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Clockers, 1995, 128 minutes, Rated R
By Carla Robinson
The biggest problem with Clockers, Spike Lee’s tale of drug dealing woe, is
its apathetic main character, Strike (Mekhi Phifer). He is no more an anti-hero than a
hero, which makes him difficult to feel. And indifference is not a good audience trait.
Oh, he has enough quirks and stumbling blocks, such as a Chocolate Moo jones and what
seems to be an ulcer-he doesn’t have the stomach for crime, get it? But we never know
that he truly wants out of his hardcore existence.
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All this seemed a
little weird to ponder by 1995, when Clockers was a johnny-come-lately
to the ghetto crime drama. But people figured that since Spike has
never been one to jump on any old bandwagon, Clockers must’ve had
something profound to say. It didn’t. It still doesn’t. Maybe Boyz in the Hood
really is definitive.
What Clockers does have is a remarkable
opening, in which the credits roll over excruciating shots of Black people razed by
violence. Even though most of the film takes place outdoors, it has the feeling of a tomb.
There seems to be no way out for the characters living this death.
It also has an astonishing turn by
Delroy Lindo as a self-righteous drug lord who’s a master at showing concern one
minute and inflicting pain the next. If this were The Godfather, he’d have invented
the kiss of death. Lindo is reason enough to see the film once, but not twice, after all,
it’s not Do the Right Thing.
M
March 2000
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