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DIRECTED BY: William Witney
FEATURING: Trina Parks, Roger E. Mosley, Norman Bartold
PLOT: Syreena must overcome a series of obstacles in order to track down her missing mother.
WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: If a Blaxploitation-cum-slapstick comedy with motorbike klansmen, racist keystone cops, and a glorious soul song-and-dance behind dungeon bars doesn’t fit our bill, perhaps we’ve gone too jive.
COMMENTS: My reaction to the Darktown Strutters experience immediately runs the risk of banging out a long, long list of “What the…?” reactions. Beyond those listed immediately above, there are countless others, but will try to be strong—strong like Syreena as she thwarts institutional evil, playboy chicanery, and one of the strangest, and most racist, conspiracies ever committed to celluloid. Looking back at the hour-and-a-half of sights and sounds that flew past my eyes, two things stand out strongly.
The first is that director William Witney, alongside screenwriter George Armitage and a ready and willing cast, must have had the time of his life. The movie’s overall quality is, to put it diplomatically, uneven. Maybe. It’s difficult to say, since the whole shebang varies in energy between 9 and 11 on the dial, with some points suggesting the selector knob fell off as the cast and crew tried cranking it even higher. It’s never boring, and any misfires quickly become distant memories. Starting out as something of a traditional vengeance-and-music bit, Darktown Strutters eventually staggers its giddy way into a socio-science-fiction that, though troublingly dark on reflection, is presented to the viewer in such a candy-crazy way that it comes off as Benny Hill meets “Outer Limits”.
The second notable feature is Strutters‘ serious side, which compels me to respect it as a “serious film” (well, no—but at least a serious commentary) despite the gag-a-minute presentation. I’d do well to have years of cultural study to appreciate the fuller implications, but my cursory knowledge of history and cinema lets me appreciate how searing this movie’s satire is. Watermelon, ribs, subservience, and defiance—while one of the most cracker-assed of crackers gripes about not feeling appreciated—this script hits a lot of spots that’d be sore if there weren’t such a fuck-the-Man sense of frolicry going on.
Because this is entertainment! A vengeance and music picture. And there is much to cheer as Syreena and her biker gals rally the town, the dastardly villain gets tarred and feathered, and funk and soul goodness delights the ear.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY: