Doube (Barrel) Dose of Grier - COFFY

Dear Pam Grier,

I’m sorry.  I’ve been running Schizocinema for over two years and have reviewed over a hundred movies, but only ran my first Pam Grier movie a couple of weeks ago.  Worse yet, it was SCREAM BLACULA SCREAM.  Fun to write, but not a worthy entrance for someone of your caliber.  Don't get me wrong, there is no such thing as a bad Pam Grier performance.  Your voodoo priestess was the star of the show.  And while you were the one to make Blacula scream, I just wanted more.  I wanted you to stare down a vampire until he quaked.  I wanted you to put a racist cop in his place.  I wanted you punch a bat.  You didn’t get to call anyone a motherfucker.  In short, I wanted the full Pam Grier experience.  So, to make it up to you, and to me, and to everyone, I’m closing out Black History Month with a double dip, the quintessential Pam Grier movie (that doesn’t end with BROWN).  Get ready for Jack Hill’s 1973 Blaxploitation gem, COFFY.

The Capsule

To everyone who knows her, Coffy (Pam Grier) is a hard working nurse who wouldn't hurt a fly.  But when her darling 11 year old sister is turned into a vegetable by some bad junk, Coffy takes her double barrel sized grudge against dope dealers to the streets of L.A., leaving a trail of dead pushers in her wake.  Just when she is thinking of retiring her shotgun, her friend Carter (William Elliott) gets beaten into a coma for being the only cop not on the take.  Her soon to be congressman boyfriend, Howard Brunswick (Booker Bradshaw)
says he is going to clean up the crime, but Coffy's wheels of justice turn faster.  She is going to work her way up the ladder, starting with King George (Robert DoQui).  The dapper, high society pimp gets her a personal meeting with big time crime boss Arturo Vitroni (Allan Arbus), but just before she can ice the main man, his vicious henchman, Omar (Sid Haig) gets the jump on her.  While Vitroni decides what to do with her, Coffy gets an unpleasant surprise that pulls the rug from under her.  Down isn't out, though, and Vitroni's gang are in for their own surprises when Coffy unleashes her righteous fury.

Ask anyone, in the know, to picture Pam Grier at her most badass, 9 times out of 10, that image is going to be from either COFFY or FOXY BROWN.  Both are the work of legendary exploitation writer/director Jack Hill.  He made mean, gritty movies that were exactly what the '70s drive-in crowd wanted, heavy on the violence, nudity, and attitude.  Hill knew how to push the boundaries way outside of good taste, while keeping it fun and satisfying.  His morally questionable heroes always went through hell, but they gave much more than they got.  None more so than his #1 pistol packing mama, Pam Grier.  He knew he had something special in Grier ever since her breakout role in THE BIG DOLLHOUSE (yeah, you can also thank Hill for the Women in Prison genre boom).    

Hill takes all the torrid tropes and gleefully dials them to the max for COFFY.  The film opens with Coffy seducing mid-level, fashion conscious dope dealer, Sugarman (Morris Buchanan).  His proposal is drugs for sex, her counter-offer is a shotgun to the face.  Hill isn’t graphic, but he doesn’t leave anything to your imagination.  His violence is cheap, blunt, and hits like a hammer.  The carnage ranges from pulpy to disturbing, depending on who is dishing it out.  The scene where Sid Haig’s proudly racist Omar drags one of the characters behind a moving car, and into every barrier he can manage, is straight-up horrifying.  

Nudity is also ladled on liberally, most notably in what could accurately be described as the “Catfight at the Boob-A-Rama Bowl.”  Coffy infiltrates superpimp King George’s swank penthouse headquarters by posing as a sophisticated Jamaican call girl (clearly from her accent, King George has never been to, nor heard anyone one from, Jamaica).  His number one lady, Meg (Linda Haynes) doesn’t like all the attention her lover/boss/abuser is giving the new girl, and rallies the rest of the gals against Coffy.  Eventually, all the tension boils over into a call girl throw down where EVERYONE ends up topless.  I swear, if one of the girls had been in a space suit, she still would have a boob out by the end.  The ribald rumble comes to an end when Meg gets a handful of the razors Coffy hid in her hair.  I’m not sure if she had other plans for them, or if she just knows that Catfighting 101 states eventually a bitch will grab your hair.

Speaking of which, Coffy has a talent for hiding weapons.  She uses her hair again to stash a sharpened hair clip, and keeps a silenced pistol inside a stuffed lion.  Still not sure where she was concealing the double barrel shotgun from the beginning.

The rogue’s gallery Coffy is up against is so cartoonish, like the camera-shy hitman with one blacked out glasses lens (I’m glad Snake Pliskin went with the eye patch), or aggressively offensive, like kinky sadist Vitroni (he’s sort of a racist Joel Grey), that you can’t feel bad when they get wasted.  King George is the one exception, mostly because nobody deserves his horrendous fate (not at Coffy’s hand), but also because he earns a modicum of sympathy for how he comforts a post-catfight Meg.  He tells her he loves her and gives her a couple of weeks to rest before turning tricks again.  As pimps go, that’s almost gentlemanly.  Plus, he has his own theme song.  

That bigoted bastard Omar, on the other hand, deserves everything he gets.  Haig plays him like a grinning mad dog, gleefully anticipating his next chance to cause harm.  Omar smugly struts around like he owns the place, so its immensely satisfying when he goes out like a punk, looking terrified and begging for help.  

Though she clearly does not mess around, Grier doesn’t play Coffy like a cold-blooded killing machine.  She has doubts about the dark path she walks.  She gets scared, and is overpowered by Vitroni’s goons.  The one thing she doesn’t do is cower and wait to be rescued.  Even before her cop friend Carter got his noggin bashed, Coffy was all on her own.  She thinks fast, follows through, and she fucking well means business.  When a hooker she is trying to get information from pulls a knife on her, Coffy's first impulse is to smash a liquor bottle and wrap her coat around her arm like she’s a gladiator ready for battle (the hooker wisely backs down).

And for god’s sake, do not betray this woman.  [Spoilers coming] Turns out, her moralizing politician boyfriend is in bed with Vitroni.  To worsen the sting, Brunswick looks Coffy in the face and gives her up to Vitroni just to save himself.  Naturally, after she plows through the gangsters, dirty cops, and hitmen (literally), Coffy ends her spree at her ex’s house.   



Up until now, Coffy has been on a righteous crusade against the toxic dregs of society.  She’s kept some distance between her deeds and herself.  Brunswick is personal.  Not only did she love the conniving congressman, she believed in his commitment to the black community.  Learning that he was full of shit on all fronts crushes her.  Even after everything she has seen and heard, she still wants to believe him.  The smooth talking weasel almost has her convinced he’s still a stand-up guy, too, until his topless, white girlfriend pops out from the bedroom.  Coffy ends the debate by shooting him in the dick and taking a beach side walk in the sunrise.

Having just come from seeing BLACK PANTHER, the racial politics of Blaxploitation tends to be eye rolling at best.  Even though the priority of these movies was less about tackling social issues and more about selling tickets, the value cannot be dismissed.  The ‘70’s produced dozens of movies starring a predominately black cast, showing African Americans as heroes and ass kickers.  They handled their own problems, because the system was rigged against them.  Bad guys tended to be blatantly racist, and almost always got their comeuppance.  Blaxploitation may not have offered a nuanced, realistic representation of African Americans, but it was still representation.  The genre died with the decade, leaving the '80s a conspicuous void until directors like John Singleton showed the market for African American themed cinema was still alive and hungry.  Just imagine how the genre could have evolved if it had escaped its exploitation roots of the ‘70’s, filling the gap between Melvin Van Peeples and Spike Lee, weening out the stereotypes while maintaining the spirit.  At the very least we would have gotten more Pam Grier movies.

C Chaka

The Payoff - NEVER BACK DOWN: NO SURRENDER

Seeing the recent teaser for BLACK DYNAMITE 2 [Update: oops, it's actually a teaser for OUTLAW JOHNNY BLACK, I saw the dynamite and jumped the gun] got me thinking about Michael Jai White again.  Truthfully, I’m always thinking about MJW. Mostly, I’m pondering why the hell is he not the certified national treasure that he ought to be.  The man has it all.  He’s a great actor with superb comic timing, an amazing martial artist, and he has a screen presence you can feel from the next room.  BLACK DYNAMITE was a rare achievement, mixing a genuinely hilarious spoof with totally legit action.  So why is he still in the land of under the radar VOD movies?  Don’t get me wrong, some of the most jaw dropping action flicks in over a decade have been low budget video releases, but they are far from the public eye.  

Of course, the low budget world has its advantages.  The lack of studio interference allows for greater freedom.  Plots can be crazier, characters quirkier, and, most importantly, the action can be given the loving attention not afforded on a big budget, strict schedule shoot.  This world also gave MJW the chance to direct, with 2011’s NEVER BACK DOWN 2: THE BEATDOWN.  In the tradition of UNDISPUTED II, it’s a sequel to a bigger budget theatrical release that has almost no relationship to the original.  NBD2 was a solid flick with a positive tone, but while MJW was the highlight of the film, he stuck to a Mr. Miyagi role and left the fighting to his pupils.  That’s a cruel tease in my book.  

Five years later, MJW does my book right with the redundantly titled yet thoroughly satisfying NEVER BACK DOWN: NO SURRENDER.  

The Capsule:

After a successful turn as a fight trainer rekindles his fire, fallen UFC champion, Case Walker (Michael Jai White) is back in the ring.  All he can get are two-bit bouts, though, since his uncompromising fight ethic makes him dust chumps so quickly that no one wants to fight him.  He gets a glimpse of the major leagues when he bumps into his old pal Brody James (Josh Barnett).  Brody has signed up with high profile, no holds barred Primortal Combat (PFC), and he wants Case to train him for the big fight.  Brody needs all the help he can get, because his opponent is the 7-foot ‘roid raging “Psycho” Caesar Braga (Nathan Jones, better known as the dude who tore out a truck engine with his bare hands in MAD MAX: FURY ROAD).  Case reluctantly agrees and joins Brody in Thailand, much to the irritation of the suspicious PFC training crew.  As Case’s striped down, no-nonsense methods start showing results, he catches the eye of the media, and PFC head Hugo Vega (Esai Morales).  The slimy promoter thinks Case headlining the Braga fight will sell more that with Brody, and is not above ruining a man’s life to see it happen.  Can Case come out of the fight with his friendship, his honor, and his skeleton intact?  

NEVER BACK DOWN: NO SURRENDER is one of those sequels you can jump into without needing to see the earlier movies.  All the important details are established up front.  Case is an incredible fighter.  He cares more about integrity than putting on a show.  He has zero tolerance for bullshit.  He is too tough to spell his name with a “y”.  And not matter how much he scowls, he’s a total sweetheart.  

Case has a similar moral compass as Bone, MJW’s mysterious, street fighting avenger from BLOOD AND BONE, only more grounded and reluctant.  All Case wants to do is keep to himself and do what he does, but he has that kind of aura that draws well-meaning underdogs and misfits to him like a magnet.  As much as he might want to tell everyone to piss off, it just isn’t in him.  That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, though.  MJW gives some of the best annoyed expressions in the business, right up there with Timothy Olyphant and Michael Shannon (though I think that is just Shannon’s regular face).  

Case is in for a culture shock when he joins Brody’s training team in Thailand.  Not from the foreign city (whose locations are used exceedingly well for a modestly budgeted film), but from Brody’s flashy and indulgent lifestyle.  Case is a fighting purist, caring only about the art of perfecting body and mind.  He has no time for Brody’s fancy gym and oversized entourage, including Brody’s PFC approved, Confederate flag tattoo wearing coach, Matty (Stephen Quadros).  He walks right past all the expensive training gear and sets up shop in the corner of the gym, literally building his training station from junk he found on the streets.  

This is one of my favorite parts of the movie.  In the beginning, Case is mocked by the entire gym for being a crazy outsider, a joke.  He practices his unorthodox routines on stacks of tires and plywood stands, ignoring all the jeers, politely countermanding Matty’s recommendation for Brody.  Over time, though, as Case’s methods start to bear fruit, he wins everyone over.  He becomes a begrudging mentor to the hanger-on gym kids, detoxifies the atmosphere, and even gains the respect of not-as-bad-as-he-first-seems Matty (he should still get rid of that tattoo, though).  

Of course, he doesn’t win over eeeverybody in the gym.  Cobra (Eoin O'Brien) is the classic arrogant asshole who is idolized for his ruthlessness in the ring.  We instantly hate him because he smirks at Case’s training techniques and loudly asks his bros, “What the hell is this Bruce Lee shit?”  He gets even worse when confronting Case directly, laying on one racial slur after another, like calling him Blacky Chan.  Case just frowns and ignores him, but when Cobra later asks around for a sparring partner, guess who volunteers?  There is a more impressive fight coming, but watching Case wipe the floor with this dumbass is by far the most satisfying.

Much of the movie consists of Case training, motivating, and being a good guy to people.  He takes time to squeeze in an adorably awkward romantic subplot with Brody’s publicist, Myca (Gillian White).  I liked her right away from the way she called—and shot down—Brody on all his casual sexual harassment bullshit.  MJW gets to use some great self-deprecating humor, showing that while Case is the consummate professional at fighting, he is a bumbling mess in social situations.  

MJW also throws in a few quick cameos that land well with action fans.  Being in Thailand, there is the obligatory appearance from Tony Jaa.  No fight, unfortunately, but his scene—playing himself—is amusingly ridiculous.  The tastiest bone we are thrown comes from JeeJa Yanin, star of CHOCOLATE (not the Johnny Depp one) and RAGING PHOENIX.  She has a minor role as a derelict-looking gym member quietly training in the background until she steps out of the shadows to kick the crap out of a ring bully.  Even better than the Gina Carano cameo fight in BLOOD AND BONE.  Short but oh so sweet.

Esai Morales’ Hugo Vega is a complex character.  On the one hand, he is a deplorable, heartless businessman who bullies and demeans his fighters into doping.  Plus, he came up with the name Primortal Combat, which is not only dumb, but doesn’t have enough words to abbreviate as PFC.  On the other, he arranges Case to be in the big fight, so thanks for that.

Before realizing Vega played dirty pool to get Brody out of the running, and despite hating the guy, Case allows a one million dollar paycheck to lure him into a contract with PFC (I swear, I almost type KFC every single time).  Of course, he gets about one minute to feel good about before one of his devoted pupils gives him the old, “I guess a million dollars would make me betray my principles, too” line.  Cue the irritated scowl and Case’s mission to stick it to Vega.

Don’t worry, MJW isn’t a bastard, he doesn’t deprive us of Case V Braga.  And yes, the payoff is worth the wait.  Even without his transparent rubber Rictus mask, Nathan Jones is a monster.  MJW is not a small man, but Jones towers over him like it was being shot by Peter Jackson.  It’s all real, though.  This is where this sort of movie shines.  All the action is shot in long, wide takes.  None of the Hollywood, quick cut tight shots designed to fool you into thinking something cool happened.  The fight is well balanced, as well.  For the first time, Case doesn’t completely dominate.  There are some dicey moments where it looks all over for him.  Then comes the great gloves off moment, one that feels more earned than predictable, when Case locks down and delivers.  

Michael Jai White has a half-dozen pots on the stove.  Coming up for him is the Olympic dream team of action stars, TRIPLE THREAT (I’m not sure if he is pro or anti threat), and a role in the next movie by S. Craig Zahler, director of BONE TOMAHAWK and BRAWL IN CELLBLOCK 99, that has me excited (and nervous).  And, of course, BLACK DYNAMITE 2 OUTLAW JOHNNY BLACK.  If those don’t elevate MJW to superstar status, I just don’t understand you, America.

C Chaka