Save A Jazzman's Blues Full Movie Mp4
A Jazzman's Blues: Movie Review
Beginning in 1987 with a slow zoom on a television screen where a white politician rants and raves about his disdain for affirmative action (generally making an all-around racist jackass of himself), an elderly Black woman walks over to the TV and turns it off while softly muttering "that's enough," a sentiment we can all agree on.
This shot (lensed by Brett Pawlak) from writer/director Tyler Perry (the first script he ever wrote, here made into a feature-length film 27 years later with a decent chunk of Netflix money behind it) is methodically constructed enough to convince one that the filmmaker's foray into dramatic material with A Jazzman's Blues might yield something substantial worth discussing.
Two minutes later, in what has to be one of the most direct and amusing framing device setups in recent memory, the same woman marches into the politician's office and slams down a stack of letters, essentially telling him to get his a$$ to work on solving a 40-year-old mystery. As the politician reads, the time travels back about 50 years to the same Georgian town.
Bayou (a nickname based on his deep eyes) is a 17-year-old boy who is shunned by his peers, mercilessly verbally abused by his father (E. Roger Mitchell), and equally picked on by his slightly older brother Willie Earl (Austin Scott), adored by his lovely mother Hattie (the same woman from the prologue sequence, played in the past by Amirah Vann), and sweet according to local girl Solea Pfeiffer' (cruelly referred to most townsfolk as Bucket).
Bayou is aloof and uneducated, but endearing (Joshua Boone has nothing to do with the problems here), while his brother Willie Earl is seen as the musically gifted one who will make something of his life.
Tyler Perry doesn't understand nuance, so the dysfunctional family drama in A Jazzman's Blues is fast and loud, especially with the comically overplayed man of the house who ups and leaves for Chicago, taking all the remaining money. This rash exit only adds to the tension between siblings, with Willie Earl now resenting Hattie, assuming she favors Bayou.
Throughout this, Bayou has been sneaking out of the house, spending nights bonding with the charming Leanne, learning to read and write, and falling in love.
Leanne flees after confessing her feelings for him, claiming they will never see each other again. She discovers that her grandfather is sexually abusing her and fears that she is no longer pure for Bayou, which he assures her is false and expresses his wish that he could do something about the situation.
In one of the letters, he questions whether he is weak, as his berating father claims. He no longer has to worry about that because Leanne's mother has learned of their love and has sent her to Boston.
The chemistry between Joshua Boone and Solea Pfeiffer is not to blame; they radiate starcrossed doomed lover energy from the start and are a joy to be around. That's not to say Tyler Perry doesn't overdo some of their drama, but it pales in comparison to the rest of the characters in A Jazzman's Blues, who rarely have any meaningful context behind any of their frequently rushed, absurd actions.
Even the most harrowing details, such as the sexual abuse mentioned above, come across as minor character details rather than a part of the person's identity; trauma is a trait that fuels overblown melodrama.
Within minutes, anyone who is remotely attentive and paying attention to the screen will notice that several characters have noticeably light skin, as if they could pass for white. Passing is eventually explored in A Jazzman's Blues, but only as a means to elevate the dangerous love without any poignancy.
Everything is turned up to 11 and rushed through, leaving no room for layered characterization. Willie Earl reappears in the film (he, too, departs for Chicago) with a suspicious-looking European man whom he claims is a manager capable of getting him booked at the Capital Royale, and the most shocking thing about the film is that it's true.
Having said that, Tyler Perry finds a decent rhythm by constructing several musical numbers and a lavish recreation of the aforementioned venue once circumstances beyond Bayou's control force him to Chicago in 1947, where he begins to realize the full extent of his singing talents (another terrific aspect of Joshua Boone's performance).
Even those highlights are overshadowed by scenes of Willie Earl, who is now more envious than ever that he is not the star of the show and has developed a heroin addiction. These behaviors are heightened to unintentional hilarity, similar to the father character (and a few others I don't have time to discuss here).
There's no denying that the tragic fate these lovers are destined for is heartbreaking; knowing it's coming doesn't make it any less so. But the unchecked nonsensical melodrama surrounding Bayou and Leanne (even though they have the occasional wobbly writing to power their way through) is like a drug addict playing an out-of-tune horn. Then comes the final (predictable) reveal, followed by a shot panning back that, while a clever juxtaposition to the opening, culminates in an unbelievably corny image that would have been incredible if the rest of the film had been tightly wound and smartly written. In theory, it's a brilliant payoff, but nearly everything before it fails.
Tyler Perry's A Jazzman's Blues is a jumble of overwrought ideas and storylines that he simply isn't capable of weaving into an emotionally satisfying journey. But Joshua Boone has a beautiful voice, so at the very least, listen to the soundtrack.
_1.gif)
