Rembrandt Q Pumpernickel’s review published on Letterboxd:
That I ever disliked this film seems like plenty good reason to never take anything I've ever said about film seriously. That this film is more relevant and powerful more than 25 years after its release than Selma, which dropped mere weeks ago is both a testament to this film's strength and a sad comment on how little we've grown as a society.
This is one of, if not the most, literate films I've ever seen. From Shakespeare to Tennessee Williams, from 50s melodramas to black musicals, from signifying the monkey to the African diaspora, Spike Lee has pulled far and wide to weave this quilt of great American filmmaking, and well it should be. We're a patchwork, messy society built on a foundation of cultural stew and half understood philosophies taped together. On top of that, it's a sly jab at the cultural coopting that people like Elvis (railed on in the Public Enemy song that bookends this movie) have done. Lee's taken the aesthetic of whites (both high and low) and pasted his black face all over it, claimed it, as so many previous white artists have stolen the art of POC.
One of the most deeply rhythmic non-musical films I've ever seen, it's hard not to get drawn into the ebb and flow of Do the Right Thing. While there's no philosophy here that corresponds with my own (Radio Raheem's probably comes closest: play good music always), I can't help but sort of nod along to what a lot of people are saying due to the way Lee captures a musical sort of speech pattern so well. The bright, popping colors of the red wall that the three men sit in front of or the blue Lakers jersey someone wears, or any of it just accentuates the musical style feel of it. It draws from West Side Story as much as anything, and there's maybe even some Jacques Demy in there as well. I certainly wouldn't put it past Lee considering how many other texts he's managed to stuff in here.
The greatest strength of the film is perhaps that it can revel in something and comment on it at the same time. My favorite scene is likely the one between Spike Lee and Rosie Perez where he thanks god for lips, the neck, the kneecaps, etc. It's extraordinarily clear objectification, a scene that literally breaks Perez's Tina into her component parts and defines her that way, deeply sexualizing her in a fragmented fashion. It's a hot scene too, the rhythm of the editing, the beautiful warm light, and, of course, Rosie Perez' incredible body. Yet at the same time, the audience knows they're looking from Mookie's perspective, who's hardly a hero, who only came by to "do the nasty" and doesn't seem there for her or their son. This is an incredible tightrope to walk, yet Lee does it with the most salient and explosive of topics: gender, race, individuality, police, etc. Too often, especially with Lee, films are so polemic that they're unlikely to get through to anyone except to people who agreed with what the film has to say in the first place. Here he plants seeds so well that I'll bet you thought you thought of them yourself.
The way that the film ends and the nerve that that touches because of recent events is perhaps even more powerful today than it was in 1989. It's been 25 years, and we haven't escaped. Sometimes it feels like we've barely begun. And that's the ultimate depressing truth. Spike Lee isn't prescient; he's telling a story about the late 80's. It just happens to be true today. We all rag on movies with goofy visions of the future that end up way off target. How startling is it that one just trying to present the present did it better than most?
Feels fitting to end the review with two quotes, just as Lee did.
"The next record goes out to Radio Raheem. We love you brother."
"I can't breathe."