I can’t pretend that I listened to or was any sort of fan of N.W.A. or Straight Outta Compton when it came out in 1988. Anyone who grew up with me at the time — in my white, metal-listening world — would laugh at me even pretending otherwise.
But close friends of mine certainly played that cassette regularly, and I heard it plenty while playing pickup basketball. (One time, a police officer drove up to our court when N.W.A was turned up way too loud — and oh, “Fuck Tha Police” happened to be blasting out of that boombox. That might have been my most — and only — hip-hop moment ever.) I don’t know much the lyrics and content meant to my friends and acquaintances, but I know they responded to the beats.
That’s really all I brought into Straight Outta Compton, making me wonder whether F. Gary Gray’s biopic would be more for audiences unfamiliar with N.W.A. or viewers who either grew up during that burgeoning era of hip-hop and/or those who are fans of the music and thus went back to experience its roots, knowing full well how influential and seminal this group was.
I think the film works for both audiences, accomplishing what a music biopic should. Straight Outta Compton depicts the era and environment in which N.W.A. was spawned extremely well. What was going on between the police and black youth in Los Angeles most certainly has resonance to the unrest and distrust happening today.
To me, the most powerful moments of the movie were when young O’Shea Jackson, better known as Ice Cube (played by O’Shea Jackson Jr.), is slammed against a hood of a police car by cops just for wanting to cross the street in his own neighborhood. Or when Cube and his friends are made to put their hands behind their heads and lie down on the sidewalk simply because the police don’t think they look right standing outside a recording studio in a more upscale area of L.A.
That anger over the mistreatment and injustice he and his friends experienced, along with the gang violence that terrorized those neighborhoods, fueled Cube’s lyrics and made N.W.A.’s music absolutely vital to a community that didn’t have a voice, that was living in persecution and fear on a daily basis.
The narrative culminates in a sequence set in Detroit where the local police tell N.W.A. before a show that they can’t say anything profane or incite the crowd. And they most certainly can’t perform “F the Police,” as the officer puts it. It’s basically a dare, and you know how the fiercely defiant quintet is going to respond. There’s no choice. This is everything N.W.A. stands for. Of course they perform the song. The crowd goes wild. The police are furious. And though the five rappers end up in a police wagon after attempting to flee the arena, their fans are behind them, throwing trash at the police and nearly rioting. It’s a triumphant circumstance.
This is where Gray’s film shines, telling its story and making the impact of the artist clear without resorting to the cheesy music biopic cliché of someone hearing a note, a voice or a lyric and looking up with the revelation of knowing that the world changed in that very moment. Straight Outta Compton has a scene somewhat like this, but it happens in the recording studio after repeated takes, and I’d argue it depicts the creative and production process, rather than “that moment when you just knew.”
Had the movie ended after N.W.A. hit it big or after the Detroit incident, Straight Outta Compton might have been a great movie, perhaps one of the best music biopics ever made. Unfortunately, Gray and screenwriters Jonathan Herman and Andrea Berloff attempt to tell the complete story of N.W.A., which basically turns the second half of the film into a Behind the Music episode with legalities overtaking creativity, betrayals, egos clashing and the central members of the group moving on to different stages of their careers.
But I get the need to tell the complete story here. Ice Cube splintering off from the group for a hugely successful solo career is a part of that tale. It’s informative to be reminded of just how great a musical talent he was, rather than the cuddly cartoon character that scowls at Kevin Hart and Jonah Hill whom he’s become.
Dr. Dre’s (Corey Hawkins) eventual realization — heavily influenced by Suge Knight — that the group’s manager and one-time benefactor (Jerry Heller, played by Paul Giamatti) has screwed them out of rightful earnings, leading to his own lucrative career as a producer and solo artist, is also one aspect of that story. And, of course, Eazy-E (Jason Mitchell) was the embodiment of N.W.A., a former drug dealer who essentially bankrolled the group’s first record and lived the life depicted in those lyrics. His tragic death due to AIDS, after his whole enterprise fell apart and life has served up a choking scoop of humility, is the inevitable ending for this film.
Getting all of that into the film makes it far too long — and you’re feeling that by the third act. N.W.A. arguably ended when Ice Cube left the group and maybe the movie should have as well. Again, I understand that the narratives mentioned in the previous two paragraphs deserved more than becoming notes with pictures before the credits rolled, and they get suitable treatment. Yet Straight Outta Compton is a less cohesive film because of that. And biopics have shown — especially in recent years — that they tend to be better when tightly focused on a particular period.
However, that doesn’t take away from what is a good movie. Particularly impressive are the performances. Though the actors may have seemingly been cast for their physical resemblances to the real-life figures they portray, each plays their roles extremely well. This isn’t just dressing some guys up in what have become iconic outfits, then having them recite expository dialogue. The characters are believable and compelling on screen.
Straight Outta Compton is career redemption for Gray, after 2009’s abysmal Law-Abiding Citizen. Ultimately, everyone involved has reason to be proud, doing justice to arguably the most important musical group of the past 30 years.
