“It doesn’t add up, Mr. Case. It does not add up.”
We all love a good detective story, and this is one of my favorites. It starts out simple, but the questions and complications pile up fast. And, as we might expect in a Spike Lee joint, we don’t get answers to many of them. It’s a classic bank heist movie—until it’s not. It’s watchable and re-watchable, and would be a worthy addition to a unit of detective movies. (Indeed, just spitballing, here: Knives Out would make a great pairing.)
“Pay strict attention to what I say, because I choose my words very carefully, and I never repeat myself.”
The opening, which seems simple and standard enough, announces the film’s presence with authority. Like most of Lee’s best openings, it exudes confidence and swagger. It’s impossible not to like.
The opening has two alluring elements. First is the camera-spiking Dalton Russell, who establishes at least a few of the baseline rules for this story, and, in the process, reveals himself as both charismatic and cocky. Second is the introductory sequence, featuring the very catchy “Chaiyya Chaiyya,” which serves as the soundtrack for a series of establishing shots. It’s a bit off-brand for Lee, and I love it. It doubles as a love song video to New York City, and it’s fun as hell. (Full disclosure, here: I might be a bit biased, because I’m pretty sure I can see my mom’s old apartment building in one of the shots.)
A tight Act I ends only a few minutes later: Arthur Case has just sighed, “Dear God”; and Frazier and Mitchell are on the scene.
“He’s up to somethin’, but it ain’t violence.”
Do the Right Thing (a film I’ll pitch in the future) is, for me, a double-edged sword when it comes to Spike Lee films. I love it so much that ever since I first saw it, I trust Lee enough that I’ll see any movie he makes. And along with that adoration comes one stipulation: for me to like a Lee film, it has to look and feel like a Lee film. I understand that this standard is vague and subjective. To the extent it helps, I’ll say I didn’t love BlacKkKlansman; most of it doesn’t look or feel like a movie only Lee could make.
Inside Man, though, never goes too long without a signature shot or moment that could inspire discussion in a class. These include, but are not limited to:
Vikram the Sikh teller facing a racist and anti-muslim rescue, and then discussing the prejudice he faces in post-9/11—only for Frazier to fire back with, “I bet you can get a cab, though.”
The video game scene. Lee pushes in and then pulls back from this classic “Pet the Dog” moment for Russell, who says, “I gotta talk to him about this game.” The scene is also an avenue for Lee to invite discussion on violence in general and video games in particular.
The Hitchcock shot of Arthur Case as Russell explains the twist.
The shot of the “We Will Never Forget” wall.
The numerous shots that show appreciation for the city’s architecture. (My favorite is the one of Frazier going down the spiral staircase.)
The signature double dolly with Frazier as he scurries after the supposed execution.
Passages of riffy and seemingly authentic dialogue (some of which could be ad-libbed).
An Easter egg for Do the Right Thing fans: the pizza is from Sal’s Famous!
“Careful, Detective Frazier. My bark is much worse than my bite.”
As is the case with all great films, it’s the characters that make the film so engaging. This particular set of characters happens to feature creatures of will who read rooms well and understand leverage. They are unafraid of stand-offs, and ask no quarter. So many interactions play as high-stakes negotiations: Who’s going to blink first? Who’s going to nuke the deal?
Russell’s interrogation of Peter Hammond marks him early on as smart, capricious, and ruthless. (To be sure, we later find out that his punishment of Hammond is not very effective evidence of his ruthlessness.) But this scene matters, because . . .
Effective and amoral, Madeline White also establishes herself as a wrangler of wills. She seems to have always done her homework, and knows her opponent’s weak spots. She is mysterious and confident: when Arthur Case thinks he has cornered her into a position of vulnerability, she tells him, “Whoever called you got the same deal. They must have been satisfied.” Without losing her cordiality, she makes him squirm right in front of her. (She’ll get him to squirm in their later confrontation, as well.)
And she is both cold and charming in her coercion of the mayor. (I love this scene, especially how abruptly they transition from their public to secret personas. If I ever teach the film, one of my questions is going to be: What exactly does White have on the mayor? What secrets is he preserving by getting her what she wants?)
The structural significance of establishing these patterns of dominance, of course, is that when we get the highly anticipated showdown between them in the bank, we know that neither one is to be messed with; and thus, Russell’s win has gravity, weight. Though she recovers well, he catches her off-guard, and that she has to scramble even a little bit lets the audience know how significant his secret is.
I mean, every confrontation involving Russell, Frazier, White, and Case as one of the players would be fun to dissect with a class. The dialogue is crisp, and the acting is fun to watch.
“They were very . . . insistent, and yet strangely detached.”
The filtered interview scenes (is it fair to call them sepia?) have sneaky significance. They are genuinely funny and riffy and charming, and are important in ways we won’t know until later. If I taught this film in a class, I would try and show them all consecutively, and ask the class what patterns emerge from the scenes, what storytelling agendas they advance.
One function, of course, is to relieve tension. We know that everyone interviewed survives. Another function, though, is to confuse both the detectives and the audience, to throw everyone off the scent at least a little. My favorite is when Frazier asks the older woman, “Did you rob the bank?” It’s funny, yes, and played as absurd. But, I mean: did she? By the end of the film, can I say for a fact that she wasn’t involved in some way?
These scenes lead to some very fun questions, some of which—as I mentioned above—do not have definitive answers. Even by the end, we don’t know how many people are involved. So it would be fun to show the sepia scenes, and have the class discuss which characters they thought (or knew) were in on the job. (I’ve seen the film several times, and I still find this exercise engaging.)
Or how about these: What brought the coalition together in the first place? What is their real motivation? And then, once we’re there, it’s worth asking about Case the following: assuming he’s talking about everything after getting into business with the Nazis, is Case being sincere when he tells Frazier, “I’ve spent my life serving humanity”? What evidence do we have that we should or should not believe him?
And then there’s a classic Film Lit follow-up: let’s say—just for the sake of argument—that we do believe him, that his life has featured, as Russell says, “a lifetime of good deeds and a sea of respectability.” If we are being charitable, what picture are we left with? How charitable should we be? What does the film seem to say? (In my experience, with the right personnel, these discussions get philosophically fruitful very quickly.)
“This ain’t no bank robbery!”
I’ll admit it’s insufficiently academic to say that I just like this film’s vibes. But look: what we have here is a very cool and slick crime movie where—and this is important!—no one dies. The only violence is hypothetical, pixelated or staged. It features issues of class and race and morality, and is still a lot of fun. It’s a great watch the first time, and an even better watch the second time.
“Respect is the ultimate currency. . . . But inevitably, the further you run from your sins, the more exhausted you are when they catch up to you. And they do.”
See you April 19th, when we discuss—at last, for some—Little Miss Sunshine (2006).