On August 11th, 1973 (it was 50 years ago today…), Clive Campbell, aka. DJ Kool Herc, deejayed his sister’s back-to-school party in the recreation centre of 1520 Sedgwick Ave. in the Bronx. He used two turntables and a mixer to extend the drum-heavy “breaks” in certain songs, allowing attendees to dance over isolated percussive interludes. Someone (was it Theodore Puccio? Coke La Rock? Sources vary, ok?) got on the mic and began calling out people’s names in the crowd and performing rhymes, ergo, rapping. And thus hip-hop, for all intents and purposes, was born. While the genre and culture developed slowly throughout the 70s, Kool Herc’s August 11th performance is often considered the pivotal moments in its foundation.
Built on pillars known as the Four Elements of Hip-Hop—MCing/rapping, DJing/turntablism, Graffiti, and Breakdancing, with Knowledge often considered the fifth element—hip-hop went on to become…oh what the fuck am I talking about, you know what hip-hop became, what it is, and how it is, without a reasonable doubt, one of contemporary culture’s most important artforms.
For me, writing this article and celebrating this moment was both very important, and very personal: as an immigrant kid from a war-torn country that literally no longer exists, hip-hop became my first musical love, a beacon towards understanding what it meant to be from somewhere, of somewhere. It gave me a sense of community, of place, even though I’d never been to New York, LA, Atlanta, Detroit, or any of the regions that my favourite MCs cited. It made it so that “home” was not an abstract, unattainable concept: it was five feet away on my CD racks.
Rap was so formative for me that I can clearly remember the exact moment I first heard it. I was around 7 years old and we were at a family friend’s house deep in the heart of Mississauga, Ontario. My parents’ friends had a son who was a few years older than me, and he was forced to hang out with this scrawny, curly haired little dweeb. So we did what any self-respecting kids did in the 90s in Canada: we sat in their cavernous living room that only had a couch and a big screen TV and watched MuchMusic (for any of our international friends, that’s the equivalent of MTV, back when it still played music videos).
And then, it happened, the catalyst for my lifelong infatuation with hip-hop culture: on tv, unfolding before me, in all its raging, Mad Max-themed glory, was the video for “California Love”. Imagine that being your first exposure to hip-hop! I couldn’t find the CD single for the track (remember those?), and the album that “California Love (Remix)” was on was way too expensive (why so many pricey double albums, Pac?). But over the next few months, I began discovering more and more artists through MuchMusic, which my parents very graciously let me watch. Eventually, when I’d saved up enough cash to buy my first CD, we went to HMV in Square One, a mall conveniently located across the street from our apartment building, and with my own money, I bought LL Cool J’s All World: Greatest Hits. The CD itself is yellow. Almost thirty years later, I still have it in my collection, and while it’s not my favourite album of all time, it just might be the most important. If you want to see me perform every line to “Mama Said Knock You Out,” I gotchu.
This month, in celebration of this important milestone (hip-hop, not me getting the LL Cool J CD) the Criterion Channel has released a series of films both about, and influenced by, hip-hop culture, ranging from the earliest known example (Wild Style from 1982), through the 90s and into the 21st century. The energy and influence of hip-hop runs through the cinematic veins of all these films, and they all have a place in hip-hop’s history. Below, That Shelf presents a number of write-ups for every film in the first rollout. More films will be released in September and November, and the article will be updated accordingly. Big thanks to Courtney Small and Colin Biggs for contributing to this article and joining me in celebrating the history of hip-hop on screen, and to you for reading it.
Now put one of these on, pump up the volume, and enter the 36 chambers.*
*Ok, there’s 12 films, not 36, but doesn’t everything sound so much better with a Wu-Tang reference?
WILD STYLE (Charlie Ahearn, 1982)
With a silent intro that bubbles into a bumping track featuring some dizzying record scratching, Wild Style must have been some trip when it was released in 1983. More akin to a pseudo-documentary or an anthology film, Wild Style follows Raymond Zoro (Lee Quiñones), a graffiti artist trying to make a name for himself in the New York graffiti and art scenes. Although Raymond’s story makes up the central plot, the film is essentially a loose collection of scenes and moments that depict various characters participating in the Four Elements of Hip-hop, which culminates in a giant, triumphant concert in a Lower East Side amphitheater meticulously painted by Raymond.
Filmed on location on the streets of the Bronx and the Lower East Side, the film highlights the crumbling architecture and infrastructure of 1980s New York, as well as the perpetually tagged trains that ran through the city. Most importantly, it features a completely original rap soundtrack produced by Fab 5 Freddy and Chris Stein (of Blondie fame!) and includes several hip-hop pioneers in both acting and performance roles, including graffiti artists Lady Pink (aka. Sandra Fabara) and ZEPHYR (aka. Andrew Witten), b-boys the Rock Steady Crew, and various MCs and turntablists, including Fab 5 Freddy, the Cold Crush Brothers, Busy Bee, Double Trouble, and Grandmaster Flash, the eponymous leader of the Furious Five.
There are several seminal rap sequences, including a rap battle between the Cold Crush Brothers and the Fantastic Five on a basketball court (try dribbling while dropping braggadocio bars and then we’ll talk). Later, when the Fantastic Five and Cold Crush perform together in a club, it’s all smooth lines and boasting (Cold Crush in particular are *chef’s kiss*) while The Rock Steady Crew runs the dance floor. It makes you wish you were there.
As an early—and often credited as the first—cinematic document of hip-hop, Wild Style celebrates the Four Elements and their influence on the sound, image, and culture of hip-hop. It’s a beyond-essential watch for any fan of hip-hop and popular culture in general. It’s so groundbreaking, in fact, that Criterion’s main image for this collection features a still from the film.
Now get on the mic!
Favourite Track: “Basketball Throwdown” – Cold Crush Brothers vs. Fantastic Freaks
STYLE WARS (Tony Silver, 1983)
Style Wars begins unlike most hip-hop films: as tagged, colourful subway trains move through the inky night, briefly illuminated by street lights, a soaring orchestral score soundtracks their various journeys through the city…that is, until The Sugarhill Gang’s “8th Wonder” blasts through the speakers, and we are thrust into the other essential early cinematic document of hip-hop culture. Through interviews with graffiti artists (who also call themselves “writers” and “bombers”), parents, politicians (including mayor Ed Koch), cops, transit employees, and art critics, Style Wars explores the duality of graffiti (dubbed the “written word” of hip-hop): to some, it is a crime, a nuisance, and an eyesore; to others, it is an emotionally and physically moving artform. Rooted in secrecy, particularly when it comes to tagging trains, graffiti is presented as an “illicit art,” similar to tattooing. It’s done in dangerous, (quite literally) underground situations; it’s illegal; and it angers a lot of people. In fact, it’s called a “miserable subculture” by the mother of one of the writers. Although the film explores other elements of hip-hop culture (breakdancing and MCing), and its soundtrack is permeated with pioneering hip-hop acts like Grandmaster Flash, Trouble Funk, and the aforementioned Sugarhill Gang, it does so only in passing. Because of its genesis as a PBS special, it has a distinctly procedural, news-report feel to it, with a much more languid pace than other films on this list. And yet its influence and its ability to endure as a historical document of hip-hop culture lies in the reality and intensity of its characters. They are all unique, full of convictions and incredibly passionate about their work. They believe in this artform, in their talent and their skills, and, as one passerby notes, “I never realized it meant so much to them. […] I just thought they were writing, just writing anything. But I guess it has a deep meaning.” You’re damn right it does.
NOTE: Unfortunately, the version featured on the Criterion Channel does not include the 40 minutes of deleted scenes (dubbed “The Outtakes”) that are included on the film’s Blu-ray, nor does it make them available for viewing. I highly recommend seeking those out for the complete experience.
Favourite Track: “Reckin’ It” – The Fearless Four
BEAT STREET (Stan Lathan, 1984)
Beat Street follows the aspirations of four hip-hop aficionados—DJ/MC Kenny “Double K” Kirkland, graffiti artist Ramon “Ramo” Franco, friend/manager Chollie Wilson, and Kenny’’s brother, Lee, a breakdancer and aspiring hip-hop head who wants to learn allllll of the elements but needs to finish his homework first—as they try to make a name for themselves in New York’s hip-hop scene. The film takes a dramatic look at the social issues affecting young people of various races and ambitions in New York in the 80s, including premarital pregnancy, unemployment, and a lack of social services and structures. Of all the films on the list, Beat Street, for me, captures the energy and influence of hip-hop on the streets of New York itself, filming across almost all of the Burroughs, in burned out buildings, in the subways, and on the sidewalks, street corners, and park areas where young hip-hop devotees congregated. Like many of the early hip-hop films, Beat Street features performances and cameos by a number of pioneering hip-hop artists, but it also recognizes the importance of night clubs in the proliferation of hip-hop. A number of scenes take place at the legendary Roxy in Manhattan, including a wild battle between the central breakdancing crews, the Beat Street Breakers (Lee’s crew) and the Bronx Rockers. Although the film features its fair share of boisterous musical numbers, showcasing hip-hop’s influence on the youth of New York, its ability to maintain the drama wavers, and the inclusion of Spit (an anonymous rival graffiti artist who defaces more complex pieces, and who’s eventually confronted by Ramon in the film’s climax) is particularly absurd. As a musical drama, the film clearly tries to appeal to a more mainstream audience by closely following Saturday Night Fever’s plot, themes, and approach to depicting a nascent culture. While I don’t think Beat Street exploits hip-hop solely for commercial gain, by the end, it all starts to feel a bit too derivative for me.
Favourite Track: “Us Girls” – Sharon Green & Lisa Counts & Debbie D
KRUSH GROOVE (Michael Schultz, 1985)
Loosely based on the early days of Def Jam, Krush Groove is a lively musical dramedy that follows Russell Walker (a facsimile of Def Jam co-founder Russell Simmons) as he tries to grow his fledgling independent hip-hop label, Krush Groove. The film explores some of the dynamics between hip-hop and the mainstream (here personified by greasy record executives and unsavoury backers), particularly the exploitation and branding that hip-hop experienced in its infancy at the hands of corporations, advertisers, and investors. The film, which is very similar to Wild Style in terms of plot progression, also features numerous hip-hop artists in acting and performance roles, including Run-D.M.C. & Jam Master Jay, The Fat Boys, Kurtis Blow, the Beastie Boys, LL Cool J, and producer/Def Jam co-founder Rick Rubin. Unfortunately, even with all of these influential artists taking part, Krush Groove is…well, it’s not good. The sophomoric humour has definitely aged badly (and probably wasn’t even funny in the 80s); much of the acting leaves a lot to be desired, which makes the dramatic scenes unbearable; the plot is a mess; and while the songs themselves are classics, many of the musical numbers are unimaginative, flat, and poorly directed (although two outliers are Sheila E.’s performance of “Love Bizarre,” and LL Cool J’s immortal “I Can’t Live Without My Radio”). As a celebration of one of hip-hop’s earliest and most influential labels, Krush Groove is an interesting artifact of hip-hop’s first “Golden Age.” Unfortunately, its place in hip-hop’s cinematic history is tainted by the numerous sexual misconduct and assault allegations that were levied against Russell Simmons in 2017 and 2018, leading to his resignation from numerous companies, including Def Jam. Ultimately, Krush Groove comes across as a poorly veiled 90-minute advertisement for Def Jam, which renders it more of a hollow product than a film.
Favourite Track: “I Can’t Live Without My Radio” – LL Cool J
DEEP COVER (Bill Duke, 1992)
Gritty, nihilistic, and drenched in the colour and squalor of 90’s LA, Bill Duke’s explosive neo-noir is a scathing look at the corruption found within the highest levels of law, politics, and law enforcement. Lawrence Fishburne plays Russell Stevens Jr., a Cincinnati cop transferred to Los Angeles to go undercover and infiltrate a drug ring involving politicians, lawyers, and DEA agents. What follows is a looping descent into a criminal underworld populated by more suits than you can shake a Versace stick at. Fishburne, who also narrates throughout, plays the role beautifully, a robust, complex, and very 90s version of the PI’s that populated classic noirs. Jeff Goldblum is perfect as the slimy attorney David Jason: he’s equally pathetic and menacing, squirmy and intimidating, especially when he starts slicking back his hair (…*shudder*…). The soundtrack, which features the first appearance on a song by one Calvin Cordozar Broadus Jr. (on the film’s Dr. Dre produced, 17-out-of-10 title track), is a well-balanced collection of hip-hop, R&B, G-funk, new jack swing (everyone’s favourite lost genre), and reggae. Released exactly two weeks before the start of the Los Angeles Riots (a result of the brutal beating of Rodney King and the justice system’s failure to prosecute the officers involved), the film is a prescient indictment of bureaucracy and systemic corruption, with Duke antagonizing the very notion of “crime”: who commits it, what’s considered “criminal,” and how (or even if) it will be punished. Although the film neatly answers many of these questions, it nevertheless leaves you feeling even more cynical about what passes for law enforcement. And it don’t stop.
Favourite Track: “Deep Cover” – Dr. Dre featuring Snoop Doggy Dogg
FEAR OF A BLACK HAT (Rusty Cundieff, 1993)
Director Rusty Cundieff’s mockumentary of the fictional rap-group N.W.H. is the This Is Spinal Tap/Popstar treatment of the hip-hop scene you never knew you wanted. Tracing the meteoric rise of Ice Cold, Tone-Def, and Tasty Taste, Fear of a Black Hat follows the conventions of musical biopics all the way down to the eventual fall and resurrection of N.W.H., adding in laughs whenever possible. Call-backs to the odd number of mysterious deaths that plagued past managers, a full album’s worth of memorable parody songs, and the deft timing of the ensemble make up for the sometimes over-elongated jokes that don’t work. To successfully create a parody, you have to actually love the source material (thus the difference between Mel Brooks’s Blazing Saddles and Spaceballs), and it’s clear that Cundieff is well-versed in Public Enemy and N.W.A (he’s also not so cautious that he can’t poke fun at the irony of Ice-T playing a cop in New Jack City). Shot to resemble guerilla filmmaking and the MTV aesthetic of the 90s, the film lightly riffs the culture it lambastes, but also bears problematic elements from the early 90s as well. A spiritual cousin to CB4 (that film had Chris Rock, which made it a lot more popular) that fell by the wayside at the box-office, Fear of a Black Hat deserves a reappraisal. Why not start it yourself? — Colin Biggs
Favourite Track: “Oh, definitely ‘Fuck the Security Guards’ – N.W.H.”
GHOST DOG: THE WAY OF THE SAMURAI (Jim Jarmusch, 1999)
Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is often spoken about in terms of how it blends the crime dramas of Jean-Pierre Melville and Seijun Suzuki. However, the film is much more than the sum of its inspirations: bringing a fresh take on the classic trope of a contract killer, Jarmusch crafts a film that is drenched in samurai lore and hip-hop swagger. Ghost Dog (Forest Whitaker) is betrayed by the same folks that hired him, and although he adheres to the teachings of ancient Japanese culture, he operates in a world infused with rap music. This is evident in the CDs he plays prior to an assignment; the raps that locals perform singing his praises; and the comedic way a racist mafia member declares his deep love for Public Enemy. Through Ghost Dog, Jarmusch creates a tragic hero who truly feels a part of the community he lives in, despite his loner status. He receives nothing but respect from those who pass him on the streets and displays genuine connections when interacting with Raymond (Isaac De Bankkolé), the French speaking ice cream salesman who Ghost Dog does not understand, and Pearline (Camilie Winbush), a young avid reader who he meets at the park. Couple all of this with a piercing score by Wu-Tang Clan’s RZA (which make a scene where Ghost Dog is practicing with his sword feel like a cool hip-hop dance), and you have a film that is endlessly fascinating. Part of the 1999 creative cinematic explosion, Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai still feels as fresh and as entertaining today as it did upon its release. — Courtney Small
Favourite Track: “Fast Shadow” by Wu-Tang Clan
FREESTYLE: THE ART OF RHYME (Kevin Fitzgerald, 2000)
On the song “Freestyle Fresh”, found on his album Topanga, Salt Lake City rapper Atheist (aka. Rhyme Time) cheekily notes that no one freestyles on the radio anymore, all while pretending to do just that. While watching Kevin Fitzgerald’s documentary Freestyle: The Art of Rhyme, I could not help but think about that song’s playful commentary on the state of modern hip-hop MCs, specifically the longstanding dichotomy between those who write their raps, and those who can spit off the top of their head. The film takes audiences through the origins of freestyling, from early hip-hop and the communal euphoria of “the Cypher” (a circular gathering where every participant contributes a verse), to the cutthroat terrain of battle rap competitions, offering a well-rounded exploration of the poetic beauty of freestyling. Through interviews with the likes of Mos Def, Boots Riley, Supernatural, Juice, and Bobbito Garcia (to name a few), one begins to understand the cultural and communal impact of hip-hop, the way it brings people together, fosters poetic expression, and provides a voice for protesting police harassment and more. The film includes clips of Notorious B.I.G spitting rhymes on the street, and The Roots’s Black Thought freestyling as Questlove throws out random words for him to rhyme. Through these clips, we get a deeper understanding of the amount of skill it takes to master the artform. Regardless of whether you bleed hip-hop, or your knowledge stops at simply knowing the name “Eminem”, there is plenty to learn from this documentary. — Courtney Small
Favourite Track: Me and Jesus the Pimp in a ’79 Granada Last Night – The Coup
SCRATCH (Doug Pray, 2001)
Interviewing some of the most important producers, DJs, and turntablists in hip-hop, Scratch is an in-depth overview of the history and art of DJing and turntablism, and a snapshot of the art of mixing and its place in hip-hop culture in the early 2000s. Before any MCs were invited to join the party, it was the DJ who was “the source of the energy”: they controlled the rhythm and flow of the dance parties that gave birth to hip-hop, and it was a DJ, Clive “Kool Herc” Campbell, who is widely credited—both historically and in the documentary—as the founder of hip-hop music. Although MCs became centralized as the “power of hip-hop,” DJs were the backbone, particularly in the early days of block parties and clubs, and in Scratch, MCing is relegated to a secondary role. We love rappers, but there would be no rap as we know it without DJs. The film is as expressive and as energetic as the scratching itself, highly controlled yet entirely kinetic. The editing flows and jitters with the breaks and scratches of the soundtrack, reflecting the rhythm of the streets and neighbourhoods that birthed this revolutionary artform. Most importantly, it celebrates turntablists and DJs as gifted musicians. The film intimately (and, for some viewers, no doubt exhaustively) presents DJing and turntablism as a crucial element in the development of hip-hop, a celebration of a virtuosic technique that is essentially a lost art in today’s digital landscape. As Grand Wizzard Theodore says near the end of the film, “You have to know where hip-hop’s been to know where it’s going,” and I couldn’t agree more: even if you don’t listen to “the old stuff”, or understand it, or even care for it, you have to respect it. It’s the fu-fu-fu-foundation *drum break* so you better rrrrrrrespect the decks, and *vrrrrrpp* CHECK…THE COOL…WAX! *scratch OUT*
Favourite Track: the repeatedly cited OG, “Rockit” – Herbie Hancock (with scratching by Grand Mixer DXT, with additional turntablism by Mr. C and Boo-Ski of the Infinity Rappers, and Grandmaster Caz)
BEATS, RHYMES & LIFE: THE TRAVELS OF A TRIBE CALLED QUEST (Michael Rapaport, 2011)
I covered this film and its music in depth in 2021 (and you know they’ve got the jazz. Michael Rapaport does a pretty good job, too.)
*Represent! Represent!*
(Always remember: the music is untouchable)
Favourite track: “Excursions” from The Low End Theory (1991)
SOMETHING FROM NOTHING: THE ART OF RAP (Ice-T and Andy Baybutt, 2012)
In his feature film directorial debut, Something from Nothing: The Art of Rap, rapper/actor/ Ice-T tells us that “This film is about the craft, what it takes to write a rap. The art of rap.” As a relatively comprehensive and altogether intimate look at MCing and rapping, Ice-T interviews dozens of rap’s most lauded luminaries, from early progenitors to some of its all-time biggest stars. It explores the depth and artistry behind rapping, as well as the intricacies, frustrations, and triumphs of writing original rhymes that impress not only fans, but—perhaps more importantly—other rappers. Although the film itself isn’t very cinematic (its flyover shots of various cities definitely become repetitive, and eventually start to feel like a filmmaking crutch), and it only sporadically edits its images to the sounds, flows, and rhythms of its participants, the simplicity of the filmmaking allows the acrobatic wordplay to sit centre stage, which is clearly what Ice-T wants, and where it should be. My biggest complaint is that his focus on the coasts—NY and California, with a short detour through Detroit (thanks Eminem and Royce da 5’9”)—means that many important hip-hop regions and MCs are left out of the conversation, particularly rappers from the South and Florida (an entire documentary on the art of rapping and no mention of Outkast or the Geto Boys? Come on, now!). There’s also a distinct lack of MCs from the underground, De La Soul, and female rappers (no Missy? Lauryn Hill? Lil’ Kim? Queen Latifah?? Has Ice-T ever heard “Ladies First”???). I know it’s impossible to expect everyone to get their due, but this is an overview of the art of rapping, and those exclusions are particularly unfortunate. Much like Scratch, hip-hop heads will undoubtedly appreciate the film’s very deep dive into rapping and MCing, an element of hip-hop that many music fans often fail to differentiate from hip-hop music as a whole (remember, MCing alone isn’t hip-hop!). Casual filmgoers may find themselves drifting during the film’s 111-minute runtime, especially if they don’t have a deep love for rap’s “verbal gymnastics” or aren’t used to acapella freestyling (as DJ Premier says, “If you don’t know how to listen to it, it doesn’t make sense.”). Nevertheless, those who respect the form on its own will love the camera-facing performances and painstaking explorations of the styles, approaches, and philosophies of rap. Just remember: “This is not a game; this is the art of rap.”
Favourite Track: The in-film soundtrack is basically a “hip-hop’s greatest hits,” and there are dozens of S-tier songs featured, so I’m picking my 3 favourites because it’s my list. Don’t lose sleep:
JAMEL SHABAZZ STREET PHOTOGRAPHER (Charlie Ahearn, 2013)
Jamel Shabazz is best known as a photographer, but, by extension, he is also a historian and a storyteller. Using the New York subway system as an initial muse to find subjects, Shabazz captured life in its purest form. His work not only documents the influence that rap music and break dancing had on a culture, but also provided a snapshot of what communities were like before the earthquake that was the crack epidemic crumbled homes. One of the most intriguing aspects of Charlie Ahearn’s documentary is observing the way others react to Shabazz’s photos. Watching KRS-One, Bobbito Garcia, and others in the community examining Shabazz’s photos is like observing someone opening a time capsule. The photos not only share stories about those who have passed away, but also provide insight into people’s personalities, simply through the type of clothes they wore and the way that they posed. While the film could have delved a bit deeper into Shabazz’s time in the military and as a correctional officer, the way his camera freezes an era in time is the main draw here. His images not only captured the birth of early hip-hop fashion long before it was mythologized in rap songs and music videos, but the people and communities that led the trends. — Courtney Small
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And there you have it, the first part of Criterion’s celebration of hip-hop. Come back in September and November, when we’ll examine even more films that explore, reflect on, and are influenced by this ever-evolving cultural force, including Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, John Singleton’s Boyz n the Hood, and Hype Williams’s Belly.
One final note: if you’re still looking for more hip-hop content, and want to delve even deeper into the history of the culture, I can’t recommend Hip-Hop Evolution enough. Across its 16 episodes, the series explores various time periods and regional scenes through hundreds of interviews and songs. It’s also hosted by the ever-amiable rapper Shadrach “Shad” Kabango, whose knowledge and interview skills make this docuseries essential viewing.
