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Home  play by play (music) Biggie & Tupac
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Biggie & Tupac |
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Written by Kyle Beachy
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Tuesday, 01 April 2003 |
At its core, it's a brilliantly simple, distinctly American strategy:
plunder topics from the headlines of the most widely watched media
outlets, invest a negligible amount of money and enough research so
that you'll at least appear knowledgeable, and bundle it all together
in a gritty, pseudo-news documentary form. Go straight to video with
thousands of VHS tapes peddled on TV and available at your local
Blockbuster Video. Then proceed to chortle all the way to the
proverbial bank. Call it sensationalism or call it iconography. Tomato,
tomahto. If the subject matter is popular enough, there's no doubt
people will pay.
Therein lies the true genius of Nick Broomfield. You've undoubtedly
seen commercials for his videos, especially if you're the type to stay
up late flipping randomly through your hundred-some mind-numbing cable
channels. His Web site credits him with upward of 20 films, most of
which have never made it to our shores from the U.K. There are three,
though, that for obvious reasons have captured American attention:
Heidi Fleiss Hollywood Madam, Kurt & Courtney, and the recent
Biggie & Tupac, which, after a brief stint in theaters, has found
its way onto VHS and DVD.
It is tempting, especially for someone with even a single cynical bone
in her body, to dismiss Biggie & Tupac as nothing more than a
thinly veiled scheme to capitalize on black America's love for its two
slain stars. It'd be even easier to question the audacity of someone
who exists so fundamentally outside the world of hip-hop-namely, a
thirtysomething white Londoner who looks disturbingly like the asshole
judge from American Idol-who thinks that he, somehow, has stumbled upon
secrets of two murder cases that the FBI, the LAPD, and a relentlessly
curious Volletta Wallace (Biggie's mother) have failed to discover. And
to top it off, Broomfield's legitimacy is made even more suspect every
time he pronounces Tupac's name as if it rhymes with "poo shack," as if
the rapper were known as one-third of a six-pack. Two-pack. Because,
damn, if that isn't annoying.
Somewhere along the production line, though, Biggie & Tupac morphed
into something much more. Something unfluffy; something with a
backbone; something even (gasp!) important. The film begins with a
focus on the past, biographically charting the rise of two stars. There
is commentary from Tupac's former acting teacher, as well as scenes
with his biological father. There is also a rare handycam scene of a
young and slightly skinnier Biggie straight ripping shit to a circle of
friends in Bed-Sty.
But it is when Broomfield starts getting into the meat of their murders
that the excitement begins. Broomfield bounces between U.S. coasts,
traveling from New York to Los Angeles and back repeatedly to meet with
a cast of characters who are clearly discomforted by the information
they possess. What begins to emerge is a conspiracy theory that harks
back all the way to the 1960s, when J. Edgar Hoover's paranoia led to
the FBI following powerful black leaders for fear of an uprising that
would topple the American white establishment. There is a now-retired
LAPD officer who claims to have been pressured off the force for his
interest in the Tupac case. Former officers who worked at Death Row
while off duty are now suspiciously isolating themselves on horse
ranches far away from the music industry. And in a twist that just
screams Hollywood, there is a fat, slouchy white man who claims to have
gotten involved in the murder plots when he ran into Suge Knight at a
gentleman's club in L.A. And get this: he calls himself "The
Bookkeeper."
If it sounds complicated and difficult to follow, that's because it is.
Clearly, Broomfield's intention with the film was not to provide a
definite solution to the as-yet unsolved murders of Biggie and Tupac.
Rather, it is an exposé in the truest sense of the word. And in this
sense, Broomfield does a fine job unearthing facts and details that are
integral to the understanding of the case, at least as he presents
them. Regardless of what people may say about his standing as a
journalist, it is undeniable that Broomfield is not (totally) afraid to
dig into areas that some would prefer undug. And the punchline? Well,
since Biggie & Tupac was released, the LAPD has reopened the
Christopher Wallace (Biggie) murder case and for the first time appear
to be investigating how it might be related to the murder of Tupac
Shakur in Las Vegas.
I recently was fortunate enough to speak with Nick Broomfield from his
home in London. Despite the fact that he continues to refer to him as
"Two-Pack" and even mentions his former record mate, "Snyewp Dogg," it
was an interesting conversation that revealed a man intent on
understanding not only America's idols, but also the very heart of
America itself.
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