, but trying to use words to explain movement is always futile.
Krumping was originally known as clowning, and a man named Tom Johnson says he
invented it. After a stint in jail during which he decided to turn his life
around, Johnson donned a rainbow fright wig and pancake makeup to work at
children’s parties as Tommy the Clown. His dedication to entertaining kids and
steering them away from thug life led him to form a hip-hop clown school, and
that is where clowning evolved. South Central is now crawling with clown
groups, which are seen as a productive alternative to joining a gang.
Tommy’s acolytes fall into two
categories: current and former. The people who still work with Tommy continue
to perform for the residents of South Central and deliver their anti-gang
message. Those who have flown Tommy’s nest are the ones responsible for the
evolution of krumping, which incorporates into clowning what the kids call
“stripper dance.”
Krumping is more raw, more
confrontational, and more athletic than clowning. But clowns have also been
known to krump, and krumpers paint their faces — though it’s more tribal in
appearance than clown makeup. Clowns and krumpers are seemingly friendly adversaries,
but there’s a nagging undercurrent throughout the film that suggests both
groups will have to work hard to ensure that the peace between them remains.
The film introduces us to a number of
krumping’s devotees, and they are a charismatic, resilient, well-spoken bunch
of young people. Religion is important in their lives, as is family (both blood
and makeshift), and their ambition and inventiveness is getting them noticed.
This is a generation that came of age
during the 1992 Rodney King riots, so it has seen firsthand how bad things can
get. Indiscriminate violence is still a part of everyday life, and Rize is actually dedicated to the memory
of one of the dancers, a 15-year-old named Quinesha who was in the proverbial
wrong place at the wrong time.
LaChapelle frames Rize so that when the showdown between
the clowns and the krumpers known as Battle Zone V goes off at LA’s Great
Western Forum, we are fully aware of what’s at stake. He takes the ferocious
energy and intense pride that had been glimpsed up until that point and neatly
packages it into a barrage of images and sound that make it impossible for a
functioning human being to sit still.
The combatants at Battle Zone try to
look incredibly bored — but are obviously secretly impressed — by the moves
their foe unleashes during the skirmishes, and the passionate audience has
definite opinions about which side should prevail. The hard-fought victory
becomes bittersweet, however, as the Battle Zone winner is quickly brought back
to earth; the unfortunate timing of the act of aggression seems far too
coincidental to be random.
Rize was resourcefully filmed with a handheld camera and a tiny crew, though I would
bet that LaChapelle — also a successful music video director — could have
had access to tons of cash for his first film. His urgent filming style
complements the spectacle known as krump, which we are told is never the same
as it was the day before.
As the closing credits rolled on Rize I was asked what I thought about
it. I said I really liked the film and I hoped people would come see it, then I
clarified my wish: “And by that I mean I hope white people will come see it.”
Don’t make the mistake of thinking
that Rize falls under the limiting
Hollywood category of “urban film” just because the people on screen share a
common hue. You may live the rest of your life and never get around to
krumping, but you’re no doubt familiar with adversity and spirit and the need
for self-expression.
Rize (PG-13), David LaChapelle,
director. Opens Friday, July 8, at the Little Theatre.
This article appears in Jul 6-12, 2005.
