A year after Robert Clouse directed Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon, he turned his attention the one and only Jim Kelly for the 1974 picture Black Belt Jones. Kelly had been in Enter the Dragon with Lee and the filmmaker picked up on his charisma, but it doesn’t exactly translate well to his own vehicle.
At a glance, Black Belt Jones seems like it should be a riot. It features a kung-fu protagonist with an afro and an attitude. It has music from Dennis Coffey, who does not skimp on the funk. There are trampolines and stereotypes galore. Gloria Hendry stars as the karate-chopping Sydney, a badass who can heave kicks and fists just as well as the lead.
Kelly is the titular character and nobody really knows what he does. The mafia is interested in supporting a civic centre, as they have been known to do, and this requires the purchase of a bunch of neighbourhood properties. When they reach the karate school of Pop Byrd (Scatman Crothers!), they learn that their dough can’t buy them everything. They seek out Pinky (Malik Carter).
Pinky tries to bully Pop with his posse but Pop ends up dead, which angers the karate school and leads to the arrival of Sydney (Hendry). She’s Pop’s offspring and she owns the school. She teams up with Black Belt Jones to take on the coterie and Pinky’s clique.
The martial arts of Black Belt Jones is on the dull side, with none of the volatility or elegance of the Lee performances but all of the obligatory audio tricks. Kelly, who is no slouch, has his moves so telexed that they become dreary. The choreography is uninventive and the cinematography handsprings between slow-mo and cutaways, eliminating any energy.
Because of this lack of invention, there’s no spirit. Despite the fact that some enemies sail hundreds of feet through windows, nothing rings with impact. The punches, kicks and chops all have that “slapping” sound effect to them and Kelly’s character tries on a bunch of Lee’s signature vocalizations, but it doesn’t pan out.
The story is garden variety stuff and the karate school isn’t exactly comprised of the most original characters around. There’s potential for some sort of urban flavour, but the Fred Weintraub and Oscar Williams screenplay doesn’t do anything with the scenery. Pinky snaps off the best lines of the bunch with his continuous railing about “commies.”
Indeed, Pinky’s character is perhaps the most layered. He has the most reasons. He is an intransigent capitalist and he’s tired of “student union types” running around his district. He works hard for his cash and doesn’t like the mafia or fledgling black men intent on “communism” trying to hone in. This puts him in a unique position.
Sadly, that’s about it. There’s a spell of disturbing sexual politics when the Law of Movies requires Sydney and Black Belt Jones to get it on. They engage in a rapey “liaison” at the beach, with the all sorts of dialogue about “taking it” preceding Sydney’s assertion that Jones must be some sort of “faggot” to not try something on her. Then they smash someone’s guitar and he looks really, really sad.
A lot of this painful material may be chalked up to the timeframe, but it in no way helps makes the movie more exciting. If anything, it underscores how off the mark Black Belt Jones is. A gawky, obstinate imitator of better martial arts pictures, Clouse’s attempt at Blaxploitation doesn’t land in any camp with conviction.
There’s a lot of blame to go around, from the unimaginative story to the bland martial arts to the stupid “romantic” interlude to the concluding fight in a car wash that finds the soap the most important component. Black Belt Jones is simply nowhere near as interesting or enjoyable as it should be and that’s a damn shame.
Trailer:
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