David F. Walker
Monthly: February 2018

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – GANJA & HESS

GANJA & HESS (a.k.a. Black Vampire, Blood Couple, Double Possession, Black Out) – 1973 director: Bill Gunn; starring: Duane Jones, Marlene Clark, Bill Gunn

As of this moment, I’ve seen Ganja & Hess—or some facsimile of Ganja & Hess —at least six times. To be honest, it’s difficult to place an exact number on how many times I’ve seen the movie, because there are several different versions, released under as many as four other titles. There is, however, only one version that represents the vision of writer-director Bill Gunn. That version was lovingly restored and released on DVD back in 1998. That disc represented the film Gunn made, and not the heavily butchered versions released by the distributor that bore little resemblance to what Gunn had in mind. Gunn’s Ganja & Hess has been revered by critics and has garnered a cult following, while altered versions like Black Vampire and Blood Couple have lapsed into relative obscurity. This is a singularly unique film that is cryptically compelling and perplexing, and in being so represents the uncompromising cinematic talents of an artist who has never gotten his proper recognition.

Now, I need to be honest, for all the times I’ve seen Ganja & Hess—and I’ve seen this uncut version three other times—I still don’t completely understand what’s going on. Duane Jones, who is best remembered for his role in the original Night of the Living Dead, stars as archeologist Dr. Hess Green, who is transformed into a vampire when he is stabbed with an ancient African dagger by his demented assistant, George (Gunn). Hess kills George, stores his body in the freezer, and goes about his life dealing with his new-found addiction for blood. And then along comes Ganja (Marlene Clark), George’s free-spirited wife, who is less concerned with the whereabouts of her husband as she is with Hess. The two quickly become lovers, and it isn’t long before Ganja is also a vampires, who deals with her addiction in her own way.

That is the basic plot of Ganja & Hess, but even knowing that much doesn’t help in comprehending this somewhat disjointed foray into metaphor and cinematic symbolism. As a film, Ganja & Hess is a visual rumination on addiction that isn’t concerned with the audience’s ability to understand everything that is going on. In many ways it is like watching someone’s attempt at translating to film a nightmare they had experienced. And while this may not sound like the most entertaining of films, it is compelling nonetheless, due in no small part to the fact that Ganja & Hess is unlike pretty much any movie you’ve ever seen before. It is one of those rare works of cinema that reflects the unique artist vision of the primary creator, which in this case is Bill Gunn.

Gunn was an actor with a handful of television credits to his name, and an incredibly gifted writer whose credits include the films The Angel Levine and director Hal Ashby’s brilliant movie The Landlord. Ganja & Hess was Gunn’s first opportunity to write and direct his own feature. He was contracted to do a blaxploitation vampire movie in the vein of Blacula, which had been a huge hit in 1972, and on paper he crafted a script that promised just such a film. But Gunn had no intention of making a typical blaxploitation, and so he went on to make the movie he wanted to make, much to the frustration of the film’s financiers. To be honest, this film is as far removed from blaxploitation as you can get — aside from the era in which it was released (making it blaxploitation by default in my book). After the initial release of Ganja & Hess, which was well-received by critics, but lost to audiences that thought they were getting a vampire sexploitation flick, the distributors recut the film and released it under various different titles. Where Gunn’s version ran 110 minutes, Double Possession, Blood Couple, Black Vampire, and Black Out: The Moment of Terror all ran a scant 78 minutes—and none featured Gunn’s name as writer and director.

Ganja & Hess is an interesting film, though it is not for everyone. It is devoid of nearly all the conventions of trappings of most horror films as well as blaxploitation movies, making something very different from entries in either of those genres. It is as more of an artistic achievement than it is a work of baseline entertainment, and as long as it is viewed and considered from that standpoint, it should always be engaging.

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – THE FINAL COMEDOWN (a.k.a. Blast)

THE FINAL COMEDOWN (a.k.a. Blast) 1972 director: Oscar Williams; starring: Billy Dee Williams, D’Urville Martin, Raymond St. Jacques

Acclaimed director Jules Dassian’s politically charged 1968 film UPTIGHT was in many ways the precursor to what would become the blaxploitation film. With an all-star cast, and a focus on the black militancy of the late 1960s, UPTIGHT broke new cinematic ground, and set the tone for what would come in the 1970s. Where Dassian’s film left off, this bad boy picks up. That’s not to say that THE FINAL COMEDOWN is a sequel, but it is the progression off the anger and violence that we saw coming to a head in UPTIGHT. Here, in THE FINAL COMEDOWN, we see all that hostility and rage explode.

Billy Dee Williams is Johnny Johnson, an ambitious, hard working young man, at the end of his rope. Our story unfolds with Johnny, and members of his Black Panther-type group in a shoot out with the pigs. Johnny is shot by the pork patrol, and through flashbacks we see the events that have lead to this moment. As the picture bounces from the present to the past and back again, the complexity of Johnny is revealed. From an idealistic pacifist, working for change, to militant leader, literally dying for change, the audience is privy to the evolution of Johnny’s character.

Billy Dee Williams, who, by the 1980s pretty much became a parody of himself, shows off his true talents in THE FINAL COMEDOWN. This ain’t the malt liquor pitchman here, this is the same actor that drove audiences to tears as Gayle Sayers in BRIAN’S SONG. This is the same actor that got a nation of women wet in LADY SINGS THE BLUES. This is the same actor that was supposed to star as Malcolm X in a film written by James Baldwin (seriously). Williams infuses so much complexity and emotional fury into Johnny that you can genuinely feel his rage. When Johnny gets into an argument with his white girlfriend, who calls him bitter, the emerging militant declares; “Bitter baby? I ain’t bitter. I was bitter 350 years ago. I’m violent! Do you hear me god dammit?! Violent!!” That single scene says it all.

Written, produced and directed by Oscar Williams, THE FINAL COMEDOWN was partially funded by the American Film Institute. I wonder how the AFI felt when they saw this explosive film, which was heavily influenced by Gillo Pontecorvo’s 1965 THE BATTLE OF ALGIERS. Williams is best known for writing such films as BLACK BELT JONES and TRUCK TURNER, he also directed HOT POTATO and FIVE ON THE BLACK HAND SIDE. But THE FINAL COMEDOWN is Oscar Williams’s defining film, a highly politicized blaxploitation drama mixed with an Italian neo-realism aesthetic. No other film has ever stripped away the larger-than-life image of the black militant, and given it such a human face. There can be a strange beauty to anger and violence, a bizarre poetry in bitterness; and THE FINAL COMEDOWN captures it all.

Additional funding for THE FINAL COMEDOWN came from B-movie mogul Roger Corman, who recut the film, added new footage, and released it under the title BLAST, with writing and directing credit going to Frank Arthur Wilson. The new footage for the alternative version was directed by Allan Arkush (ROCK ‘N’ ROLL HIGH SCHOOL). BLAST was shorter than THE FINAL COMEDOWN, and from what I understand, much of the militancy was removed.

Movie Poster of the Week – 1990: THE BRONX WARRIORS

BadAzz MoFo’s celebration of the art of the movie poster (though not necessarily the movie itself).

The other day I was having a conversation with someone about movie poster art, and how we seldom get to see posters that are illustrated these days. Most of the time we see nothing more than montage images thrown together in Photoshop, which are poor excuses for the classic illustrations and paintings I saw when I was a kid. This is especially true of exploitation movies, which almost always seemed to have the best artwork. So, I’ve decided to feature some of my favorite movie posters of all time (though not necessarily my favorite movies of all time).

First up we have the Italian exploitation classic 1990: The Bronx Warriors, directed by Enzo G. Castellari. This is an early entry in the Italian rip-offs of films like The Warriors, Escape from New York, Mad Max, and The Road Warrior. In fact, The Bronx Warriors is a shameless rip-off of Escape from New York, with bits and pieces of The Warriors thrown in for good measure. It is a terrible film, and some day I may write a review, but for now let’s just admire the poster. Above we have the better of two versions, and below we have a decent, but not nearly as badass alternate poster.

I’ll be honest, I have a love/hate relationship with a ton of the movies from this particular genre of Italian exploitation films, which is to say I hate pretty much all of them. But I love the posters. I love the posters so much, that don’t be surprised if most the entries in this category are crappy Italian films you’ve probably never heard of.

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – Jamaa Fanaka’s EMMA MAE (a.k.a. Black Sister’s Revenge)

EMMA MAE (a.k.a. Black Sister’s Revenge) 1975 director: Jamaa Fanaka; starring: Jerri Hayes

When you sit down to watch a Jamaa Fanaka film you have to know there’s more going on than meets the eye. On the surface Fanaka makes films that some people might argue look a bit like crap–technical ineptitude, bad acting, and outrageousness are the norm in the world of Fanaka. But under the surface of killer penises, crack smoking midgets, and ghetto airforce avengers there’s always a much deeper message. Finding that message ain’t always the easiest thing to do; but if you ain’t havin’ fun tryin’, then there’s something wrong with yo’ brain.

Fanaka is best known for his PENITENTIARY series, which included characters with names like Too Sweet, Half Dead, Seldom Seen, and Midnight Thud (a crack smoking midget, who watches porn, and spouts philosophy). Fanaka’s first film is the legendary cult hit WELCOME HOME BROTHER CHARLES (known as SOUL VENGEANCE on video), the story of a guy with a giant killer penis, that Fanaka wrote, produced and directed his senior year at UCLA. EMMA MAE is Fanaka’s second film, which he made to complete his master’s thesis. The film cost $250,000 to produce, and the money came from grants from the American Film Institute and UCLA’s Black Studies Center.

Fanaka managed to tone the craziness down a bit with this film, a ghettorific drama about a young countrified girl from Mississippi named Emma Mae (Hayes) who comes to live with family in Los Angeles. Emma quickly falls for Jesse, a pill-poppin’ loser, who finds himself in jail after whoopin’ on some cops. Now Emma is faced with raising bail money for the man she loves (let’s forget she’s only known him about a minute or two). First Emma starts a car wash, complete with belly dancers (gotta love that Fanaka), to raise the needed cash. Unfortunately, the cops quickly shut the operation down, leaving Emma Mae no choice but to form a gang and rob a bank. With her man out of jail things should end happily ever after, but then this is a Jamaa Fanaka film – the same man who gave us giant cocks strangling evil honkys. So it should come as no surprise that our heroine catches her old man in bed with some other chick, and then proceeds to beat his ass like a runaway slave. That’s right, homegirl beats homeboy’s ass like she was a member of the LAPD. Emma emerges a new, stronger, and more independent woman, ready to take on new challenges, and whoop more ass.

Despite all the flaws that can be found in this film (and believe me when I say they run the gamut), EMMA MAE is a film that works. The underlying themes of black empowerment, and the personal growth and liberation of black women are all there under the surface, just waiting for someone to notice them. We actually get to see Emma grow and evolve as a person, which was something rare for black female characters to do back in the day. There is sense of honesty and compassion that shines through, giving the film a sense of reality that many blaxploitation era films lack. For all her ass kickin’, gun totin’ badassosity, Emma is nothing like Foxy Brown or Cleopatra Jones – she’s someone we’ve all known in our lives. The people look real, they aren’t glamorous stars, just plain old folk Fanaka got off the street. And then there’s Jamaa’s script, which despite some unconvincing delivery from time to time, has dialog that sounds like the way black people really talk (or at least more like the way black people talk than what we normally get to see).

EMMA MAE (which is available on video as BLACK SISTER’S REVENGE), like all of Jamaa Fanaka’s films, needs to be watched with more than just casual viewing, otherwise you will miss some of what’s below the surface. Fanaka is a true genius filmmaker, whose work has long gone ignored and unappreciated. Of course the fact that he might have been insane doesn’t help his case – but that don’t mean you shouldn’t watch his movies, which are always entertaining.

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – DEATH OF A SNOWMAN

Death of a Snowman (a.k.a. Soul Patrol, Black Trash) 1976 – director: Christopher Rowley; starring: Nigel Davenport, Ken Gampu

Back in the early days of home video, when studios were much slower to release new movies, and video tapes were usually rented at grocery stores, there was a glut of exploitation titles to choose from. These were all flicks that had come out in decades earlier, and many of them were released on video under alternate titles. This is especially true of select blaxploitation titles—movies like The Bus is Coming became Ghetto Revenge, while Force Four, Charcoal Black, Brother on the Run and Savage became Black Force, Black Rage, Black Force 2 and Black Valor, respectively. And then there was Death of a Snowman, one of the few blaxploitation films to boast of being an international production, which found a home on select video shelves under the titles Black Trash and Soul Patrol.

Produced in South Africa during the height of the racist apartheid system that made segregation legal, Death of a Snowman is a unique entry into the blaxploitation genre for a variety of reasons. There were only a handful of black action films to come to the United States via other countries, and most of those were films that had started out as something else, but were then re-titled and re-edited for the American market (the best example being Mean Mother, which started out as the Italian film El hombre que vino del odio). Death of a Snowman is, however, one of the only—if not the only—movies produced outside of the United States that was specifically modeled after the blaxploitation movies that had become popular throughout America.

Ken Gampu stars as Steve Chaka, a newspaper reporter covering a series of violent crimes committed against criminals. Someone calling themselves “War On Crime” claims responsibility for the brutal murders of Soweto’s criminal empire, and promises more deaths will come until the streets are free of illegal activities. Meanwhile, Chaka’s good friend, white police detective Lt. Ben Deel (Nigel Davenport) is investigating the War On Crime murders. Deel doesn’t believe Chaka is involved in the crimes, but he does believe the reporter is being used by the vigilante organization, which tells Chaka of its actions just before they are committed. The more Chaka and Deel investigate the case, the more deadly things become, and the higher the body count, as War On Crime leaves an ever-increasing pile of bullet-riddled corpses stacking up.

Death of a Snowman falls into a very specific class of blaxploitation film in which it can’t be considered one of the A or B-films of the era—Shaft, Truck Turner, Foxy Brown—nor is it one of the low-rent Z-grade flicks indicative of the times—The Guy from Harlem, Speeding Up Time, Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes. This leaves the film in the awkward position of being neither among the best of the genre nor the worst. Instead, director Christopher Rowley’s movie finds itself in the company of such films as Matt Cimber’s The Candy Tangerine Man and The Black Six, and Greydon Clark’s Black Shampoo—none of which should be confused with great cinema, but all of which are entertaining in their own right.

As an obviously low budget exploitation film, Death of a Snowman succeeds more often than it fails. The story is interesting—despite the fact the heroes have relatively little screen time together (perhaps a result of South Africa’s racist policies?)—and the direction is standard drive-in movie competent. The soundtrack offers a nice funky groove that helps propel the film a decent pace, and more than almost anything else, helps to establish the blaxploitation vibe.

The film is perhaps most interesting as a piece of cinematic history. It was filmed and takes place in Johannesburg, South Africa, but there is never any mention of apartheid. The film seems to gloss over politics as much as possible, and if you knew nothing of how things were in South Africa, you’d never have any indication from watching Death of a Snowman. But if you do know about apartheid, then you begin to pick up on little traces of it throughout the film.

Ken Gampu

Death of a Snowman is also significant for its casting of Ken Gampu. One of the first black South African actors to work in Hollywood films, Gampu became a recognizable character actor who appeared in many movies shot in Africa. In film, he was most famous for playing soldiers, tribal leaders and cops, with Death of a Snowman being one of his more significant roles. Gampu was also known for his work on the stage, including his historic casting in a South African production of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, in which he had to be granted special permission by the government to appear on stage with white actors. Years later, when asked about his performance in Of Mice and Men, Gampu was quoted as saying, “For the first time the black man was on an equal footing with the white man, and you know – the heavens didn’t fall.”

Having been released on VHS as Black Trash and Soul Patrol—both being the sort of title that cost ninety-nine cents—Death of a Snowman seldom made it on the radar of fans of blaxploitation, or any other genre of exploitation film for that matter. Terrible transfer of bad prints, combined with poor dubbing and generic box art made this movie the type that begged to be ignored. A quality release in 2015 from Synapse Films finally gave Death of a Snowman some of the respect that it deserves, for even though this is not the greatest bit of exploitation cinema you could hope to see, it is entertaining and worth a watch.

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – COUNTDOWN AT KUSINI (a.k.a. COOL RED)

Countdown at Kusini (a.k.a. Cool Red) – 1976, director: Ossie Davis; starring: Greg Morris, Ruby Dee, Ossie Davis

Within the ranks of black films of the 1970s, there are a handful of titles that remain shrouded with an air of mystery. These are the “lost” films of the blaxploitation era, of which there are two distinct types. The first type of lost blaxploitation film are those that have never been officially released on home video, but have still managed to find a home on bootleg videos. Films like The Legend of Nigger Charley, though never having had any sort of authorized release, can be found on DVD. But then there’s the other type of lost film that is truly lost. These are the ones that have never turned up on video in any way, and in some cases have not been seen since their original release. Perhaps the most famous of these lost films is director Ossie Davis’s Countdown at Kusini (a.k.a. Cool Red), a movie with an interesting history, that has remained largely unseen since its initial release in 1976.

Best known for his role as Barney Collier on the television series Mission: Impossible, Greg Morris stars as Red Salter, an American jazz musician working in Nigeria. Red is trying to make time with Leah Matanzima (Ruby Dee), who is working with a group of rebels trying to liberate the fictional nation of Fahari. Leah recruits Red to help smuggle Ernest Motapo (Ossie Davis), the leader of the revolutionary army, out of Nigeria and into Fahari. Motapo is being hunted by mercenary Ben Amed (Tom Aldredge), who has been hired by a powerful corporation that has been oppressing the people of Fahari, and stripping the nation of its natural resources. Though he is reluctant to get too heavily involved, Red soon finds himself fighting along with Motapo and the rebels to liberate their homeland from its colonialist oppressors.

Coming along as the popularity of blaxploitation was crashing and burning, Countdown at Kusini was conceived and produced as something of an alternative to what was often seen as a largely negative genre. To be certain, a great many of the films produced and marketed to black audiences in the 1970s were mired in negativity, as well as hampered by low budgets and inferior production values. Although it sought to put forth a more positive, empowering, and politically provocative message than the other films being churned out—especially those being churned out toward the tail end of the cycle—Countdown at Kusini suffers from the same budgetary and production value issues found in some of the more notoriously bad blaxploitation films. But because the film has been barely seen since coming out in 1976, it has become regarded as something of a lost classic—the assumption being that it is probably a decent film (never mind the fact that the film received mostly negative reviews). The sad truth of the matter is that though the backstory of how and why Countdown at Kusini was made (a story I will get into in my upcoming book — provided I actually write it), the movie itself isn’t very good. It stops short of being truly bad, though it teeters dangerously close to the edge of the cliff of being pretty bad.

The victim of a very limited budget, and a long list of production woes incurred while shooting in Nigeria, Countdown at Kusini starts out promising as a politically charged assault on colonialism in Africa. But the film quickly falls apart, weighed down by a flimsy, poorly developed screenplay, with even more poorly developed characters. Best known as an actor, Ossie Davis helped launch blaxploitation as the director of Cotton Comes to Harlem and highly under-rated Gordon’s War. Davis co-wrote, co-produced, and directed Countdown at Kusini, which is probably the main reason people have been willing to give this film the benefit of the doubt. Sadly, it isn’t deserving of any assumptions of greatness, because, quite honestly, there is no greatness to be found. Though it is clear the budget is limited, neither Davis, nor director of photography, Andrew Laszlo (The Warriors, First Blood) seem to be able to give the film any sense of style or energy. The result is a flat, lifeless script that looks equally flat and lifeless, shot primarily in medium shots that betray the film as having been shot as quickly and efficiently as possible. Unfortunately, quick and efficient aren’t always what a movie needs, especially when the script itself is lacking.

Despite everything working against it, Countdown at Kusini does have moments that work. Most notably, the film manages to pull itself together for a satisfying climax that constitutes the most well crafted portion of the film. The rest of the film, however, is not that well crafted or nearly as compelling. The film earns points for its anti-colonialist message, but other films have handled that subject matter much better, including director Valerio Zurlini’s poorly titled 1968 film Black Jesus (a.k.a. Seated at His Right), starring Woody Strode, and Gillo Pontecorvo’s masterpiece The Battle of Algiers. Even during its best moments, Countdown at Kusini can’t hold its own against other like-minded films.

NOTE: For those wondering how I managed to see Countdown at Kusini, the short version is that I was able to view it through the UCLA Film Archive while researching my upcoming book on the history of blaxploitation. I will go more in depth into the history of the film itself in the book (provided I get around to writing it).

Lessons in Black History – Ousamane Sembène and CAMP DE THIAROYE

Ousamane Sembène – Born in Senegal in 1923, Ousamane Sembène grew up in a blue collar environment, working a variety of manual labor jobs. In 1947 he made his way to France, became involved in the labor union movement, joined the Communist Party, and was introduced to the works of writers like Claude McKay. Inspired by his experiences, Sembène wrote his first novel in 1956. Le Docker Noir (The Black Docker) was the first of nine books written by Sembène, who would go on to be regarded as on the greatest authors from Africa. His books often dealt with issues regarding colonialism, racism and the plight of the working man, but were seldom translated in other languages. Sembène understood that his books would have trouble reaching the immigrant, working class and disenfranchised audience of which he wrote, prompting him to explore film. In 1963, at the age of 40, Sembène made his first film, the short Barrom Sarret. He would make nine more films over the course of the next forty years, and go on to become considered the “Father of African Cinema.” Sembène passed away in 2007 at the age of 84, but not before leaving behind a rich legacy of literature and film.

Ousamane Sembène's Camp de Thiaroye - one of the best films to ever come out of Africa

In a career that spanned more than 40 years, Ousamane Sembène only made a total of thirteen films, the best of which — or at least my personal favorite — would have to be 1988’s Camp de Thiaroye. Set in Senegal in 1944, Sembene’s film finds a platoon of African soldiers returning from combat in World War II, where they have fought for the French. Although the soldiers served loyally, they are treated like prisoners of war, held at a military camp with no freedom of movement, waiting for their back pay that never seems to arrive. Having suffered the horrors of war, the racism and mounting indignities build until the situation reaches a critical mass. When the soldiers stand up for themselves, demanding respect and the money they are owed, the French Army reacts by brutally killing the Africans in what has historically been remembered as the Thiaroye Massacre.

Based on true events, in which the French actually executed African soldiers that had served in World War II, Camp de Thiaroye is a landmark film of anti-colonialism and anti-war. It is also one of the best films to emerge from Africa by an African director. Sembène has crafted a film populated with memorable characters that on the surface feels like something akin to The Great Escape…but don’t be fooled. Sembène is so deftly skilled as a storyteller that his personal politics never get in the way of the story itself, even though the deeper implications of the what he is saying is always simmering beneath the surface, like a pot of water coming to a slow boil. A brilliant mix of drama, with bittersweet comedy, the film is a scathing condemnation of anti-colonialism that never seems heavy-handed, but in the end delivers a powerful blow that is emotionally devastating.

Although Sembène made several great films, this was in many ways his best and most personal. Sembène himself had been drafted and served in the French Army, and to that end the film is a semi-autobiographical account of the racism and discrimination he faced during his tour of duty. Camp de Thiaroye is a brilliant film that is emotionally dense and culturally rich, and well worth tracking down.

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – BABY NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES

BABY NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES 1974 (a.k.a. Jive Turkey; Nigger Rich; Get Nigger Rich on Number 666) director: Bill Brame; starring: Paul Harris, Frank deKova, Serena

Considering the fact that Bill Brame’s only other blaxploitation flick was the rectum-reamingly bad MISS MELODY JONES, it’s amazing that this film isn’t worse. Don’t mistake what I’m saying for a ringing endorsement, ’cause BABY NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES is a terrible film — it just happens to be better than an even worse film.

The muddled plot has something to do with Hakim Jabbar (Paul Harris), also known as Pasha, the godfather of the local black Mafia. Pasha is the king of the local numbers racket, who finds himself caught in a war when Italian mobsters — led by Frank “F-TROOP” deKova — try to muscle in on his action. Complicating things are the corrupt cops and politicians that are also trying to run him out of business. Lucky for Pasha he’s got an endless supply of expendable goons and a deadly hitman/drag queen (Serena). Armed with killer high heel shoes, the gender-bending assassin is the most memorable character in a forgettable cast of losers.

There’s one word that runs through your mind when watching BABY NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES — actually there’s several words, including shitty, boring and abysmal — but the one prevalent word has to be “ghetto”. This is easily one of the most ghetto films you’ll ever see — welfare filmmaking at its finest. Although it’s set in the 1950s, other than a few old cars there is almost no effort to actually make the film look like a period piece. You get the distinct feeling that director Brame stumbled across a truck filled with film equipment, helped himself to everything inside, and decided to make a movie with his ill-gotten gains. Too bad there wasn’t a book on the truck explaining how to actually make a movie, as the only thing Brame and his crew seem to be capable of doing is loading the film into camera and getting really good shots of the boom mic.

Paul Harris as Hakim Jabbar/Pasha

There’s not much written about the history BABY NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES. Based on an original story by Howard and Elizabeth Ransom (Howard also produced the film), the screenplay was written by Fredricka DeCosta. It should come as no surprise that neither of the Ransoms nor DeCosta have any other film credits to their name. One of the other producers was Edith Ransom, and there are seven cast members all with the last name of Ransom (five of them credited as “Kid”), which leads me to believe this was very much a family endeavor. The lack of reviews from the film’s initial release suggests it had a very limited run before ending up on home video in the 1980s. Caught in the trap of public domain, the film became best known under the title of JIVE TURKEY.

The only reason to watch this turkey is if you’re a fan of lead actor Paul Harris. Hardcore blaxploitation fans will remember Harris as Gator in TRUCK TURNER and the Blind Man in THE MACK. Harris’s career started out in live theater, with roles in musicals like SHOW BOAT. In 1962, he starred in director Basil Dearden’s film ALL NIGHT LONG, an offbeat adaptation of OTHELLO, set within the world of jazz musicians. Harris starred as Aurelius Rex, the Othello character, and his co-stars included such celebrated jazz musicians as Charles Mingus and Dave Brubeck (playing themselves). Like many black actors in the 70s, Harris got his one shot at being the lead actor in a film. Too bad it was in this piece of shit.

BadAzz MoFo’s Blaxploitation Archive – ABAR: THE FIRST BLACK SUPERMAN

ABAR: THE FIRST BLACK SUPERMAN (a.k.a In Your Face) 1977 director: Frank Packard; starring Tobar Mayo, and a bunch of people you’ve never heard of.

Of the almost 300 movies that comprise the genre and the era of blaxploitation, there are quite a few made by filmmakers and actors who only turned out one or two films, before disappearing into total obscurity. Actors like Winston Thrash (SPEEDING UP TIME) and Loye Hawkins (THE GUY FROM HARLEM), as well as directors like Renee Martinez and Bill Brame are all but forgotten. The sad thing is that most of the films turned out by these people, which include such craptacular garbage as THE GUY FROM HARLEM (directed by Martinez) and MISS MELODY JONES (directed by Brame), don’t really warrant being remembered. Trust me — I’ve seen most of ‘em, and my life was not enriched. But every now and then one manages to shine through, and despite its rather questionable artistic merits or quality, keeps from being total garbage. In fact, sometimes these terrible films have a certain quality that makes them…well…so bad they are good (a deplorable cliché that I try to avoid as much as possible). Such is the case with ABAR: THE FIRST BLACK SUPERMAN.

You may think that BLACK PANTHER was the first film starring a black superhero. Or, if you have any sense of cinematic history, you might think SPAWN or BLADE were the first films to feature super-powered black men whoopin’ ass, or that METEOR MAN was cinema’s first black superhero. And in all those cases, you’d be wrong. The first black cinematic superhero would be none other than John Abar, the title character of this obscure film that is primarily known to only the most dedicated fans of blaxploitation.

When black research scientist Dr. Kincade (J. Walter Smith) moves his family to an all white neighborhood, the local honkys get their underwear all in a bunch. With a rabid mob of kill-crazy whiteys picketing on their front lawn, throwing garbage, and disemboweling their cat, the Kincades seem to be in dire circumstances. But all them honky muthas best look out, ‘cause ridin’ to the Kincade’s rescue, on a bunch of motorcycles, is the Black Front United (BFU), led by John Abar (Tobar Mayo). Before long, Abar is hired to protect the family full time; unfortunately he ain’t able to do shit when some honky sumbitch kills the Kincade’s young son. Now, it seems that Doc Kincade has been working on a serum that can make a man indestructible…just like the bullet-proof rabbits that he keeps in his basement laboratory. Yes, he has bullet-proof rabbits in his basement laboratory. It don’t take too much convincing for Abar to swig down the serum like a bottle of Thunderbird, thus turning him into a bullet-proof motherfucker, with heightened psychic abilities, and divine powers that he’s determined to use to rid the world of racist shit heads.

No, dear readers, I’m not making any of this up — what you just read is really the plot. ABAR, THE FIRST BLACK SUPERMAN is one of the most bizare flicks I’ve ever sat through (which is saying a lot). This is so off-the-wall you’d think Jamaa “Penitentiary” Fanaka directed it. We’re talking about a movie that’s so crazy you can’t believe someone actually thought this insanity up, or that it actually got it made. And even more unbelievable is the fact that you’re watching it.

Despite its freaky nature and an absurd premise, ABAR is fun, and equally political in what it’s trying to say. This little gem offers up a great concept, with some profound and provocative dialog. What’s really deep is the notion that it takes a black man with increased mental and physical strength, to battle the evil ways of white racists. Of course any profundity is marred by some of the worst (and I do mean worst) acting you will ever see. The performances here are more stiff than the erection of a teenage boy. And let’s not forget inept directing, lighting, editing, story structure, soundtrack, and every other technical and aesthetic element you can think of.

ABAR is sort of like a delicious cake, frosted with dog poop. But all these hindrances can’t keep the film down. There are even a few moments that make my cynical heart swell with pride, like when the BFU first ride up on their motorcycles, chase off the evil racists, and place an African flag on the Kincade’s front lawn. I cried like a baby. And I love the dream sequence when Kincade’s son dreams the family is back in the old west facing down a group of white vigilantes. Black cowboy Deadwood Dick (Abar, as the real life gunslinger Nat “Deadwood Dick” Love) rides to the rescue, and blasts the vile honky vermin away; declaring, “My friends call me Deadwood Dick; but my enemies call me Smart Black Nigger.”


From what I can tell, most of the people involved with this movie were never involved with another film — which should clue you in as to the quality of work involved (there were a few exceptions, like cinematographer Ron Garcia, who went on to work with David Lynch on TWIN PEAKS). Tobar Mayo, who is the king badass as Abar, is one of the more “notable” people involved in this flick. Mayo, who looks like the love child of Ji-Tu Cumbuka and Doug E. Fresh, and who may or may not be related to Whitman Mayo (Grady on SANFORD & SON), also appeared in Charles Barnett’s brilliant KILLER OF SHEEP, blaxploitation era garbage like TOUGH, BIG TIME, and BABY NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES (a.k.a. NIGGER RICH, a.k.a. JIVE TURKEY), as well as a handful of television shows, including THE JEFFERSONS and MANNIX. He was also in the softcore film THE MISLAYED GENIE, as well as THE DEVIL’S GARDEN, directed by Bob Chinn, who is best known for his work in porno, and as creator of the Johnny Wadd series starring John Holmes.

Frank Packard, the director of this bizarre film, acted in a handful of movies in the early 1970s, but ABAR was the only thing he ever directed. Likewise, this is the only credit for writer/producer James Smalley. Allegedly, Smalley was a pimp, who financed ABAR with money he earned from turning out prostitutes. The production was plagued with problems, including ineptitude, and its release was delayed. Initially, American International Pictures was going to distribute it, and produce a sequel, but that deal fell through, resulting in a somewhat limited theatrical release on the grindhouse and drive-in circuit, followed by a release on home video under the title IN YOUR FACE.

Check out this interview with Tobar Mayo on the podcast The Projection Booth.


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