"Let's kick it, Jesus style"

There is bound to be a decent selection of films at your local AMC and Regal theater. But there are many more movies of which the general public might not know exist. Whether they are artsy foreign films or low-budget independent films with little money for advertising and marketing, some films never make to people who aren't film fans in some way affected by the movie.

Whatever the reason, very few people know about the 2004's "Saved!," an independent movie about teenagers attending a Christian high school and their daring to question to what they've thought was indisputable.

"Is that Mary. What's she doing there?"
"There's only one reason Christian girls go to Planned Parenthood."
"She's got a pipe bomb!?!"
"OK, two reasons."

Mary has been a born-again Christian her entire 17-year-old life. She has what she thinks is the perfect life: she's a part of American Eagle Christian High School's in-crowd (The Christian Jewels), her mother is one of the area's best Christian-themed interior decorators, and she has a wonderful Christian boyfriend.

But when Mary and Dean, her boyfriend, tell each other secrets about themselves underwater, Dean says, "I think I'm gay." After suffering a nasty bump on the head, "Jesus to speak to her," telling her she must do what she can to help Dean. Taking "Jesus's" advice to the extreme, Mary loses her virginity to Dean in order to de-gay him. Unfortunately for Mary, AECH didn't start teaching sex-ed classes until after she found out she was pregnant with Dean's baby.

"We have to help Dean. I mean, you're not born a gay. You're born again."

Saved! is a wonderful, quirky movie with an eclectic cast that includes Jena Malone ("Stepmom") as scared and confused Mary, Patrick Fugit ("Almost Famous") as Patrick, the principal's son who likes Mary, singer Mandy Moore as Christian zealot and Christian Jewels leader Hilary Faye, and Macaulay Culkin (as if I had to name a movie) as Hilary Faye's brother and near-total opposite, Roland.

Saved! succeeded in showing the movie goer that Christians are people like everyone else. Despite the overwhelming love for Jesus and the doings of his work, the same things that go on at AECH happen at regular high schools. The popular crowd is adored by most (students, faculty and staff alike). Anyone who goes against the grain will automatically be social pariahs--no matter how much everyone else wants to save that person. When one of the mighty falls, there is always someone itching to take his or her place. And anything that even remotely challenges the system with be looked down up and barely spoken of.

"I don't think Jesus is supposed to be white."
"Of course, Jesus is white. Gosh, Roland, sometimes I think you're retarded too."

Although the last act of the movie gets a tad preachy, I had a fun hour and 32 minutes watching. Watching Mary reach outside her comfort zone, Roland and Cassandra let their guard down without compromising who they were, Tia try her hardest to climb the social ladder, and Hilary Faye pelt Mary with a Bible during an emergency exorcism.

BAM "I am FILLED with Christ's love."

If you haven't already, go see this movie. It might teach you something about tolerance and acceptance. Or it just might make you laugh for 92 minutes. Either way, it's well worth it.

"I CRASHED MY VAN INTO JESUS!"

All Eyes on Jackie Brown.

I Love almost everything about Quentin Tarantino movies. Along with Tim Burton and Spike Lee, Tarantino is my favorite director. But what irks me most about his movies--rather, the receptions of his movies--is how little recognition and praise people give "Jackie Brown."

Tarantino is the best at reviving the careers of actors who seem to have taken up residence in the $5 DVD bin at Wal-Mart. He made John Travolta relevant again in 1994 in Pulp Fiction. He reminded people there was someone in the world actually named Uma in 2003's "Kill Bill." Tarantino brought Kurt Russell out of family-movie hell in 2007 and put him in the driver seat in "Grindhouse: Death Proof."

In 1997, it was Pam Grier's turn. Tarantino took one of the biggest risks of his career (in my opinion, his biggest risk was Death Proof. Too bad it didn't pay off.) when he made Jackie Brown, the film adaptation of Elmore Leonard's book Rum Punch, and cast black people (Grier and Samuel L. Jackson) in two of the film's lead roles.

Jackie (Grier) was as 44-year-old black flight attendant working in the shittiest airlines (her words, not mine) thanks to prior legal troubles. Making some extra money on the side, she brought in large sums of cash from Mexico to gun runner Ordell Robbie (Jackson). When Beaumont (Chris Tucker) snitches to save his own butt from jail time, Department of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms agents arrest Jackie and threaten her with with the same fate that Beaumont eluded.

What makes Jackie Brown, a movie mildly laced with Blaxploitation references, my second favorite movie from Tarantino, is the fact that this is the realest movie he's ever done. Kill Bill, Death Proof, and, yes, even Pulp Fiction required huge stretches of the imagination. But Jackie Brown, showed the viewer a real black woman, forced to work a horrible job just to keep her rent paid. Showed how scary it would be for someone her age to lose the best job she could manage to find in the only industry in which she has worked.

Although there is no fight scenes, car chases or face shooting, I was on the edge of my seat, hoping this downtrodden woman could actually charm, befriend and or deceive her blood-thirsty gangster boss and the law enforcement agents looking for a conviction.

My fears vanished when Jackie, intended to meet the same end as Beaumont(SPOILER ALERT: Ordell kills Beaumont), pressed the barrel of a stolen gun into Ordell's shaft and balls and bitterly whispered, "Take yo hands from around my throat...NIGGA!" I saw in one scene what made Pam Grier such a bad ass B during an entire decade. Jackie commanded the room. Grier commanded the scene. And from that moment, I knew that she could hold her own against zealous cops, Ordell, and Ordell's beach bunny girlfriend and ex-con accomplice.

But the best part of the movie was Jackie's relationship with Max Cherry (Robert Forster, another actor whose career was drastically revived by this movie), a bail bondsman tired of writing bonds and chasing bailed-out absconders. After bailing out Jackie, and subsequently having his gun stolen by her, Max and Jackie talk the morning after Ordell's visit. That scene is, in my opinion, the greatest scene in the movie. For five minutes, you see, hear, and experience how tired these two old people are and begin to see what each might be prepared to do to alleviate their fatigue. Romantic sparks are also ignited between the Max and Jackie, but you find yourself wonder if Jackie, proven to be great at playing people, is setting up Max for the okie-doke.

Free of Samurai movie references, guys with colorful names, and guy-on-guy ass raping, Jackie Brown is a Tarantino movie non-Tarantino junkies can get into. It's real, gritty, suspenseful, romantic, witty and a host of other adjectives. It might be a tad long, but your time will be well-spent. If not for the great actors involved (Grier, Forster, Jackson, Robert De Niro, Bridgette Fonda, Michael Keaton, and Tommy "Tiny" Lister a.k.a. Deebo), for the amazing soundtrack. Try not loving a movie with the music of Minnie Ripperton, The Delfonics, The Grassroots, Foxy Brown, and Bobby Womack and Johnny Cash playing in the background.

And try not loving a movie where Pam Grier yells, "SIT YO RAGGEDY ASS DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BWA1T78WpI

Chronicles of the Dreads: Gone like N*Sync

What took two and a half years to create was eradicated in 53 minutes. After careful consideration, I decided to get rid of my Earthy ebony locks (the Cherokee curls, as Yewande likes to call them).

I had been thinking of doing this for a while, and when I had some free time in my schedule and some money in my pocket I decided to quit thinking and start doing. Well, let someone else do it for me.

This decision wasn't made all willy-nilly like; there are numerous factors that made me come to this choice. Anyone who knows me well enough will know I'm not a high-maintenance person, but having dreads--dreads that look nice--requires me to sit in a chair for two and a half to four hours every two weeks while someone ( on numerous occasions, someone with an attitude) pulls and twists the shit out of my hair and then throws me under a dryer for another half hour. Every time I want to take a shower, I have to put on a Du-rag and a shower cap to keep any trace of moisture from my head. And to top all that off, I have to sleep in a Du-rag, bandanna, bonnet, etc.

And then there were the costs of keeping up this look. Get out your calculators folks because it's time to go to school...and math is my weakest subject. I cost me $70 to initiate the dreading process, $50 every time I wanted to get them re-twisted (which should have been every two to three weeks), $20 to get them unprofessionally re-twisted, $7 to get lined up, $5.99 each for three packs of clips to hold my hair during the twisting process, $3.99 every time I brought more locking gel, and about $2.99 every time i bought hair ties. Being the cheap son of a saint that I am, I'd much prefer to only shell out $10-$15 every two weeks for a hair cut.

Having locks got in the way of me being me. Whenever I hung out by the pool, laid on the beach, or almost died on some God-forsaken river in Marianna, Florida, the first thought that always came to mind was that I needed to keep my head above water so I won't mess up the four hours that went in to twisting that mess.

And quite frankly, I have been in a horrible mood for close to a month. I wanted to do something to myself and for myself, something drastically different and attention-worthy. I don't have enough money saved for the tattoos I want. I haven't grown enough balls to get that penis piercing people keep telling me to get. So why not cut the drapes?

I just got out of the barber chair about an hour ago (big ups to 2G), and already all the things I missed about getting hair cuts game back to me. I miss being able to feel the breeze and sun on my big ass dome. The tiny hair shavings, rather than long and curlies, that litter my shoulders. The stranger's hands that are on my hair for an undetermined about of time that somehow is acceptable so long as it's for hair cutting purposes. I might keep it like this. The only think I regret is not seeing ALL of my female relatives' reactions in person. Except for Mia. I think she actually liked the dreads.

Before anyone asks me the inevitable question, let me answer it for you.

Countless people: "Why did you spend all that time with sub-par looking dreads if you were only going to cut them off after two years?"
Me: "Because I could."

Sincerely,
B.rand

P.S. How many fucking (Sorry mom, Darryl) pair of jeans can two people wash. And why does the laundry mat have free Wi-Fi and HBO?