Vibe.com, July 25th, 2003
"Burn, Hollywood, burn!" the hip hop community shouted along with Public Enemy, Ice Cube, and Big Daddy Kane in 1990 when they lyrically protested racism in the film industry. But oh, how things have changed. Thirteen years later, Cube is one of the most bankable movie stars around, having appeared in films that have grossed nearly $400 million at the box office. Perhaps it's no coincidence that he had the song's shortest verse.
"Hip hop has become the single greatest influence on the tonality of today's Hollywood movies," says Rob Cohen, 53, director of last year's XXX (featuring Eve) and 2001's The Fast and the Furious (with Ja Rule). "It's not just the stars. It's the whole vibe that emanates from that world, with the style, the clothes, and that sense of ego and presence."
In the past two years, rappers played prominent roles in dozens of films of stunning variety: Mos Def and P. Diddy in the award-winning drama Monster's Ball; Busta Rhymes in the gritty police flick Narc; Redman and Method Man in the slapstick How High; Cube and Eve in the urban comedy Barbershop; Bow Wow in the family-friendly Like Mike; Fat Joe in the drug caper Empire; Will Smith in the biopic Ali. This year brings another crop, including DMX in Cradle 2 the Grave, Mos Def in The Italian Job, LL Cool J in S.W.A.T., and Queen Latifah in Chicago. Suddenly, Hollywood has gone hip hop.
"It's a statement of what America is today," says Joseph Kahn, 30, a veteran music-video director who makes his feature directorial debut this year with Torque (starring Ice Cube and Fredro Starr). "If you watch films of the '60s, '70s, and '80s, they're all rock-a-fied. The films of the future are going to have much more of an urban edge, because we are rapidly turning from an all-white into a Benetton nation." The evolution represents more than just Hollywood's interest in reflecting demographic changes. Profitability is the lure, especially given the statistic that African-Americans, who comprise only 12 percent of the U.S. population, flock to movie houses in disproportionate numbers; they represent 20 percent of the movie-going audience. It's a lesson the industry has been slow to learn. The success of 1995's Friday caught insiders by surprise: the low-key film, starring Ice Cube and Chris Tucker, grossed $27 million on only a $3.5 million investment, including marketing. No one was astonished last year when Cube's Barbershop, budgeted at $12 million, pulled in $76 million. "As long as you have a draw, it doesn't matter what you look like," says Method Man, 32. "That's just the way Hollywood works."
Hip hop looks pretty good on celluloid right about now. Of course this is nothing new. Rappers have been giving drama since the mid-'80s, starting with Run-DMC and LL Cool J in Krush Groove. House Party with Kid 'N Play grossed $26 million in 1990, showing for the first time that MCs could attract movie audiences. Then Ice-T (New Jack City, 1991) and Tupac Shakur (Juice, 1992) pushed the genre with their compelling portrayals of complex characters. Now agents, producers, and directors are pursuing rappers as never before. "We would be stupid to not take the opportunity," says Eve, 23, who didn't even think about acting until several talent agents began wooing her. "It's like, why not do it? It doesn't hurt to try."
The obvious question is why pop and country singers haven't been as lucky turning album sales into box-office gold-just ask Britney Spears, whose film debut, Crossroads, was a huge disappointment. Kahn suggests the answer lies in rap's emphasis on spoken word. "Rappers are used to looking their audience in the eye and speaking, emoting, and inflecting to them," he says. "Acting is a very similar process." Even critic Roger Ebert, 60, not a big fan of rap flicks, acknowledges the synergy. "Hip hop artists are actors as much as they are musicians," he says. "They tend to translate strongly to dramatic roles." Todd Boyd, 38, professor of critical studies at the University of Southern California's School of Cinema-Television and author of The New H.N.I.C.: The Death of Civil Rights and the Reign of Hip Hop, regards the lyrics of Nas, Scarface, Biggie, and Jay-Z as vividly cinematic. "Hip hop is all about representing," Boyd says. "And what is cinema but representation?"
However, for anyone who might think casting a hot rapper is a surefire formula, think again. "Audiences now don't go, 'Ooh, my favorite rapper is in a movie, I'm automatically going,'" says House Party director Reginald Hudlin, 41. Def Jam president Kevin Liles, 34, even counsels artists not to take roles that fall outside of their "brand character," as he calls it. "They have a responsibility to the culture that gave them the opportunity to do movies," he says.
The rapid ascent of rappers in film has sparked some resentment, too. Samuel L. Jackson was famously quoted last year as saying, "Half of [them] don't care about the quality of their films. It's purely a green thing and not an art thing." His rant spawned plenty of backlash. "If any grown man is complaining about rappers getting roles, I don't want to hear it," says Mekhi Phifer, 28, who starred alongside Sticky Fingaz in Clockers, Cam'Ron in Paid in Full, and Eminem in 8 Mile. "Rappers have been more passionate, spontaneous, and real than a lot of these so-called trained actors, because they can draw from their tough life experiences."
That method worked for Fat Joe, 32, star of Empire and Thicker Than Water. "Acting was very natural because I used to have to act to not get my ass busted when I was growing up in the Bronx," he says. "I act every day when I tell the cops to please leave me alone, I have no weed in the car." To Meth, who starred alongside Redman in 2001's How High, the haters offer a challenge. "Maybe we aren't doing a good enough job to shut them up," he says. "The same way that you wouldn't step up in front of the crowd knowing half your rhymes, don't step up in front of the camera knowing half your lines."
Paying dues is a reality in acting, as it is in music. The three rapper/actors so far nominated for major awards-Heavy D (Drama Desk for the play Riff Raff); Will Smith (Oscar for Ali); and Queen Latifah (Golden Globe for Chicago)-all apprenticed in television. "They had the discipline of being on a TV show for several seasons," says Gary Hardwick, director of Deliver Us From Eva (starring LLCool J). "When they stepped on the movie set, they knew what it was all about."
True craftsmen like Heavy D, Mos Def, and Latifah have shown their willingness to take on smaller roles opposite veteran actors in movies like The Cider House Rules (with Michael Caine), Monster's Ball (Billy Bob Thornton), and Living Out Loud (Holly Hunter), respectively. Sometimes it means making sacrifices, turning down less-challenging parts. "If you're serious about it, you have to be able to say, Hey, I'm not going to work this year," says Heavy, 35. "Do you want to be Gene Hackman, who will work as long as he's alive, or do you want to be someone who works for a short period of time?"
The longevity issue definitely enters into rappers' thinking when they compare the film and music industries. "Sean Connery is still cool and sexy at 70," says Busta. "You can't do that in hip hop." Even 16-year-old Bow Wow worries about his future. "You always have to have a plan B," he says. "You don't know when people are going to stop buying your albums." And the financial rewards can be less ephemeral. "The movie money is real," says Eve, who recently inked a deal to star in her own UPN comedy series. "They don't give you an advance, and once the movie opens, expect you to pay it back. Nothing is recoupable."
There's no need to exaggerate the hip hop presence. Out of 2002's top 25 grossing films, only two starred rappers, Men in Black II ($190 million) and 8 Mile ($116 million), not counting XXX ($141 million), which only briefly featured an MC. But there is an undeniable shift taking place, a changing of the guard. "We had Sidney Poitier, then Denzel," says Heavy. "Now we have a new generation bringing a whole new flavor." By every indication, fans can expect the trend to continue. Tim Story, director of Barbershop, says, "We're on the radar, and Hollywood can't deny it." Casting director Monica Swann, who worked on New Jack City, sees a permanent change in the business and artistic landscape, as long as the talent keeps emerging. "Each one who's good," she says, "opens the door for the next one." The cry of "Burn, Hollywood, Burn!" died out a long time ago. Now hip hop is bumping to a new joint: "Earn, Hollywood, Earn!"
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