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Notorious (2009)
The life and curtailed times of rap star The Notorious B.I.G.
It might sound strange to deem a film that shows its main protagonist to be a teenage crack dealer, convict and shameless womaniser as a eulogy, but that's the mission statement of Notorious, a biopic of Christopher Wallace, aka Biggie Smalls, aka the Notorious B.I.G. A rap sensation, gunned down at the age of just 24 in hip-hop's escalating 1990s East Coast/West Coast feud, Wallace came to prominence on the back of nihilistic, violent tales from the street, his debut album from 1994 entitled 'Ready To Die'. This enjoyable biopic exists solely to prove that Biggie, for all his sins, had found redemption and was, in fact, Ready To Live. Then again, produced by his own mother Voletta and two former managers (with erstwhile pal Sean 'Puff Daddy/P Diddy/Diddy' Combs as executive producer), canonisation was inevitable. That it's all even vaguely convincing is down to a vibrant rags-to-riches tale, peppy dialogue that fizzes even if unintentionally funny. (Biggie's studio request for inspiration: "Yo, I'm gonna need some Pepsi and some more weed. And some females"). Most of all, it's in the uncanny central casting. Wallace was larger-than-life, a swaggering, 6' 3'', 20 stone-plus bear, with a raspy, surprisingly mellifluous voice. Jamal Woolard, a first-time actor who raps under the moniker Gravy and hails from the same Brooklyn neighbourhood, has the bulk and, more impressively, the presence to do Biggie justice. In truth he has softer features than the real Wallace's dead-eyed visage; still, all the better for rehabilitation. Wallace undoubtedly had a tough upbringing, raised by his single mother (Angela Bassett). But all too quickly he slips into the prevailing get-rich-quick mindset and starts dealing. These early scenes benefit from co-screenwriter and music journalist Cheo Hodari Coker's hours of interview material with Wallace. Telling details like the way he changed into his drug-funded 'bling' clothing on the roof of his building before going to school, or the time his mother threw out a whole stash of product believing it was "mashed potato", add to the lively, if dispiriting, formation of Biggie's persona. Very soon, though, we're into the B.I.G. time; Wallace's rise with Combs' (Derek Luke) Bad Boy record label; tempestuous relationships with fellow artists L'il Kim (a fiery Naturi Naughton) and eventual wife Faith Evans (Antonique Smith); and his soured friendship with rival Tupac Shakur (Anthony Mackie) and LA's Death Row label that may have led to both their untimely demises. Wallace's rapid rise and fall - less than 5 years all told - is reflected in director George Tillman Jr's broad stroke, largely by-the-numbers storytelling - herky-jerky handheld for street life, opulent colour for the mo' money days. He does, however, stage some of the music and concert sequences with flow and energy, especially an early college show where Biggie unleashes roof-raising anthem 'Party And Bullshit'. And the cast's vitality always ramps things up, Luke a far more appealing version of Combs's cocksure arrogance and Mackie catching a flavour of Tupac's devil-may-care charisma. Surprisingly it's the still striking and too seldom-seen Angela Bassett who fares least well, her Caribbean-inflected accent often disappearing under the barrage of Life Lessons she has to dole out. Verdict Notorious is undeniably entertaining and Woolard's excellent, but ultimately the film buys a little too much into hip hop's frequent misogyny and Wallace's enforced sainthood (he's an aggrieved innocent in the whole Tupac grudge) to ever be as honest as, say, 'Ready To Die'. B.I.G.'s posthumous follow-up album 'Life After Death' is where fans should head to hear a deceased artist keeping it real. |
