I just saw a strange, beautiful, surreal film on Amazon Prime titled THE LAST BLACK MAN IN SAN FRANCISCO. I am still reeling from the originality of language, and photography - images shot in fits and starts akin to the way we breathe. The depth of respect that a young man has for his lineage is conveyed through the particulars of architectural detail to the house he believes his grandfather built by hand- a gorgeous building on a hill - emblematic of a San Francisco home that once was more accessible than it is today. There are classic views of the city with its steep high-reaching hills reminding me of the artists Diebenkorn and Thiebaud - who have made the city their own through painting.
The movie stars Jimmie Fails (who wrote the screenplay) and plays a character of the same name - Jimmie Fails in the film -and his best friend Monty (Jonathan Majors) both having distinctive dreams, taking separate paths but walking together. One is a poet/artist/playwright and the other an admirer of the delicate beauty of reconditioning - working with his hands as a builder and restorer of what is now discarded and forgotten. Yes, there are psychological links to Jimmy Fails' own childhood, living in group homes, broken both mentally and physically, a key to his obsessive need to reconstruct as a form of regeneration.
A profound sadness permeates the film mixed with illuminating goodness. The tone and rhythm of THE LAST BLACK MAN IN SAN FRANCISCO will not be easily forgotten. The lives of homeless people who live in cars, on the street, and in SRO's are also not buried from our sight but are seen in this film, as is gentrification and the neglect of our environment - issues conveyed with screams into the winds of change.
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