Hipsters have been clued in since Sundance 2005. But for the rest of us, Rize, an indie documentary about dance on the poor streets of South L.A., might have appeared at first glance, well, vague. It's not. Amplified by a slick, infectious soundtrack, Rize (directed by celebrity photographer David LaChapelle) paints a loving visual picture of modern-day hip-hop, specifically the post-2000 dance trends of ''krumping'' and ''clowning.''
Beginning in 1992, after L.A.'s Rodney King riots, a reformed ex-convict named Tommy Johnson, needing a job, grabbed a boom box, some face paint, and a clown suit. Bizarre, yes. But he started a successful kids' party business, dancing in the riot-ravaged areas. Before he knew it, Johnson--who named himself Tommy the Clown--started a ghetto-wide trend of ''clowning,'' and later, ''krumping,'' both characterized by quick, sudden dance moves. Rize is about more than just Tommy the Clown, of course. It's about race and oppression in America, and the therapeutic effect of dance throughout the centuries. The film attempts to channel the human spirit through physical expression, as the real-life faces give Rize extra needed impact to the oppressive story--one, unfortunately, that is all too familiar.
The real-life street dancers infuse the documentary. They are, essentially, characters, with alter-ego names like Dragon, Miss Prissy and El Nino. Decorated in face paint, they are average, real South L.A. ''hood'' residents with average jobs. Larry, for example, still works at Abercrombie & Fitch. But boy, they can dance. LaChapelle's visual storytelling elevates them to iconic, actor-like character status. More gravely, however, the dancers' belonging to clown or krump crews often substitute gang affiliation in the bombed-out neighborhoods. Rize works because of its ''acting,'' the vibrancy and timelessness of its characters' spirits.
Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson's good friend David LaChapelle directs his first feature, after he released a similar short film, Krumped, last year. His celebrity portraits have graced Vanity Fair and Interview magazines since the '80s. We last saw LaChapelle on the police blotter in January, getting arrested for disorderly conduct. Utah police allege LaChapelle, who was partying with Hilton and Anderson at Sundance where Rize premiered, became physically and verbally abusive when separated from the starlets. The case isn't settled yet. But in light of these charges, it could be LaChapelle's ability to bull his way through filming, glossing over themes quickly, that gives Rize its broad-brush impact. LaChapelle offers a different documentary in the post-Michael Moore era--one without a political point of view or wry scrutiny of shady characters. Instead, LaChapelle (who apprenticed under Andy Warhol) sees himself more as an artist. With Rize, he's molded an artistic topical statement, a timely bull's eye of hip-hop and Blue State progressivism. The filmmaker trains the audience's eye, quickly, to become hypnotized in the dancers' bodies and to seek higher meaning.
Rize is an 85-minute head-nodding maelstrom of pent-up human energy, bustin' to get out. Its larger themes are mostly effective, if familiar. See it for an appreciation of not only music, but the resiliency and sensitivity of the human spirit.
Copyright © CinemaSource 2011.
The first thing you'll notice about this film is the billboard poster. Young, fit, toned bodies with more muscles than the Rock and Vin Diesel combined. Secondly is the cast. Or rather what cast? The names on the credits might not mean much to the average movie goer. However, don't allow this to discourage you from seeing Rize as all will become clear during the 86 minutes of screen time.
Tommy Johnson, aka Tommy the Clown, was the man responsible for bringing clowning to the world in 1992 as a response to the Rodney King LA riots. Since then it has developed into a movement called "Krumping."
The film follows father figure Tommy as he encourages kids to form dance troops as an alternative to joining local, law breaking LA gangs. The rubber-limbed, too-cool-for-school youngsters paint their faces like warriors to outperform rival groups rather than hold a gun at them. Aggressive, powerful and athletic dance moves merge together African tribal dance and a hip-hop culture.
Celebrated photographer and pop video director David LaChapelle was a fortunate fella. Given unlimited access to document a dance movement that explores artistic expression and individuality to such a level that the true stars of the film are able to open up. Swoop, an 18-year-old dancer, feels comfortable enough to admit that had he not started clowning he would have been a "bad person". It's almost impossible to convey how highly entertaining and refreshing this movie is. And no doubt you'll find yourself trying out the dance moves in front of the mirror as soon as you get home.
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