ALL RIGHT-thinking people approve of John Sayles, writes Donald Clarke.
HONEYDRIPPER
Directed by John Sayles. Starring Danny Glover, Charles S Dutton, Lisa Gay Hamilton, Stacy Keach, Mary Steenburgen, Gary Clark Jr PG cert, Light House/Screen, Dublin, 123 min ***
His independently produced films, often involving a large number of characters, swell with integrity, humanity and a passion for justice. Sadly, they have, of late, not been terribly good.
Honeydripper is, to be fair, a little more digestible than 2004's shrill Sliver City, but it's still a somewhat clunky and obvious piece of work. This nice looking, decently acted picture seeks to structure a drama around an early skirmish between waning rhythm 'n' blues and burgeoning rock'n' roll, but, with its defanged, faintly patronising tone, it feels closer to the work of Johnny Mathis than Little Richard.
Set in Alabama during the early 1950s, the film follows several African-Americans as they prepare for a visit from Guitar Sam, a prominent rhythm'n'blues guitarist. Danny Glover, owner of a bar and restaurant, hopes the gig will restore his waning fortunes. Others just hope to have a good time. When Sam fails to show, the enterprising impresario grabs an unknown itinerant musician (Gary Clark Jr.) - who happens to own an improvised electric guitar - and persuades him to stand in for the star.
It would be easy to whinge about the several black stereotypes that turn up in the picture: overweight, sexually rapacious female singer; well-balanced, hard-working wife and mother; elderly blind guitarist with a taste for musical prognostication.
But, in truth, the white stereotypes are even less subtle: Mary Steenburgen's fragile heiress is straight out of Tennessee Williams; Stacey Keach's racist sheriff suggests Deputy Dawg after a few too many pies.
Yet, for all that, Honeydripper remains a pleasant, seductive experience. Dick Pope's photography casts a warm glow over the largely happy African- American community, and the actors work hard on enlivening even the blandest snatches of dialogue. It would, however, be nice to encounter a new Sayles film that one could love rather than merely tolerate.
