Every Spike Lee Movie, Ranked
In She Hate Me, Spike's camera is deft as always, and his visionary gifts are turned up to ten. But the story here? Wow. Just… wow. Anthony Mackie as lesbian-impregnator-for-moola just leaves me wanting more from a script. Fortunately, there's a strong cast, which includes Monica Bellucci, Woody Harrelson, and Kerry Washington as Mackie's child-seeking, newly queer ex. Any time Isaiah Whitlock Jr. gives us his patented "sheeeeeeee-it!" I’m there. It's not clear how Watergate and the mafia somehow connect to Mackie's baby-making business, but Spike gets a boldface A for ambition. This is easily the director's most inflammatory flick, even if it nosedives fathoms deep into sheer WTF territory. Come for the over-the-top theatrics; stay for the stunning visuals in every scene.
The action in Spike's reinterpretation of Park Chan-wook's 2003 thriller is disturbingly rich. It makes seeing Josh Brolin in the same room for half of the flick worth it. That's not exactly a bad thing, as his artful maneuvers in that hellhole are on par with Bill Murray's subversions of a never-ending morning, à la Groundhog Day. Brolin brings the grace of a noble warrior to the screen as the alcoholic adman Joe Doucett, whose impossibly long stint in that room becomes his idée fixe once he finally gets out. It's an absolute thrill to see a sober Doucett assassinate a large laundry list of rivals in this notoriously inferior remake. This might not measure up to Chan-wook's original, but it's still a great Friday-night screening option.
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We can agree to disagree with Spike's plot choices in this sprawling war epic, as long as you confess that its striking images can't be denied. His great shots of the all-Black 92nd Infantry Division, a.k.a. the Buffalo Soldiers, traversing Italy's bright fields and countryside at the end of World War II are pregnant with pure poetry. And there's a fleeting sense of hope (and a bit of fun) in the scenes where one of the vets (a sharp Omar Benson Miller) interacts with an Italian youngster the men found in a bombed-out building. John Turturro and Joseph Gordon-Levitt shine as a pair of hard-nosed journalists sent to the scene of an unspeakable crime some 40 years after the terrors. Next time this pops up on AMC, give it a shot.
The gloss on this flick is tantalizing and iconic. The all-Prince soundtrack is kickass, and Theresa Randle as a phone-sex worker enchants with her hurried, heard-it-all ambiance. Desperation is a hell of a motivator! So, when Randle's Judy can't land an acting gig after walking out on a director (Quentin Tarantino) who instructs her to undress, she responds to a classified for "friendly phone operators," and we're off to the races. Playwright Suzan-Lori Parks's screenplay brings life to the vivacious call-center women. And Malik Hassan Sayeed's insistent cinematography makes the entire set look like a neon-hued Planet Fitness. It's damn near impossible to underrate Isaiah Washington, who appears as Judy's kleptomaniac ex. I see a lot to love here.
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I'm not going to say that this zonkers musical is a masterpiece, but I really dug the prismatic colors, the Norton Edition touch on Windy City dialect, and Samuel L. Jackson as a Steve Harvey-suit-donning, omniscient narrator. What else? John Cusack as a spitting-mad preacher telling the capital-T truth about the carnage in Chi-Raq, a.k.a. Chicago. Oh yeah, "no peace, no pussy" is a great tagline—possibly the smartest anti-violence assertion since Chris Rock's plea to make each bullet cost $5,000 a pop. Give Teyonah Parris her props for her defiant glare, no-nonsense charm, and unique comedic timing in her portrayal of Lysistrata, whose answer to the carnage is a full-on sex strike, which leaves the trigger-happy boyfriends (Nick Cannon, her beau, included) so hazy, they might just put down their weapons. I might have to watch this again, come to think of it.
This modern take on Bill Gunn's 1973 horror classic, Ganja & Hess, is so alive, so pleasing to the eye. No, it doesn't reinvent the wheel. (Spike stays faithful to Gunn's vision throughout most of the picture.) All the same, the fresh-eyed cast and sharp tone make this gem feel transgressive, almost operating in "Let's rock 'n' roll, baby!" mode. I loved seeing Stephen Tyrone Williams (as Dr. Hess Green) totally devour Felicia Pearson… with his eyes! (Before a pregnant cut to a horrifying scene, to boot.) Ruth E. Carter's prim, vivid threads are like The Great Gatsby meets United Colors of Benetton. Check out the original before you watch this.
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All I can tell you is that Red Hook Summer is weird and some kind of wonderful. Who knows what Spike was thinking when he concocted this film about a widowed pastor dealing with a dark and mysterious past? The tint to this emotive drama is "muted exotic," full of sun (and heat!), which seemingly swallows the housing-project facades and quaint little church where our pastor presides. Clarke Peters dazzles as Da Good Bishop Enoch Rouse. Silas Jules Brown, as Flik Royale, Rouse's thirteen-year-old grandson, does a bang-up job. The music is urgent and piquant, perfectly attuned to the deathbed-repentant-like conviction in the air. Mookie (still in his faded Sal's outfit) turns up, as does Nola Darling (passing out pamphlets as a devout church elder). Something about Red Hook Summer just works.
A satire about kowtowing to the powers that be, Bamboozled is hilarious, preposterous, and sometimes scarily close to real life. Damon Wayans plays a token exec at a big-ticket TV network that's eating away at his soul. As a means of escape (from his contract and Black-influenced white boss), the disavowed suit cooks up a "minstrel show" full of stereotypical attitudes about African Americans—think the foulest, blinged=out reality show known to mankind. I found it funny as hell (and all too typical) that the escape plan backfires once our company shill’s clownish show instantly becomes a success. Years before Donald Glover took shots at token Blacks on Atlanta, this delirious flick (with choice performances from Jada Pinkett-Smith, Mos Def, a.k.a. Yasiin Bey, and Michael Rapaport) laid all the proverbial cards on the table. Watch and laugh—if only to keep from crying.
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Spike's twenty-fourth joint is fun, jazzy, and insatiable. The jokes are nonstop, and there's a raw, sonorous rhythm that pulses throughout this gorgeously shot thriller. Spike and Denzel Washington collaborate for the fifth (and final?!) time, and I swear that they don't miss a solitary beat. Washington is cheesing and hamming it up like it's 2006 all over again, and Spike's omnipresent lens captures a range of emotions. In this reinterpretation of Akira Kurosawa's timeless 1963 flick, High & Low, Washington plays a freewheeling music exec instead of a shoe impresario, as in the decorous original. And his music dynasty makes him the colorful target of a Byzantine ransom ploy. I loved how acidly suspenseful this was, even as it stayed faithful to Kurosawa's masterpiece.
In Theaters
Summer of Sam is such a great look for Spike. He deploys knockout tunes, tasteful acting, and a true-crime junkie’s nirvana in his searing depictions of the freaky mise-en-scène, in which David Berkowitz, the titular Son of Sam, roamed the avenues, armed with a .44-caliber gun. I remember renting Summer of Sam on VHS back in the day and being told by the lady behind the counter, “That’s a nasty movie!” So there’s that. Still, seeing John Leguizamo and Mira Sorvino getting their Saturday Night Fever on is surely a plus. Adrian Brody, dressed for some reason like a long-lost Sex Pistols drummer, is stellar, as is Ben Gazzara as the suspicious neighborhood don.
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Only Spike would have the gall to make a feature based on Minister Louis Farrakhan's solidarity-focused 1995 event in the nation's capital, dubbed the Million Man March. Appropriately, some of the passengers headed to Washington are interested less in the controversial speaker than in the overall message of Black pride and community. (Richard S. Dutton, playing a bus driver with some mild reservations about Farrakhan, shares a thoughtful remark about the bigger picture with another, less understanding driver played smoothly by Richard Beltzer.) But a lot of laughs and the persistent feeling of fellowship make this a worthwhile journey.
Clockers really deserves its 75 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. I didn't like the movie when I first saw it in the mid '90s, but seeing it again, years later, it's obvious that this is one of Spike's better flicks after those early back-to-back classics—a gritty procedural drama with some A1 acting. Mekhi Phifer as a world-scarred pusher, Delroy Lindo catching the acting holy ghost as a vile drug lord, and a shield-flashing Harvey Keitel? Brilliant. Spike nails it on authenticity on this one: the loveless allure of the hand-to-hand-sales market is dissected in haunting, heart-shredding detail, which is, favorable reviews aside, why Clockers didn't sit well with most viewers at the time of its release. (Seven years before The Wire, Spike's seventh joint seemed all too real, too immersive.) But this elastic tale of survival has aged incredibly well.
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The first thing that jumps out at you about this tender coming-of-age gem is its warmth and sensitivity. It's not even a hot take to say that Crooklyn is Spike's most gentle picture. Which is no surprise, as his sister Joie Lee penned the intimate screenplay. Zelda Harris totally mesmerizes as the nine-year-old Troy, the lone girl among four siblings, finding her footing amid the endless stickball and jacks games. You've never seen brighter sunlight than that which envelops the tidy blocks in the picture's opening montage. And you can't wait to see what each new day of a stupendous summer with Troy will bring, watching her play the dozens with a boy around the way or steal goodies from the corner bodega. Nothing touches your heart more than to see Troy's parents (a killer Alfre Woodard and the always on-point Delroy Lindo) making temporary peace over an unpaid-bill-induced candlelight supper as their daughter soaks in the magic moments before young womanhood. Crooklyn is truly one of Spike's unsung triumphs.
Boy, what a stunner! Spike’s post-9/11 drama, released when the country was still recovering from the catastrophe, feels grand, elegiac, and titanic. You can never quite get the images of those ominous blue beams down at Ground Zero out of your head, as Edward Norton, as Monty, the lovable heroin dealer, contrives his way out of the grip of the Russian mafia. A top-class cast—Anna Paquin, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Rosario Dawson, etc.—fervent commentary (there’s a sharp air-out-the-laundry montage, à la Mookie and Pino’s argument in Do the Right Thing), and incendiary imagery make this a real triumph, worth watching again and again.
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This is how a war film should be shot! Spike's ultra-precise lens captures every teeming crevice of the bombed-out terrain—verdant jungles, sand-igniting mortars, and warm camaraderie from a remarkable unit of soldiers. Chadwick Boseman dazzles in his final role as the unit's beloved leader. And Delroy Lindo's PTSD-ridden angst is so palpable, it's downright infuriating. What's a Spike Lee Joint without a heart-gripping score? No jive, I was all but blown away by Terrance Blanchard's fiery orchestral flourishes, which invoke the frenetic gravity of the violent action you see on the screen. It'd put this up against any wartime classic.
Basketball and Spike Lee just make for a splendid match. And the Knicks-obsessed director absolutely scores with this fantastic third collab with Denzel Washington. Seeing Ray Allen maneuver on the court with Washington, who plays his volatile, ex-streetballer dad, is certainly engaging and inciting: You immediately share their hoop dreams, even as you smell trouble just around the corner. Allen, then a Milwaukee Buck, brings practice and vigor to the role (as the NBA-minded Jesus Shuttlerworth), flexing his flat temperament against Washington’s giddy Joe Jackson-like bluster. Rosario Dawson shines as Lala Bonilla, Jesus’s money-grubbing fling, and his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to save his dad from a hopeless fate inspires a rewarding air of suspense. I’m always game for this one.
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This is, arguably, the coolest flick on the list, and definitely one of Spike’s most underappreciated films. It’s worth a watch, though, because in some ways, it’s the quintessential Spike Lee Joint: there’s out-of-sight music, innovative camera sweeps, and a well-timed Kenny G. diss. Mo' Better Blues is his first pairing with Denzel Washington, who gives a searing performance as a lovestruck bandleader dealing with the classic art-commerce conundrum. The colorful vignettes encapsulate the jumpy, electric energy of a famous jazz haunt. And Ruth E. Carter’s decisive costumes—no one wears bright crimson better than Cynda Williams—make this a salacious feast for your eyes.
No wonder Spike won an Oscar for this comedic drama. BlacKkKlansman's screwball script is smart and penetrating, blurring reality and fiction, like a brilliant Chappelle bit. Ron Stallworth, played by Denzel’s gifted firstborn, John David Washington, burns up the screen as an African-American agent who ends up in the Colorado Ku Klux Klan. It’s “you can’t even make this shit up” meets “funny because it’s true” in this politically incisive romp based on actual events. I cackled so hard at BlacKkKlansman, I had to tone down after a bit to take in the intensity and horror in some of the images on display: a burning, KKK-surrounded cross in a gun-bearing Stallworth's front yard, contrasted with maddening footage of fulminating bigots bearing tiki torches at 2017's Unite the Right Rally. This is too monumental for a mere blurb. Just see it, for God's sake.
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I'm up for watching this corrosive thriller any day of the week. A standout Denzel Washington performance, a fast-paced, nail-biter of a plot, and some sternum-shaking one-liners to keep us in stitches—what's not to love! It's impossible not to look in wonder as Spike's scorching Steadicam spotlights the robbers in this bank-heist masterpiece. Washington's sly theatrics as a hostage negotiator are enough to win you over. But there's a heady subplot involving some back-of-the-safe swag pilfered from Nazi Germany, too! Clive Owen, Willem Defoe, Jodie Foster, and Chiwetel Ejiofor all throw down in this bombshell. And the nods to 1975's classic A Dog Day Afternoon are more than welcome in the characters’ ballsy, New York-centric anecdotes. This is no doubt one of the finer films on the list.
Spike Lee might have anticipated the think piece with this incantatory drama. But there's legit artistry on display in his sincere depictions of a Black family man from Harlem cheating on his wife with an Italian-American woman from the segregated wilds of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. There's an opening-credits dedication to Yusuf Hawkins, the African-American youngster who was killed in 1989 by a group of angry whites in that part of town, so, naturally, the topical grievances in this film are as dense as the Sunday Times. There's Wesley Snipes getting his entire closet tossed out the window once his wife finds out about the transgression; meanwhile, Spike delivers a whole heart-wrenching subplot about the devastations of crack cocaine. Still, Snipes's interplay—both urgent and enticing—with his new boo (a fiery Annabella Sciorra) is sublime.
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