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Dis­cov­er the sly social cri­tique of this Blax­ploita­tion classic

06 Feb 2017

Words by Anton Bitel

Two individuals, a bearded man in a red jacket and a woman with an afro hairstyle, conversing at a table.
Two individuals, a bearded man in a red jacket and a woman with an afro hairstyle, conversing at a table.
Is Gilbert Moses’ Willie Dyna­mite a paean to pimp life or a flam­boy­ant alle­go­ry of the Amer­i­can Dream?

In the open­ing scenes of Gilbert Moses’ 1974 debut fea­ture Willie Dyna­mite, the epony­mous pro­tag­o­nist (Roscoe Orman) dis­plays all the pol­ished veneer of suc­cess with­in Amer­i­can patri­archy. He dri­ves a flashily mod­i­fied, pur­ple-paint­ed car (his name embla­zoned across its cus­tomised plates) through the streets of New York City to the fore­court of a swanky hotel. If his ride is pimped to the max, that’s because Willie is an actu­al pimp – sev­en women in the palm of his hand” go the lyrics to his Blax­ploita­tion theme song, as he struts about in his expen­sive, colour­ful threads and furs.

More impor­tant­ly, those lyrics also declare, It’s no dif­fer­ent from any oth­er indus­try… He’s got to try to be Num­ber One.” For all his par­tic­u­lar­i­ties that are steeped in African-Amer­i­can sub­cul­tur­al stereo­types, Willie is also, more broad­ly, embody­ing the busi­ness end of the Amer­i­can dream. In case the point is missed, our first view of his oper­a­tion – as his sta­ble of pros­ti­tutes aggres­sive­ly hook busi­ness­men at a hotel con­ven­tion – is unsub­tly inter­cut with a mon­i­tor show­ing a speak­er giv­ing moti­va­tion­al advice to vis­it­ing entrepreneurs.

As the man on the TV screen dis­cuss­es what has made America’s lit­tle busi­ness grow into America’s big busi­ness”, we see Willie insist­ing to his youngest work­er, Pashen (Joyce Walk­er), that his own busi­ness’ is a pro­duc­tion line… just like GM, Ford and Chrysler, Willie’s com­ing through,” or telling a con­sor­tium of fel­low pimps look­ing to organ­ise and unionise, I thought we was all cap­i­tal­ists – free enter­prise, you dig. This kind of con­ver­sa­tion could chase that off.” Willie’s rise and even­tu­al fall trace a sto­ry of a par­tic­u­lar­ly male strand of exploita­tive and insa­tiable mon­ey-mak­ing in Amer­i­ca – often off the backs of women’s labour. Despite the flam­boy­ance of his cloth­ing and the swag­ger of his gait, Willie does not cut a par­tic­u­lar­ly pret­ty picture.

A person, wearing a leopard-print hat, partially visible in a car's interior. The image shows the person's face obscured by shadows and other car features.

Assured and arro­gant, Willie regards both him­self and his busi­ness mod­el as untouch­able. But then, as his fetishis­tic car keeps get­ting tick­et­ed or towed, as his girls get arrest­ed or worse, as a rival pimp (Roger Robin­son) mus­cles in on his turf, and as ex-junkie, ex-hook­ing social work­er Cora (Diana Sands), her assis­tant DA boyfriend (Thal­mus Rasu­lala), a pair of cops (Albert Hall, George Mur­dock) and the IRS all cir­cle to bring him down, Willie’s empire proves to be built on sand, and a care­ful decon­struc­tion of his own – and cap­i­tal­ist America’s – iden­ti­ty begins.

Willie Dynamite’s very name encodes explo­sive phal­lic prowess, even if the lit­er­al gun that we see him pack­ing in his pants is decid­ed­ly on the small side. When he’s even­tu­al­ly hauled before a court charged with, among oth­er things, car­ry­ing a con­cealed weapon, and brought face to face with both a judge and his own hor­ri­fied, heart­bro­ken moth­er, the cracks final­ly show in Willie’s macho façade. It’s not be long before he is reduced to a bro­ken, weep­ing wreck, tor­ment­ed with guilt for the con­se­quences of his treat­ment of women. All along we know that Dyna­mite’ is mere­ly a street moniker, but it is in the court­room that Willie is tru­ly cut down to size, as we hear for the first time his real and sym­bol­ic sur­name: Short. Mean­while, his once cel­e­bra­to­ry theme song now address­es Willie as King Midas… every­thing you touch turns to dust.”

So while Willie Dyna­mite might at first appear a paean to the pimp lifestyle, by the end it has become a moral fable of remorse and reform, with Cora its true hero, and with Willie hav­ing to reject the bling and brag­gado­cio behind which he has been hid­ing in order to become a bet­ter mem­ber of his com­mu­ni­ty. This is not only a film about con­flicts and con­tra­dic­tions in black iden­ti­ty, but also a sly cri­tique of capital’s ruth­less upward trajectory.

Willie Dyna­mite is released by Arrow in dual for­mat DVD/Blu-ray edi­tion on 6 February.

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