Claiming Mo Better Blues

These days, my insomnia is under control, but I can tell that I'm about to have another bout. I was up until 1 in the morning Sunday night watching that old Spike Lee joint.

I cannot, cannot look at that film without thinking of the fact of that world which was my young adulthood. As one of the last big black cast films, the love story that is Mo Better Blues puts me right back to the immediacy of yearning for success in all ways. Trying to get the moola and the strain it puts on associations. The need to be loved. Bleek Gilliam was the lead dog protagonist in a way I could very much identify.

There was something I rediscovered in the scene in which Bleek looses both of his lovers. The blank expression on his face is absolutely perfect - the very vision of a man being lectured about something he simply doesn't want to hear. It makes sense in its own way, but does all that crap actually apply to me? And he's stuck because it does It's classic.

The bonhomie of the players at the club, the ribbing and joking with Robin Harris retained all of the spontaneity I recall from such days. The haircuts, the clothing, the music are all period perfect. I think this is becoming one of my favorite films - I'm going to have to watch it from the beginning.