No, They Don't Fuck: A Review of Black Snake Moan

by Kitty K. Killy

For those that don't buy into the notion that Ricci is hot, know the truth: in Black Snake Moan, the little bitch is in heat. And Jackson is, as always, there to layeth the smack down and fix this broken-down little tramp, not because he can get a piece, but because she is broken. The girl ain't right; she's got a deeply rooted, clinical nymphomania. Is that a flaw? In this instance, it is.

Jackson's character, Lazarus, is wounded too, but he's coming into his pain at a more crucial point of turmoil and heartache than Ricci's Rae is; he's getting dumped by his younger wife, who meets him at a casual cafe and enjoys twisting the knife in his back as she publicly underlines the point that their relationship is over.

Lazarus is alone; so is Rae. She's left by her dull, overly anxious boyfriend Ronnie (charmingly played by Justin Timberlake, and yes, by Justin Timberlake Miss Kitty K. Kelly is charmed), who feels the need to serve his country. A smarter man would have tended to his woman's gaping, seemingly endless needs. His car is just out of sight when Rae feels herself throb, her hands stray between her legs, and she struts off to buy condoms and call her black boyfriend. And there may be more than one. And they may not all be black. Never mind that she and Ronnie just fucked wildly moments before he left. Ricci's performance is way, waaay over the top, but this opening scene really allows you to later believe her crawling, writhing underpants dance as just the way she is: a cat on a hardwood floor, clad only in a confederate flag tee and white cotton panties so wet they're translucent.

Like any horny addict knows, there is only one thing more powerful than our urge to self-destruct, and that is our urge to blot out those feelings with booze and pills. In the wake of Ronnie's leaving, Rae parties hard, then mocks an ex (and friend of Ronnie's), and ends up unconscious, badly beaten on the side of the road. The wounded Lazarus finds her limp, teeny bod (barely dressed), takes her in, and lets her sleep it off. Then, when her senses come pushing back up to the surface, she tries to put Lazarus' hand between her legs. He resists – is it a matter of taste, or the race issue? - and when she feverishly tries to leave, chains her to his clanking, immobile radiator.

This movie has been screening and teasing a wide range of audiences since December of '06, and the release date was pushed back from February to March. Why does this matter? One word: Oscars. The later a movie is released in the year, the more likely it is to not suck, and therefore get an Oscar nod. Jackson's musical performance is fabulous, and since he put calluses on his fingers off-screen (Wikipedeia says he played guitar for six or seven hours a day to get up to speed, and it shows), it's authentic. I hope he scores a nomination.

One of Black Snake Moan's funny moments is when a gangly teenage boy comes to visit Lazarus. With Rae chained up inside, fully in heat, the moment he crosses the threshold he becomes her prey. Every boy's dream? Or a feverish nightmare of skanks gone wild?

Black Snake Moan is, of course, about race; there is an element of the mystical/magical black man – Lazarus literally cures a white female. And once Lazarus is discovered as having a white woman chained to his radiator, the images of strange fruit dances in his friends and allies' heads. But Lazarus never missteps; there is no lynch mob. Rae is more tormented and haunted by white men than Lazarus. The movie's theme of helping to fix a broken human being simply because you can rises above any racial issues. Also, everyone knows white people are crazy. And that black people are the only ones that can fix them. Seeing this with a predominantly black audience felt good; there was genuine appreciation for the blues music and performances therein, and the great S. Epatha Merkinson's lovely, dignified character and vocal performance (she sings “Balm in Gilead”) made the couple in front of me rest their heads together and sigh romantically. I love S. Epatha Merkinson.

Black Snake Moan is the greatest modern re-telling of Pygmalion to date – or is it My Fair Lady? This is a musical, too. Though Christina Ricci comes nowhere near outshining Audrey Hepburn's luminous beauty. She looks haggard, but that's the point. And Sam Jackson blows Rex Harrison away, in both acting chops, and singing. The movie's soundtrack should be at least 85% of Jackson's performances – this is my wish and request.

The final shot, of Justin Timberlake's delicate tear-stained face, like a slimmed-down, wanna-be thuggish Raphaelite cherub, shows us that we all need help at times. And we don't always get it. Rae has her chain to remind her that she can control her self-destructive impulses; or is it that they can be controlled by someone with a much stronger will (Lazarus)? Her Cinderella makeover is too good to be true. But know this; deep down inside, all fucked-up people want to be helped, and fixed. And most of us are at least a little fucked up.