Why you watch: Talk to Me (2007)

Kasi Lemmons skipped the pieties while directing this biopic about a legendary DJ and his manager, to deliver a hilarious and heartbreaking look at black ambition.

Right there at the top of my pet peeves about the movies is the way both critics and fans talk about directing talent as some supernatural power. No director ever grows, gets better, missteps, or simply didn’t fit a project. They are great, full stop, and we didn’t recognize the genius of their early work, or my favorite, their current bomb retroactively sullies anything they ever did. The fact that our “grand old masters” like Altman, Eastwood, and Lumet made thirty or forty pictures never figures into the equation, or more to the point, we don’t discuss how often we sat through their outright stinkers before getting another masterpiece.

Our most revered filmmakers usually find a way to work their way out of a slump. Most famously, Steven Soderbergh fumbled after being crowned a genius for SEX, LIES & VIDEOTAPE, making one interesting flop after another until emerging with the greatest Elmore Leonard adaptation ever made in OUT OF SIGHT, the hardboiled poem THE LIMEY, and the one, two, three punch of critical and commercial hits ERIN BROCKOVICH, TRAFFIC and OCEAN’S ELEVEN.

And we can see various experiments with color, sound, editing, and writing in his flops that show up again to wondrous effect in his beloved hits. Also, let’s all recall that the same year of OCEAN’s release, this guy still farted out an indulgent, all-star debacle known as FULL FRONTAL. For some reason, women and POC don’t get that many attempts to break out of directors’ jail.

As soon as they falter, they aren’t just sidelined; they’re often permanently exiled. Spike Lee is the exception that proves the rule. He’s still growing as a filmmaker with CHI-RAQ and BLACKKKLANSMANN being as bold and often even more brilliant than the movies that put him on the map. Now try to name another female director or POC that’s made multiple comebacks. Don’t worry, it only takes one hand. And afterward, Julie Dash would like to sit down for a chat about all the flops she got to direct after DAUGHTERS OF THE DUST.

This brings us to Kasi Lemmons. Her first film, EVE’S BAYOU (1997), is one of the great debuts of any director, a haunting family drama that redeploys Southern Gothic tropes into a rich, strange trip that announced a wondrous new cinematic voice. It was Roger Ebert’s favorite movie of that year, and a true indie box office hit. Her next flick was the interesting misfire THE CAVEMAN’S VALENTINE (2001) that simply vanished without much fuss (and even less box office).

It’s also precisely the type of the underperforming flick that white boy helmers shake off all the time. There’s a certain amount of bureaucratic inertia that faces any director, but of course, women and POC have to scale a far higher wall to get back in the chair. Karyn Kusama had to churn out six years of prestige television after JENNIFER’S BODY for the chance to make a low budget thriller like THE INVITATION. Even after winning the Oscar for THE HURT LOCKER, Kathryn Bigelow still had deals fall apart on her way to directing that little arty picture about the most famous manhunt of the century, four years later.

And the systemic racism and sexism get buried beneath the way we talk about directing, not as a craft, but as a magical gift that mysteriously shows up and then vanishes into thin air. Maybe Kaci Lemmons only had one movie in her? Maybe she just got lucky. Lemmons proved this to be nonsense with TALK TO ME, and while it doesn’t best her debut, it’s a terrific picture that shows a filmmaker still growing by leaps and bounds.

Ostensibly, TALK TO ME is a biopic of Ralph “Petey” Greene (Don Cheadle), an ex-con turned popular DJ in Washington, DC during the 60s and 70s. It’s 1966 when we first meet Greene, spinning records and talking shit as a DJ in prison, to the delight of everyone, including the guards. In the prison visitors’ room, he meets a radio exec, Dewey Hughes (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who’s there for his brother (Mike Epps). And while Hughes blows Greene off with a cursory, “Look me up when you get outside,” Greene takes the exchange as a solemn promise to give him a job.

Soon after, Greene manages to literally talk his way out of prison, and Hughes earns a big promotion at work, where he’s the only black executive. Greene soon shows up to Hughes’ radio station with his long-time girlfriend Vernell (Taraji Henson, having the time of her life) and demands the job Hughes promised. Hughes is horrified but eventually gives him a shot, since he needs someone as raw and hilarious as Greene to inject some life into their morning schedule.

It soon becomes clear that TALK TO ME isn’t really Greene’s story. It’s about Hughes, or more accurately, how the friendship with Greene changes Hughes. Greene pokes at Hughes’ insecurity over his willingness to code switch for his white boss and co-workers. But neither man is ever reduced to a type. Greene proves as intelligent and observant as Hughes, and Hughes isn’t afraid of playing the prankster to get the truth out. Hughes’ faith in Greene proves warranted soon enough. Greene’s unvarnished truth makes him a hit with the actual residents of Washington, DC, as opposed to the political class that might as well as live in the clouds.

Cheadle and Ejiofor both offer their standard-issue brilliance here, with Cheadle undermining his bravado with a lovely vulnerability and Ejiofor’s exasperation never playing as one-note. He’s frustrated with Greene but just as amused by his antics. I wish they worked together more often as they collide to wondrous effect. It makes me pine for Ejiofor to replace Denzel in Carl Franklin’s astounding DEVIL IN A BLUE DRESS if only to let him and Cheadle, as “Mouse” play off each other in a whole series of Easy Rawlins flicks.

For the first third or more, the movie crackles with the madcap energy of the warm, goofball biopics written by Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski. And Lemmons offers a masterclass in holding the punchline when Vernell decides to even the score after she catches Greene cheating with a fan. Lemmons shows a skillset here that wasn’t evident in EVE’S BAYOU and didn’t need to be, but we can see what she could (and should) do with a Tiffany Hadish vehicle.

And then just as Vernell’s comic set-piece crescendos, Lemmons pulls the rug out from us. She didn’t give us the date, but it’s the day of Martin Luther King’s assassination. The white cast members recede far into the background as Lemmons prioritizes her African American actors’ response, letting them register the event, not as a shock, but something vastly more painful: heartbreak. That assassin's bullet shattered their hope, and Lemmons makes us sit with that as the riots break out.

Later that night, Greene grabs the mike at the radio station and helps channel his audience’s rage, staying on air hour after hour, taking calls, and tucking the city in after the nightmare. The moment elevates Greene into something more than a shock jock. But he isn’t comfortable with his newfound responsibility, and on the next day, he shows up late and drunk to introduce James Brown for his epic free show to calm DC down.

Hughes ignores Greene’s discomfort, and as his manager, begins building a career beyond radio for Greene, getting him his own TV show and eventually a guest spot on the Tonight Show, which might not be historically accurate, but is still dramatically effective here. Cheadle makes it clear that Greene just wants his little radio booth back, and it’s Hughes that wants that crossover success, complete with Johnny Carson’s blessing.

Lemmons does something quite special here. She doesn’t shame Hughes for his definition of success, or Greene for his. The movie seems to believe that there’s room for both. Americans have long since lost their ability to respect people for refusing to “go big.” Who doesn’t want the whole country as fans? But Greene knows himself and refuses to compromise to appeal to white people, or really anyone who doesn’t appreciate who he is.

But she doesn’t fall back on the old dichotomy where Greene is the free-spirit that Hughes’ stick in the mud fails to appreciate. We’re constantly reminded of how difficult Greene can be when his demons get the better of him, and Hughes is allowed to be quite fun and just as willing to break the rules.

When Hughes severs his relationship with Greene, he doesn’t double down on some fast track to wealth and fame. Instead, Hughes returns to his old radio station to be a DJ with his own voice, eventually rising to run the station and the company. This isn’t framed as his selling out, but rather, as a more authentic route to his own self-fulfillment. It’s a generous view of both men, accepting of who each truly is.

Nowhere is this more evident than in what Lemmons and her screenwriters (Michael Genet and Rick Famuyiwa) leave out. For the last 15 or 20 years, the troubled star biopic features that one scene where they get to have an imaginary chat with their dead brother or prick father and voila! All their addictions and demons evaporate, and they can now rise to a place of cultural sainthood.

Filmmakers pretend this is just a little dramatic license when it’s toxic horseshit for anyone struggling with substance abuse or trauma. These things don’t vanish when the right ghosts show up. And to constantly suggest that Ray Charles or Elton John lived happily ever after with the flip of a switch is an insult to their own sobriety, and the sobriety of anyone struggling with it out there. We might want to hope Greene heals, but our love and respect for him are never dependent on it.

When Greene eventually reconciles with Hughes it’s not because he’s now clean without a blemish. It’s because each man has developed a deeper appreciation of their differences, which might be the most beautiful foundation of a friendship we can have. Lemmons knows we need the Greenes AND the Hughes, and that both should be celebrated for what they offer, regardless of the scale or nature of their ambitions.

Lemmons would get that comeback of sorts, helming last year’s Harriet Tubman biopic that felt so much safer and pedestrian than her previous work. Still, she’s proven her chops and her ability to grow, and I would argue we need her to keep working, so we get another masterpiece that will recast all her work in a better light. Even if the truth is she’s always been a great director and one that deserves more opportunities to get even better.

TALK TO ME is currently available for rent on iTunes, Amazon Prime, and other streaming platforms.

Why You Watch is a weekly series looking at forgotten, rarely seen, or underrated movies for what they can teach about culture and filmmaking craft. Show some love by sharing it, or follow me here or on Twitter, @arthousepunch.