Hip-hop is nothing if not regionalistic. Each coast, state and neighborhood has its own style and sound derived from its particular geo-cultural and historical identity, and every rapper is proud of where he's from. In the 1990s, hip-hop was about NYC's Mafioso grit and the thuggish swagger of California. At the turn of the century, it was about the glitz and heat of New Orleans, but since then, the most important hip-hop in America has come out of Atlanta.
Led by rappers like Lil' Jon, Ludacris, and Ying Yang Twins, the "southern hip-hop insurgency," as The New York Times' Kelefa Sanneh describes it, has become the country's mainstream rap hub. But behind the woofer-shattering crunk bass, the bacchanalian, the party-all-the-time mentality and the sharp-tongued shout-outs and inside jokes is an entire culture that, if you're not from Atlanta, you'll never fully understand. There's a dress code, dialect and lifestyle of which hip-hop is only a small part, and this is what debut director Chris Robinson depicts in "ATL" with surprising success.
With a rookie director, a cast of first-timers, a writer whose only prior credit is "Drumline" (2002), and Clifford "T.I." Harris (yeah, the "Rubber Band Man") making his first appearance on the silver screen, "ATL" might seem like another "8 Mile," only with less qualified people making it. The previews portray a film where a studio figured they could squeeze a few more dollars out of T.I. if they put him in a movie (Warner Brothers, who released the film, also own T.I.'s record label), and at times "ATL" is that kind of movie. More often, though, "ATL" is a detailed look at the culture that feeds America's most important brand of hip-hop.
Interestingly, in a film that stars T.I. and features Antwan "Big Boi" Patton of Atlanta duo Outkast, the only rap in the movie is the soundtrack. Instead, the most crucial element of the plot is roller-skating. Rashad (Harris) and his crew, consisting of Brooklyn (Albert Daniels), Esquire (Jackie Long) and Teddy (Jason Weaver), are just regular Atlanta high school seniors trying to get their lives in order and make it out of their poor hamlet, while blowing off steam by roller-skating/dancing.
The plot is obviously ridiculous, and this is writer Tina Gordon Chism's fault. Having learned little from the disastrous "Drumline" (2002), Chism still feels that stale story trajectories, unutterable dialogue and woeful narrative monologues will rope an audience in. She is very wrong. Are we really supposed to give a s-t if T.I. and friends win the big roller-skating tournament? On paper, the characters are either bland or heinously hackneyed, and they're made interesting only by the actors themselves, who like the film, are surprisingly good.
Harris is wonderful as the honest, hard-working hero. He seems to have come to terms with the awkward lines and the fact that he is playing someone eight years younger than him, relaxing into his own speech patterns and delivering a convincing and endearing performance. Patton, ever the entertainer, is even better in limited screen time as Marcus, the hustling drug dealer that lures Rashad's younger brother (Evan Ross Naess in an impressive turn as Ant) away from the straight and narrow. Other strong performances come from Mykelti Williamson as Uncle George, Rashad and Ant's caretaker and Lauren London as New-New, Rashad's lady friend with a secret.
Still, while the characters are better than expected, the only really fascinating part of "ATL" is the portrayal of the scene. This is due to Robinson, who loads the film with imagery and scenery that are uniquely Atlanta. The film's opening montage, a patchwork of Confederate flags and cotton plants, former plantation homes and crumbling shacks, and bustling urban life and ramshackle rural living, depicts the city and state's crucial past and the polar dualities that define life in one of America's most progressive and racist cities.
The roller-skating scenes are particularly well shot, portraying the teeming rink as a dizzying, cosmic ordeal that actually looks kind of fun. I've never heard of roller-skating as an integral part of low-income Atlanta life, but the way it is represented in "ATL" makes me hope and, more importantly, believe that it is.
Still, it's impossible to ignore the simply terrible elements of "ATL." For all of its not-as-bad-as-you-would-have-expected moments, and all of its pretty damn good moments, a lot of "ATL" is about cashing in on the popularity of the city's hip-hop. Gratuitous sex, laughably thinly veiled product placements, and writing where Chism didn't even try ("I just want you to know the difference between what you feel, and what's real") are impossible to construe as legitimate filmmaking, and they derail what could have been an important movie.
Really, "ATL" suffers from the same problem as its star's music: Caught between a meaningful, skillfully created work and a kitschy good to be bought and consumed, the film does both equally. In between the flashes of regional authenticity and directorial dexterity are flashes of manipulative greed and unwatchable film, but, with a more sincere effort, "ATL" could have been an excellent movie.
