As he proved in 2005 -- with his rap about how it's hard out here for a pimp
in Hustle & Flow -- writer-
director Craig Brewer doesn't just use music in film, he lets it breathe. It's
raw Memphis blues, from Blind Lemon Jefferson to R.L. Burnside and Jessie Mae Hemphill,
that informs Brewer's Black Snake Moan. But, oh lordy, when the music stops,
this movie needs a respirator. Look, I'm not knocking Brewer -- the dude has
a real talent for evoking atmosphere -- and the eye-filling sight of a mostly naked
Christina Ricci, playing Tennessee white trash with her own spin on "she's
gotta have it," is unassailable. But this time Brewer substitutes provocation
for substance. And that dog won't hunt. No sooner has Rae (Ricci) sent her boyfriend,
Ronnie (Justin Timberlake), off to the Army and Iraq, she's getting it on with
her drug dealer, the football team and Ronnie's best friend -- he's the
jerk who rapes her and leaves her for dead on a dirt road.
Rae's awakening comes courtesy of -- symbol alert -- Lazarus, played by a graybeard
Samuel L. Jackson. Lazarus, a former blues musician (Jackson sings, effectively),
takes in this wild child, chains her to his radiator and gets fired up to cure her
of her sex sickness. Offensive on multiple levels -- if only the plot had any levels
at all -- Black Snake Moan leaves no Tobacco Road cliche unsmoked. Ricci gives it
her all, and then some, but even her body and Jackson's blues can't heal
a movie that rockets plum off its nut.