SORRY TO BOTHER YOU

Satire isn't what it used to be. 

Sorry To Bother You,  the debut feature from Boots Riley, won't go down as classic satire, but in an era full of super heroes and giant sharks, we ought to appreciate any film that is remotely intelligent.

Granted, this one goes from satire, to weird, to silly, with maybe one too many story-lines. There's also an ending coda that feels shoved in at the last moment. 

Still, it all sort of works.

Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield) is a glum young man in Oakland. He has a nice, artsy girlfriend, and he just got a new job with a telemarketing company. Yet, he's a depressed sort. He worries about the sun blowing up, and how death and suffering is inevitable, and how no one will remember him; basically, the same existential gripes that bothered Woody Allen 40 years ago. These highfalutin concerns prevent Cassius from worrying about more concrete matters, like paying the rent on his garage apartment.

Then, quicker than you can say Putney Swope, success finds him. An older telemarketer (Danny Glover) suggests Cassius make his cold calls by using a "white" voice. Cassius balks at first, but eventually reveals a sick, nasal voice that charms his telephone customers out of their boots. (The white voice is provided by comic David Cross.)

Using the magic of his white voice, Cassius rises up the ranks. Even as his co-workers threaten to go on strike for better wages, he is bumped upstairs to be a "power caller," a semi-mythical position that requires him to wear a suit (even though he's just making calls). His promotion involves selling slave labor to international markets. From there, things get strange.

Though critics have  tried to describe the style and reach of Sorry To Bother You by recalling the works of Terry Gilliam, the comparison is weak. Gilliam's movies were, sometimes to their own detriment, truly dreamlike and huge in scope; Riley's  imagination is compact, coiled. He's leaner and meaner than Gilliam could ever be.

But don't think too hard during Sorry To Bother You. Even when logic is defied, just relax. It's not often that a director makes a dark comedy about the evils of corporate America,  and then churns up an apocalyptic ending worthy of The Island of Dr Moreau, so just go with it.

There are some nice touches along the way. I liked how Cassius' girlfriend wears earrings that say "Murder Murder Murder, Kill Kill Kill," and the way Cassius' old high school  buddies still wear their old football uniforms and spend their nights scrimmaging in parking lots. Time stands still for them, even if Cassius' new life is out of control.

There's also a stunning scene where Cassius attends a party thrown by a wealthy white CEO. He's coaxed into rapping, which isn't his strong suite. Frustrated, he starts spewing rhythmic racial slurs; the white guests merely repeat what he says, sing-song style. 

Appropriating someone else's culture? The white people in this movie are too rich and oblivious to care about such matters. A running theme in the movie is that the things held dear by African Americans - music, fashion, graffiti, street slang - is akin to playing in the sandbox while corporate (ie. white) America concocts increasingly sinister ways to keep workers oppressed. Beware of the wealthy, we're told, for they don't care about anything but money. To them, you're nothing but a dumb animal.

The script, also by Riley, is quite clever at times, though there are moments when it veers into the sophomoric. The villains here are too cartoonish to be taken seriously. What keeps it from being a film school trifle is a strong cast, some fine, inspired work by cinematographer Doug Emmett, and Riley's determination to tell the story he wants to tell. There are also a couple of scenes that are just plain funny.

The alternate Oakland created for the movie is a mix of dank, burned out edifices and glamorous high rises. Even the dive bars have VIP lounges. This is what makes the film's tone so unique. Though the tale grows strange, we're never too far removed from the sun-blasted, dirty sidewalks of the city. Perhaps Riley has invented a new genre: urban surrealism.

In Riley's world, violence is entertainment. Cassius' girlfriend allows people to throw water balloons at her as part of an art project, and Cassius acquires YouTube fame when someone pegs a soda can at his head. A popular TV show watched by Cassius and his friends involves guests being held and beaten in front of a live audience. "I like it," says Glover. "It makes me feel warm and fuzzy." 

There's nothing warm and fuzzy about Riley's movie, though. His message seems to be this: Mocking the way white people talk doesn't make up for the fact that slavery still exists. 

When was the last time a summer movie offered such a thorny idea?