It was bound to happen.
The story of an overweight, dirt-poor, lisping Bedford-Stuyvesant crack dealer who develops a knack for rhyming, and eventually grows up to be the most celebrated rapper in the world, only to be cut down in his prime at the age of 24, just before his second album dropped, was destined to become a movie. I’m, of course, speaking of the Black Frank White, Big Poppa, Biggie Smalls, the Notorious B.I.G.
The day of reckoning has come in the form of “Notorious,” which recounts the aforementioned story of Christopher George Latore Wallace, from Brooklyn childhood to untimely death in Los Angeles.
This film comes at an opportune time: a little more than 10 years after Biggie’s death, which seems like enough time to reflect on an era that seems far removed from our own. The rap excesses of the time seem almost quaint today, due to the fact that they’ve become par for the course. However, examining the era that gave birth to the image of the modern rap superstar, as well as the image of the rap superstar himself, turns out to be fairly illuminating.
Back when this film was cast, rap message boards and blog comments sections balked at the casting of Jamal “Gravy” Woolard, a rapper himself, as Biggie. The rap community saw him as a fool, only famous previously due to being shot in the butt outside of the Hot 97 radio station. But let me say that this was not a mistake at all. Woolard has B.I.G. down pat. He may not be the spitting image, but as far as the marble-mouthed accent, the lisp, the physicality, the rapping charisma ““ Woolard has got it down. Woolard’s portrayal of Biggie may not completely inhabit the persona of Smalls, but he’s absolutely believable. More than anything, Woolard is able to communicate the quick wit and ever-present (and seldom-reported) charm in Biggie, as evidenced in his scenes with his many female consorts.
Aside from “Gravy,” the other actors are somewhat of a mixed bag. Anthony Mackie does a credible job as the volatile Tupac Shakur, Derek Luke’s Sean Combs is sufficiently clownish and annoying. Naturi Naughton plays Lil’ Kim as nothing more than a woman scorned (mostly naked), and Antonique Smith is a good foil to Woolard as his long-suffering wife, Faith Evans. Finally, the film’s heavy hitter, Angela Bassett plays Biggie’s stern single mother, Voletta Wallace. Bassett succeeds as Voletta, especially at the end of the film, when she comes to terms with Biggie’s death. However, at the beginning of the film, her portrayal is almost a caricature of the single black mother.
Although the center of gravity of the film is pretty solid, I can’t help but wish the film dug a little bit deeper. Director George Tillman, Jr. had a lot on his plate in attempting to tell the story of Biggie from birth to death, and he manages to cover most of the important bases, such as Biggie’s jail stint, his life on the corner, the recording and release of “Ready to Die,” his marriage to Faith Evans, etc.
However, so many of these events have been rehashed before my very eyes on countless VH1 and MTV retrospectives that many of them don’t have much of an impact by being reenacted.
On the other hand, the scenes in which Biggie demonstrates his legendary charm and charisma, especially to win and re-win and re-win the heart of Faith Evans, fill in the blanks in Biggie’s history ““ spots VH1 is unable to rehash.
Being a rap junkie myself, I wanted the film to explore the darker side of Biggie’s psyche. This is a man who wrote effervescent sex jams like “Big Poppa,” but then turned around and wrote lyrics like “I stabbed her brother with the icepick.” The way this dichotomy is explained in the movie is that it is just commercial strategy proffered by Puffy. But those lyrics had to come from some place, and the paranoia and anxiety that seemed to consume Biggie at certain times of his life was only slightly touched on.
Despite that, this is a film that explores Biggie as the classic archetype of the genius musician: mercurial, furiously creative, charming, unable to stay faithful, and dead young.