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Tuesday 12 June 2018

Superfly Review

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In Gordon Parks, Jr.'s 1972 blaxploitation classic Super Fly, Harlem was portrayed as a dingy and lived-in place cluttered with trash and populated with both gentleman criminals and those of the not-so-savory variety. In it, Ron O'Neal played a cocaine dealer named Youngblood Priest who commanded Harlem's attention with his glowering intensity and, of course, his excellent tweed suits. In 1972, crime was a low-down and dirty activity that involved dirty alleyways, dirty darkened back alley dealings with dirty cops, and brutal karate beatings. It was all punctuated by Curtis Mayfield's funk/soul music, providing one of the best movie soundtracks in history.

The world of crime in Director X's 2018 update – now sporting a title that is, like everything else, more streamlined – is a decidedly more posh, comfortable and opulent place. In the post-millennial crime world of the new Superfly, now set in Atlanta, the dangerous gangs wear matching all-white costumes, criminal hangouts have come to resemble strip clubs by way of Cirque du Soleil, and Youngblood Priest is smoother, cooler, better dressed, and more unflappable than ever; a Zen master in pleather. And although the plot of Superfly is a sneeze of loose ends, and some of the film's basic logic doesn't add up – Priest is depicted as world-weary and experienced, even though actor Trevor Jackson is only 21 – it still was wise to approach a remake of Super Fly as an exercise in cucumber-cool style. It's not the sort of film that will blow you away, but you may like hanging out with Priest.

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