By Rocks Off
By Chris Lane
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Corey Deiterman
If Howard Stern still believes he carries the burden of being "King of All Media," he should pick up a copy of the urban-music bible The Source sometime. He'll find that many of today's rap impresarios are kicking his ass in that department, probing any hot spot they can find -- media wise, that is. Take, for example. Russell Simmons, owner of the legendary Def Jam empire. Apart from owning a succession of record labels, a management company and his own clothing line (called Phat Farm), he presides over production teams in both film and television. He has even started his own magazine, Oneworld.
But unlike Simmons, who prefers a life behind the scenes, your typical rap entrepreneur these days gladly courts celebrity. Bigwigs like Sean "Puffy" Combs and Jermaine Dupri are licensed extroverts, making numerous appearances on the countless albums they've produced and the videos they've directed -- just to let everyone know who's running the show (and often supplying the capital).
Ditto Percy Miller, better known to the hip-hop world as Master P. A business tycoon first and an artist second, the Louisiana native has turned his Gulf-Coast-founded No Limit label into a full-fledged media conglomerate, his gold-toothed smirk the unofficial stamp of approval for each and every outgoing product. While constantly churning out CDs from his snowballing stable of national talent, he also runs a sports agency, distributes the obligatory fashion line, and is about to publish a collection of (I shit you not) his essays.
Then, there's his burgeoning movie enterprise, No Limit Films. P started making films a year ago with I'm Bout It: The Movie. Made for a paltry $1 million, I'm Bout It is a semi-autobiographical, life-on-the-streets parable. P tried to sell the film to an outside distributor, only to have it dismissed as too flawed to be released in theaters. So, with virtually no chance of I'm Bout It making it to the big screen, P opted to release it as a direct-to-video feature, its packaging adorned with the eye-grabbing blurbs, "The Year's Most Anticipated Movie on the Streets" and "Banned in Theaters Across America."
More than anything, I'm Bout It shows Master P's marketing genius at work -- genius, alas, that fails to carry over even remotely to the movie itself. Like a mercenary at a gun show, he lifts all the deadliest gangster-epic cliches from such well-known suppliers as Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese and especially Brian DePalma (after all, he directed Scarface, which is to black audiences what Pink Flamingos is to toilet-humor enthusiasts). Along with some character named Moon Jones, P directed I'm Bout It with all the flair of a dad videotaping his kid's high school graduation. Characters blurt out "nigga" at a faster rate than they can breathe, which is of no help to a story line that is short on coherence, and long on vulgarity and indecipherable narrative. Still, the movie does feature two laughingly unforgettable scenes: In one bloody deluge, a guy dashes a friend's skull to bits as he talks trash the whole way through ("You fucked up my gear! Now how am I gonna see my bitches?"). In another, sitcom veteran Helen Martin (the Ruth Gordon of the black acting world), inhales substantial amounts of ganja while calling up an escort service and asking for "a nice, warm dick for the night."
Okay, so I'm Bout It may not have been Oscar material. But the number of copies it sold (around a quarter-million) made P ponder the power of video. Sure, P could take in a couple mil here and there on the multiplex screen, as he did last May with the cheeseball, Miramax-distributed comedy I Got the Hook-Up!. But he can reach an even bigger audience at home. The decision was a no-brainer: Following in the footsteps of Shannon Tweed, C. Thomas Howell, Anna Nicole Smith and other straight-to-Blockbuster superstars, P will continue making flicks exclusively for the small screen. His increasing body of work will now share shelf space with the likes of Frankenhooker, Psycho Cop and the cherished Slumber Party Massacre series.
To that effect, MP Da Last Don is the second ghetto-based gangsta-land saga from No Limit Films. Made with an accommodating budget (this time, he could afford real stage blood) and a more experienced director in Michael Martin -- who also directed I Got the Hook-Up! -- Da Last Don is P's very own Mafioso fairy tale. It's also a visual companion to his latest album of the same name. In the film, P plays Nino Corleone, a college basketball coach and offspring to a bloated, pasty-white Italian godfather. (Don't even ask about the whole black/Italian thing; the movie doesn't.) After his pops gets executed outside the steps of a church, Nino is deemed the new head of his old man's fledgling empire.
Despite the movie's polished look, the cracks in the story line couldn't be buffed out if the entire print were doused in Turtle Wax. And if that wasn't enough, Master P gives, without question, the worst performance of any rapper-turned-actor captured on film. At least when Ice Cube and Ice-T toss out their lines on screen, they combine home-brewed attitude with a sense of detached irony. And even the softest rappers (Will Smith, Kid-N-Play) can come off appealing -- if lightweight. Master P, however, is like a gawky, off-balance kid playing dress-up; the way he exhibits "true" emotion is, in a word, corny.