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Ray (2004) Universal
Pictures, 2 hrs. 32 mins.
Starring:
Jamie Foxx, Regina King, Kerry Washington, Sharon Warren, Clifton Powell,
Harry Lennix, Bokeem Woodbine, C. J. Sanders, Aunjanue Ellis, Curtis
Armstrong
Directed by:
Taylor Hackford |
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When the legendary musical icon Ray
Charles passed away in June of 2004, an energetic artist with the amazing
flow of creative juices was finally silenced. But Brother Ray will always
have a distinctive voice that can be heard through his countless nostalgic
tunes that will live on and continue to influence those who witnessed how
much he shaped contemporary music of diverse genres. And luckily for Ray
Charles enthusiasts, there’s a rousing portrait of the late great
entertainer captured on film that will continue to sing the praises of one
of America’s most gifted and challenging performers.
In co-writer/director Taylor Hackford’s heartfelt and hauntingly poetic
biopic Ray, the filmmaker serves up a celebration of triumph and tragedy
plaguing a complicated man who has hurdled more obstacles of adversity
than anyone would care to imagine. Ray has its occasional formulaic
moments as it is not a flawless film by any means imaginable. However,
Hackford’s potent examination of Ray Charles and the complexities that
bombarded his radical existence is profoundly revealing and courageous.
From an impoverished background as a blind black child growing up in the
racially hostile Deep South to that of a respected and revered showstopper
that entertained countless millions over the course of several decades,
Ray Charles was definitely one of a kind. To say that Ray had his inner
demons on display would be a monumental understatement indeed. As a
woefully wounded soul, Ray Charles Robinson had several handicaps that
rivaled his blindness. He was a notorious heroin addict and womanizer. And
when it came to business practices, Charles could be shrewd and aloof.
Whatever caustic cloud that hovered over the harried singer’s head could
be considered compelling and cautionary because it made the colorful
coolness of Ray Charles emerge into one of the greatest pop cultural
figures ever to crawl into our musical mindset.
Hackford and his fellow writer James L. White introduce a riveting
narrative that is jarring and jubilant in its dramatization.
Actor-comedian Jamie Foxx is absolutely intense and involving as the
beleaguered yet beloved Ray Charles as he embodies the universal appeal of
the late lyrical genius with a rhythmic thrust that’s tremendously
astounding. Foxx gives a fascinating performance of the deceased recording
star that is undeniably deep and thorough. It goes without saying that
Foxx deserves major Oscar consideration for his uncanny and disciplined
portrayal that touches the sweet and sour notes of a scarred but savvy
showbiz survivor.
It’s a known fact that Hackford spent 15 years in developing his big
screen ode to Ray Charles. In fact, Ray gave the moviemaker thumbs up to
detail his sensationalized story. Why some of the skeptical Hollywood
distributors passed on the opportunity to greenlight Hackford’s
personalized project about Charles remains unclear. Granted some musical
movie biographies can be a tough sell at the box office. However, there
are ready made hits (8 Mile for instance) and well- intentioned misses
(The Doors). When you factor in the recent untimely death of this film’s
subject matter, Hackford’s critically acclaimed profile may get the
poignant response it so richly seeks.
The movie’s setting is circa 1948 and 19-year old rural North
Florida-bound Ray Charles Robinson (Foxx) is a young man on a mission.
Upon hearing about the giddy jazz movement rocking the city of Seattle,
Ray takes off to become part of that finger-snapping happening. Also
enticing is the potential to land a star-making gig at the Rocking Chair
Club. Can the ambitious Ray conquer Seattle with the music so saturated in
his blood?
The film takes some liberties in exploring the many excitable avenues that
Ray has traveled as it skips back and forth while offering snippets of a
biological backlog of key events. Noteworthy flashbacks include Ray’s
early years with a firm mother (Sharon Warren) trying her best to show her
sightless son that self-pity won’t cut it in this hectic world that’ll
pass you by at a moment’s notice. We see how Ray copes with an accidental
family occurrence that leaves him feeling numb and guilty. We learn about
Ray’s first seven years of seeing images until a virulent sickness caused
his permanent blindness. More importantly, we eavesdrop on Ray’s
introduction to music and how it defined him as a special spirit beyond
that of a novelty act.
The later years weren’t so kind to Ray Charles. His well-chronicled
lengthy dalliances with heroin usage made him a habitual junkie that
manipulated his mood swings. Ray may not have had his eyesight to complete
him as an able-bodied man to do the everyday things that sighted people
take for granted but that didn’t stop him from carousing with loose women
despite his marriage to an oddly tolerant wife Della Bea (Kerry
Washington). Ray’s affairs were plentiful and one mistress in particular,
a spitfire singer named Margie Hendrix (Regina King), bore Ray a son.
Margie was a free-thinking diva and made no bones about pleasing Ray
sexually or wanting to partake in his drug-taking malaise. Did Della Bea
willingly put a blindfold on to husband Ray’s interrupting barrage of
drugs and dames in order to preserve her comfortable lifestyle with a
profitable melodious wonder? If Ray couldn’t be faithful or curb his
deviant behavior with various harlots and heroin then Della Bea might as
well look the other way and take advantage of what her heralded hubby
provides her materialistically.
The movie certainly doesn’t go all out to paint Ray Charles as an obedient
choirboy. He’ll do as he pleases and nobody will dictate to him
otherwise—not Della Bea’s gradual nagging or any other source that has a
conflict with his frightening frivolity. Ray may have been contemptuous
but his drive in the studio was a necessary evil. Charles’ continued
absence from home and his neglected family-oriented obligations took a
backseat to his instincts as a prosperous music-maker. Despite the static
that was Charles’ chaotic livelihood, he was still a likeable force guided
by the tenacious tunes that shielded his layered pain. It’s quite
understandable to see how Charles would escape through the conveniences of
excess substance abuse and tempting tarts given the pressures of dealing
with his disability while enduring disdain from the divisive Jim Crow
South.
Of his glorious transitions, we see Ray’s musical career revolve
convincingly as he signs with Atlantic Records. Soon, his late ‘50s era
trademark sound that embraces a gospel and rhythm and blues spin spreads
like an infectious wildfire. As Charles’ popularity soars, the assortment
of women and chemical dependency escalates and the nasty side of the
singing sensation takes on what appears to be an inescapable ugliness of
despair. Not only is Ray’s wife tormented by his down spiral antics hidden
by his success as a capable performer but he also manages to alienate
several loyal friends and working associates. Ray Charles was blessed with
a natural ability to manipulate music and use it as a viable tool to reach
inside the listener’s abandoned consciousness. Although cherished through
his astounding art, he flirted with grim realities as a seriously detached
human accident waiting to happen.
Say what you will about Ray Charles and the juggling of his many
afflictions, indiscretions and overall self-destructive mode—he was still
very supreme in what he accomplished to get over his massive roadblocks to
become one of the instrumental dynamic showman to ever come out of the
twentieth century. Ray had his burdens to bear and the psychological
baggage he carried was magnified twice as much as anybody could handle.
Yet he persevered through the opposition that life handed him from the get
go. Ray may not have handled his topsy-turvy existence in a manner that
could have been more constructive or angelic but he created a musical
legacy for those admirers out there to enjoy eternally.
Ray is an absorbing and enriching study of a lost musical man and the
mayhem that helped along in all its wayward effulgence. Hackford delves
into a different sort of concert film where Charles’ ditties in demand
(“Georgia on my Mind”, “What’d I Say” “Hit the Road Jack”, etc.) provides
an uplifting forum of great songs and disturbing fodder for the asking. As
an exhilarating exposition that snuggles into the vibes of its joyous
beats, Ray can be relentlessly traumatic in its eye-opening grit. The
film’s unique look is polished nostalgically and cinematographer Pawel
Edelman needs to be credited with its sparkling radiance and atmospheric
urgency of the times.
Enough cannot be said about Foxx’s incredible razor sharp characterization
of Brother Ray. Every keen critical mannerism of the late singer is eerily
mimicked with a craftiness and impeccable sophistication that is inspired
in its rawness. Hopefully co-star King will join Foxx in the Academy Award
nomination sweepstakes as her cunning contribution is just as animated and
stark in its devilish skin.
Thankfully, Ray Charles will get his due because he paid the ultimate
price in all his acquired fame and humanistic failures. The movie is a
mere stamp that visually ushers in a vital piece of this extraordinary
resourceful artist. If you really want to accentuate what rockin’ and
rollin’ Ray was all about, there’s a catalogue of his blood, sweat, and
tears waiting to be played on the turntable for posterity. |
