Beat the Rap

Draggy hip-hop documentary Backstage and druggy comedy Saving Grace.

Backstage opens with 1993 footage of a young black man rapping freestyle in a crowded room, then cuts to 1999; the same young man stalks an arena stage, performing before 20,000 ecstatic fans. The man is rapper Sean Carter, a.k.a. Jay-Z, and the film is a behind-the-scenes concert doc of the Hard Knock Life tour, a hip-hop package show he headlined with fellow super-MC DMX. As a tour official says at the opening press conference, hip hop is now a $1.5 billion industry, and rock-and-roll is staggering. Or better yet, hip hop is rock-and-roll now. Backstage is meant to celebrate that cultural achievement through hip hop's biggest tour in years, if not ever. But, shot on video and blown up (in boxy, television ratio) for the big screen, this meandering, navel-gazing memento needed to go straight to video -- and probably would have if someone hadn't seen a buck to be made.

If you're not a fan of hip hop in general or these artists in particular, Backstage will likely be of no interest to you, and even if you are a fan you're still likely to leave unsatisfied. Jay-Z is, with apologies to Eminem, the most prodigiously talented artist the music has to offer right now, but you wouldn't know it by watching Backstage. The film, through talking-head commentary and occasionally provocative editing, makes substantial and intriguing claims for many of the tour's participants, especially for golden boy Jay-Z, roughneck icon DMX, and Philly upstart Beanie Sigel, but it never delivers the musical goods that would back up those claims, even though the evidence is there to be had. What's missing most from Backstage is music, and the reason for that absence may well be that hip hop -- street-corner-born and studio-bred -- is still a dicey proposition as live music, especially at the level of an arena show (as someone who prizes recordings over concerts, that isn't meant to be an insult). Indeed, many of the concert scenes, though exciting for their kinetic vibe and charismatic personalities, only serve to reinforce the criticisms good-naturedly leveled by Steve Harvey in the current Original Kings of Comedy: "Hip-hop concerts have too many damn instructions."

One interesting element of Backstage is how it conveys a sense of hierarchy on the tour. Kingpin Jay-Z seems to hover around the margins, keeping his distance from the minions and projecting an air of being above the fray. Second-in-command DMX sticks to himself, spending a lot of time in his private dressing room with his pet bulldog, where no one, not even the cameraperson, is allowed. Mid-carders Method Man and Redman, who are constant sources of comic relief, seem to spend most of their time in their hotel room smoking dope. And then there are the young bucks -- Ja Rule, Sigel, Memphis Bleek (who's really from Brooklyn) -- who travel together in a bus and act out like a bunch of frat boys on a field trip.

Backstage is a long 90 minutes, with the back-hall dice games, groupie harassment, over-edited concert segments, and home-video-style party scenes becoming a drag at about the hour mark. And then there are a couple moments (particularly a scene where an unidentified member of the tour escorts a groupie to a bathroom stall for some thankfully off-screen fellatio) that indicate that Spin may have jumped the gun on its current "The 100 Sleaziest Moments in Rock" issue. -- Chris Herrington

As the credits to Saving Grace roll, you might fully expect to see the words "bankrolled by Normal, the organization for legalizing marijuana." Doesn't happen, though this pot-as-problem-solver comedy is nothing if not normal.

Two-time Academy Award nominee Brenda Blethyn stars as Grace, a recent widow with a gorgeous home, a genius for gardening, and a gargantuan amount of debt. She is in the black, however, when it comes to the friends she has in her tiny community. Her bill at the corner grocery mysteriously vaporizes, and there is no way, no how she'll be allowed to drop a coin in a charity bin. And it's all done without a peep to save face for Grace.

Among those friends is Grace's gardener Matthew (Craig Ferguson, who also co-wrote and co-produced the film). When Grace's check for his services bounces, Matthew stays on, even after the riding mower is repossessed. There is, however, one thing that Grace can do for Matthew. Matthew likes to smoke pot and he likes to grow his own. Trouble is, his plants aren't doing so well and he needs Grace's help.

Grace agrees to mother his plants as she has nothing better to do other than throwing unopened bills away and avoiding calls from the man threatening to take away her house. It's after one of these calls that Grace comes up with an idea: She and Matthew go partners. Together, they will grow a virtual cartel's worth of weed, sell it, pay off debts, and go their merry ways.

Only the grumpiest curmudgeon would begrudge Saving Grace its harmless laughs. The proper Englishwoman as dealer goes to the toughest streets of London to sell her wares and approaches the task of getting her hands dirty by wearing a white suit, with a matching hat no less. A policeman is inspired to doff his uniform and take off into a sprint after inhaling. Two of Grace's old-lady friends mistake her plants for tea, and the next thing you know they're digging into cereal and brownies.

Stoned elderly? Now that's comedy. Alas, Saving Grace bogarts these gags, determined to go the easy way or no way at all. In a way, the film's laziness is ridiculous, which is probably the whole point. -- Susan Ellis

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