November 8, 2002 | While handicapping any neophyte’s prospects
for movie stardom, keep this simple maxim in mind: Some people simply
have it – charismatic screen presence, that is – and others
don’t. In 8 Mile, the hand-tooled star vehicle that marks
his movie debut, rapper Eminem demonstrates he has an abundance of it.
Granted, his potent magnetism may not come
as much of a surprise to anyone already familiar with Eminem’s live performances or music
videos. But even his most devoted admirers likely will be surprised by
his ability to keenly render and compellingly sustain a character throughout
a feature-length film. A character modeled on Eminem himself, to be sure,
but a character nonetheless. It’s too early to tell whether he’s
ready for more challenging roles – Kenneth Branagh probably won’t
be calling him anytime soon to discuss filming a Shakespearean tragedy – but
he’s most assuredly the right actor in the right part in the right
movie for right now.
Eminem plays Jimmy Smith Jr., a scruffy
hothead better known to his homies as Rabbit on the mean streets of
Detroit, circa 1995 (when the movie is set). Newly disengaged from
his live-in girlfriend, and barely surviving on his meager wage at
an auto-parts pressing plant, Rabbit is forced to hop back to the mobile-home
park where his hard-drinking mother (a persuasively ravaged Kim Basinger)
and adoring kid sister (Chloe Greenfield) reside. That his mother already
has another man under her roof – a younger and dumber layabout (Greg Buehl) who, to hear
her talk, isn’t even very good in bed – doesn’t make
the ramshackle trailer any more appealing to our hero.
That’s OK, however, because Rabbit doesn’t plan to stick
around very long. He may be just a white-trash hard case from the wrong
side of 8 Mile Road, the Detroit thoroughfare that divides have-nots
from got-somes, but he’s determined to transcend his humble beginnings
by distilling his pent-up rage and frustration into the rapid-fire rhymes
of rap. Never mind that he’s conspicuously Caucasian: His posse
of mostly African-American buddies – including Future, a smooth-talking
confidant played by the great Mekhi Phifer (O, Clockers)
-- are accepting and encouraging when Rabbit takes the stage at a neighborhood
nightclub to “duel” with other rappers.
And that’s a good thing, because Rabbit doesn’t need any
more detractors or discouragers: He is his own worst enemy. Although
desperately eager to perform, he’s too drenched with flop sweat
to feel comfortable, and too stage-frightened to open his mouth, whenever
he tries to claim the stage. Drawing freely from Eminem’s real-life story,
screenwriter Scott Silver (whom you may remember, if not forgive, for
the Mod Squad movie) cleverly spins a drama from this central
metaphor: Rabbit must, quite literally, find his own voice if he’s
ever going to succeed.
Along the way, our hero keeps his eye on
the prize, despite being labeled a loser or worse by his family and
so-called friends. He’s distracted,
albeit just briefly, by Alex (Brittany Murphy), a purposefully slutty
would-be model who’s every bit as determined as Rabbit to move
far, far away from 8 Mile Road. In the end, though, Rabbit is all alone – not
just on stage, where he revs audience expectations for a Rocky-style
triumph, but also in a surprisingly and satisfyingly ambiguous final
scene.
8 Mile occasionally hits speed
bumps of hokey sentimentality and bald-faced contrivance. (A scene
designed to offset Eminem’s
reputation for homophobia plays too much like self-conscious image-spinning.)
But director Curtis Hanson (L.A. Confidential, Wonder
Boys) does a fine job of keeping the movie grounded in a gritty,
grimy reality that infuses even the clichés with a solid ring
of truth. Credit cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (Frida, Amores
Perros) and production designer Philip Messina for vividly conveying
the dispiriting squalor of borderline-poverty in inner-city Detroit.
And while you’re at it, toss some more kudos to Hanson for surrounding
Eminem with world-class actors – Murphy is sensationally sexy,
yet also affectingly poignant – who prove to be supporting players
in the very best sense.
Slightly dimming the fury that fuels his
more incendiary rap numbers, Eminem manages to rivet attention even
during still, silent moments. Indeed, he’s particularly impressive
during those wordless epiphanies, when he eloquently conveys anything
from painful introspection to bilious self-loathing to urgent, angry
resolve.
For a movie starring a singer-songwriter, 8 Mile spends
remarkably little time on actual on-stage performing. We don’t
even get to hear the rousing Lose Yourself, which Eminem wrote
specifically for this film, until the closing credits. But, to paraphrase
the lyrics from that chart-topping hit: Eminem knew it was his moment,
he owned it, and he wasn’t going to let it go without trying to establish
his cred as a dramatic actor. He didn’t blow it.