Dope begins by introducing the audience to Malcom Adekanbi, an intellectually-gifted black nerd who lives in Inglewood, California. As narration provided by Forrest Whitaker immediately identifies, Malcolm lives in a socio-economically destitute position in American culture as a person-of-colour in Inglewood, and his nerdiness and geekish behaviour earn him few friends. In Dope, writer and director Rick Famuyiwa, crafts an intricate examination of the role that status plays in society. That Famuyiwa’s lead character is a nerd is not used to belittle or demean, but to, instead, produce a resonant effect within his audience.
As played by Shameik Moore, Malcolm is smart, charming, and fiercely intelligent. Thanks to Moore’s reliance on his own natural charisma, Malcolm becomes more than yet another young, black man from the inner city who dreams of going to college. When the film’s central conflict arises, and Malcolm is tasked with becoming the personal delivery boy for an up-and-coming drug kingpin, Moore convinces the audience that Malcolm is far more resourceful and savvy than he might first appear. Interesting is the manner in which Famuyiwa builds a world that not only feels alive and real, but one where his relatively stereotypical characters seem like even greater misfits. Tony Revolori plays the role of Jib, a Latino teenager who shares Adekanbi’s college dreams, and one of Malcolm’s only two friends. Kiersey Clemons plays Diggy, a black, homosexual teen who rounds out the trio. Between the three of them, Malcolm, Jib, and Diggy are young, black, Latino, and gay, but they don’t feel like overinflated stereotypes. That the three perform together in a punk band, and that they share a mutual desire to leave their environment and circumstances, is portrayed not as a result of the dire social circumstances found in Inglewood, but simply because the three nerds can’t go a single day without some would-be thug stealing their shoes in the high school hallway.
That isn’t to say that Dope fails to cast a critical eye on larger American society’s appropriation of black culture or the manner in which predominately white culture reacts with black culture. However, Famuyiwa relegates possible moments of sermonizing to scenes of comedy. When Malcolm is forced to sell drugs to avoid incurring the wrath of a fiercely intelligent and supremely educated drug baron, his friends recommend selling molly to white people. After all, security at Coachella and Burning Man do little to try to curb the consumption of illicit substances—why not try selling drugs to white people? There’s a certain kind of subversive comedy that permeates throughout Famuyiwa’s writing. None of his characters really fit in where they should, and these pathetic misfits are all endemic of a larger cultural failing in America. Malcolm and his group meet a wealthy brother-sister duo whose parents managed to escape Inglewood, but the brother’s only concern is appearing felonious enough in the eyes of actual felons. The sister, on the other hand, is more concerned with seducing men from the ghetto, than with self-worth or self-respect. One wonders, however, if the molly-sniffing younger sister is not a commentary on the image-obsessed wealthy who slum it for fun, only to return to the comforts of their home after a hard day in the hood.
Interestingly enough, Famuyiwa’s film, ultimately, is an ode to the nerd and the geek. Dope is a film concerned with standing for the lonely, hopeful few who want nothing more than to get out and join a larger world that doesn’t care about who they are, how they dress, or what music they listen to.
A brief aside on the production of Dope. None of Famuyiwa’s direction is particularly impressive. There’s little frivolity with his camera, and few shots are remarkably crafted. Instead, Famuyiwa’s direction can be described as incredibly clean—in an almost minimalist sense. The same can be said for Rachel Morrison’s cinematography. Nothing stands out visually in Dope—except for the characters—and I wonder if that wasn’t the intention. Focusing too much on theatricality would take away from what is a masterfully written character study.
However, praise must be given to Germaine Franco—responsible for the film’s music. His collection of early 90’s hip-hop tracks not only add a refreshing angle to the Inglewood setting, but supply a steady stream of drum beats that increase intensity during tension-heavy scenes, while providing a necessary rhythm for more comedic moments.
I conclude by saying that it’s easy to criticize Dope for being one more movie where a young black man tries to get into college. It’s true, Malcolm’s a young black man trying to get into Harvard, and his central conflict is that his hometown literally keeps on trying to bring him down, but Malcolm’s story is resonant because of his misfit status. Dope, therefore, is Boyz n the Hood for the iPhone generation.