Super Fly
1972’s Super Fly has always been eclipsed by its own soundtrack, which is both a testament to the Curtis Mayfield-composed songs and the lack of impact made by Gordon Parks Jr. in the director’s chair. Yet there is a lot brewing beneath the surface of Super Fly and it really is a film worth a look for its style and the points it tries to make without squeezing too hard.
Ron O’Neal stars as Priest, a drug dealer hoping to leave “the life” behind after making one last huge score. Priest is tough but sensitive, exposing his heart to two women at once and longing for a normal life without really figuring out all of the details. He double-parks and isn’t afraid to beat a sucker down with a few slaps, yet there is gentleness in his eyes. Priest’s partner is Eddie (Carl Lee). A small empire of about fifty people comprises the “family” of drug dealers and pushers that Priest and Eddie rely on to keep them rolling in nice cars and wearing fine coats.
When Priest decides he wants to leave life as a dealer and find some normalcy, Eddie goes along with it based on the size of the last score (a cool one million bucks). The idea is to buy a shitload of coke and have their street team move the stuff in four months, thus turning over one hell of a profit and allowing Priest and Eddie to set sail for the straight life without looking back. There are a few problems, however, as the shady cops want in and Eddie might have a few hang-ups of his own.
The essence of Super Fly is the philosophy of “sticking it to The Man.” The Man here is represented by establishment suckers and crooked cops. Priest and Eddie lead the lives they live not only because there is little else for young black men to do but because they refuse to play ball with the largely white institution figures that have been holding their communities down for so long. Without growth in the black communities, drug dealers and pimps are purely a part of daily life.
The concept takes an interesting turn in the casting of Ron O’Neal. A light-skinned, straight-haired actor, his “paler” way of representing black society was a little like Anne Hathaway representing Jane Austen in Becoming Jane, except with slightly more cocaine and no attempted accent. O’Neal’s calm energy and light skin took the role to another level and he became a soft-spoken, clever coke dealer as Priest, bucking many of the stereotypes but still infusing the character with a sense of hard-edged valour.
All of the flash and substance of blaxploitation is here, of course, if only in somewhat restrained ways. Mayfield’s soundtrack bounces its funky way through many of the Parks’ long cuts and wide shots, allowing Priest’s car to fill up whole frames and giving a sense of smoothness to the grimy streets. The suits and outfits worn by the characters certainly have that ’70s feel, but they are never over-the-top or obnoxious. There is also the obligatory tangled-legs-in-bathtub love scene.
Super Fly is one of the more modest films of the exploitation genre and contains very little violence, save for a funny final segment in which Priest unleashes his foreshadowed martial-arts battery. The finale is gripping in that Priest doesn’t get his just desserts. Instead, he dishes it out and takes what’s his by not backing down.
This is an interesting entry in the genre in that it almost doesn’t fit as an exploitation picture. It is quite understated and plays out like a drama, with very little by way of sex or violence in comparison to other similar flicks. Its sense of black culture isn’t bound by the rule, either, and it breaks more moulds than it slumps into. Gordon Parks Jr. doesn’t try anything particularly stunning as a director and often lets scenes run on too long, but it’s a good effort overall and Ron O’Neal’s performance is tremendous.
Regardless of how good or how different Super Fly may be as a film, however, it will continue to be immortalized for that funky-ass soundtrack.
Trailer:
