7-27-05, 9:26 am

Directed by Craig Brewer Produced by John Singleton Written by Craig Brewer

Most of us know what it’s like to scrape to get by from paycheck to paycheck, all along knowing that whatever we have inside us that is beautiful or that we may have to offer the world has been stifled if not killed. That is the central theme of Hustle and Flow. In a capitalist world that drags us down, drives us apart and against one another, is it possible to find a way to not only survive but also to rise above?

Terrence Howard brilliantly plays a Memphis pot dealer and small-time pimp named D-Jay looking for his big break in the rap game. D-Jay is a smooth-talking part-time philosopher in addition to hustling. In a working class community burdened by poverty and unemployment, D-Jay has other plans than ending up in a dead end. Howard’s introspective, multi-dimensional performance of this extremely dynamic and powerful character should garner him some Oscar attention. From deep soul-searching musings about his father’s hard life and early death to violent outbursts aimed at the women he controls and pimps, from violent abusive actions and arbitrary betrayal to expressions of deep love, true loyalty and friendship, D-Jay may be the most interesting fictional character on screen in 2005.

The story is this. D-Jay meets an old friend, Key (Anthony Anderson), who makes his living recording the church choir and court depositions. They both agree that with D-Jay’s talents and Key’s production skills, they might have a future in the rap game.

Key brings in fellow church member Shelby (DJ Qualls) who knows how to work the drum machine and has ideas about good sounds and rhythms. Out of old junk they put together a tiny studio in the front room of D-Jay’s duplex and begin to work out a sound. Soon, D-Jay’s pregnant girlfriend Nola (Tarynn Manning) – now taking a break from prostitution – contributes her voice by singing a chorus or two, and Shug, D-Jay’s daytime hooker (Taraji P. Henson), works as production assistant. Instead of five individuals, the five become a small collective of closely-knit friends building a sound, a song and record, each contributing his or her won voice.

Now all D-Jay has to do is give the demo they make to D-Jay’s old school chum Skinny Black (Ludacris), who rose from the streets of Memphis to platinum album status. D-Jay, who is known widely to peddle the best pot in the area, has an appointment, arranged by a local bartender named Arnell (Isaac Hayes), to meet Skinny Black, sell him some good weed, and maybe, if he’s lucky, get the star to listen to the demo. Then they’ll be on their way.

This movie is a story of redemption for D-Jay who believes, as he puts it in the movie’s opening scene, men aren’t dogs. But the story is also about a group of men and women struggling to be something more than they are allowed in a society that offers few avenues to greatness. To paraphrase Skinny Black, everybody is pimping one thing or another. And maybe it isn’t greatness D-Jay seeks; maybe it is merely a chance to get the poetry and humanity that is about to burst him wide open. He is an artist in world that wants little to do with him, let alone allow him a chance to be great.

But it is like Shelby says after they begin to find D-Jay’s sound: 'Everyone has the god-given right to have their voice heard.' And D-Jay and his crew aim to fight for their right.

There isn’t a single bad performance in this film. The script is well-written. The music is fresh and exciting. Don’t walk, run to see this film at a theater near you.