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Everything I review lately,
whether a book, a movie, or someone’s new idea about the confluence of
art, commerce and technology, has something missing. I know, too, that
what is missing is probably lost forever. Surely not there in the
first place, the missing element seems destined to wander homeless and
forever in one of Dante’s circles of hell.
Picture this, then, the opening scene for a short film called
“Shoot-Out.” A black man is standing shirtless on a basketball court
in what appears to be a suburb somewhere in America. The court is
empty. Nothing of interest surrounds the court. The man is talking on
his cellphone. We overhear him say something to the effect that he
owns the court, that he hustles for his daughter, and that he is a
good guy in a tough world. Just trying to make his way. It is his
court. He owns it.
Suddenly a young well-dressed white man appears on the basketball
court. He wears black and he approaches the shirtless black man and
aggressively challenges him to a game. What he proposes is not an
ordinary hustle. The white man does not want to play for money. He
wants to play until one of them dies. That, at least, is how I
understood the challenge. I thought I would then witness a two-man
game played to the death. Okay. Here was an interesting premise that
made me wonder how the director would make it happen. My other thought
was that I had wandered into a clone of Twilight Zone. “Shoot-Out” is
a refugee from reality.
The black man, House Washington (played by Tyshawn Bryant, who is also
the executive producer) reluctantly agrees to the challenge. The
stranger with death on his mind, J.C Matado (played by Daniel Sol) and
House Washington start their game. The two men play a rough and tumble
style of street ball that I think fits better on a city court
surrounded by brick buildings with the sound of rumbling traffic in
the background than on a court surrounded by trees in the middle of
nowhere. That, however, is a quibble from someone who played
basketball, of a sort, in the schoolyards of Brooklyn.
David Branin, who wrote the script for the fifteen minute short,
directed the game with verve. The choreography of the contest as seen
by Branin, his director of photography Ivan Rodriquez, shot in stark
black and white, and his editor Damon Stout, is at times beautiful. A
moody score by Rudy Mangual helps move this film along. However, as a
whole, this short movie never quite works.
J.C. Macado wins the very tough game. As the victor, he pulls a gun
(from where?) and then marches a sweating, blood-soaked House
Washington through the scrub outside the court. House pleads for his
life. J.C Matado tells him “you deserve to die.” House Washington
tells J.C he wants him to look him in the eyes if he is going to kill
him. J.C. tells House to turn slowly. Then, as he turns he slaps the
gun from J.C.’s hand – too easily I might add -- and forces him to the
ground.
“Game over,” House says. J.C. answers, “it’s over when you squeeze the
trigger.” House waves the gun around, even putting the muzzle to his
own head as he agonizes about whether to shoot J.C. After a brief few
seconds of mostly tight camera work, he squeezes the trigger several
times. To his surprise and dismay, nothing happens. No bullets follow.
The gun is empty. A look of surprise crosses House’s face. He says,
“What the fuck’s going on?” With that, the film ends. By then, I did
not care what happened. Why, you may wonder? Neither character had my
sympathy. Sol’s character was without warmth. Bryant’s character
lacked depth and humanity despite his saying he had to take care of
his daughter. The pedestrian dialogue adds little to my understanding
of what makes these characters anything more than stereotypes. Nowhere
in the film did I ever feel for one or the other of the two
characters.
Short stories are difficult to write because compression rules and the
payoff must resonate. Short films may be harder to make because the
same rules of compression apply with motion and visual effects added.
I said at the start of this column that something was missing in the
film. As soon as the players move off the court and walk away single
file, it is almost as if the film is marching into oblivion. Is the
film a parable about race? If it is, it is cliché-ridden. Some critics
or even viewers, including the producer and director, might want it to
be about race, but I don’t see it. Much today is about race, and that
is an unpleasant fact. However, in this film the attempt to exploit
racism does not work for me. Just as in a short story, a short film
must end with a sharp resolution. After the trigger-pulling episode,
the film dies with a whimper, not the bang I expected. I felt the team
producing the film lost its nerve. The piece should have remained on
the basketball court. That is where it started. That is where it
should have ended. As well made as this film is, the ending is not
satisfying. Beginning as a potentially stirring premise, the film
limps off court with an indecisive end.
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At NBC News for 35 years, Ron Steinman was bureau chief
in Saigon, Hong Kong and London, was a senior producer on Today and wrote
and produced for Sunday Today. At ABC News Productions, he produced
and wrote documentaries for A&E, TLC, Discovery, Lifetime and the
History Channel. He has a Peabody, a National Headliner award, a
National Press Club award, a International Documentary Festival Gold
Camera Award, two American Women in Radio & Television awards and
has been nominated for five Emmy's. He is a partner in
Douglas/Steinman Productions, whose latest documentary, "Luboml: My
Heart Remembers," aired on PBS' WLIW/21 and the History Channel in
Israel, April 29, 2003. He is the author of, "The Soldiers 'Story",
"Women in Vietnam," and most recently, "Inside Television's First
War: A Saigon Journal," University of Missouri Press, 2002. |
Shoot-Out/Shoot
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