Fear of a Judeo-Nubian Planet
Essentially, the politics of Marci X can be summed
up as follows: WASPs are intimidated by blacks because they
have big penises, and they hate Jews because they have money.
Or, if you prefer, in the language of Paul Rudnick (who most
of us know by his alter-ego, Premiere's Queen of Snark,
Libby Gelman-Waxner): The Power in the Pants and The Power
in the Purse. In fact, Marci X suggests a Judeo-Nubian
synergy: Uptight WASPs like Senator Mary Ellen Spinkle (standing
in for Lynne Cheney) would quake with fear if Hebrew Dollars
directly funded Black Aggression.
I only say Nubian because random pseudo-African gear pops
up whenever Dr. Snatchcatcher talks about going "Old
School." Marci X is so out-of-touch that it thinks
rappers can still offend us: We no longer fear a black planet,
and Compton now produces tennis champions. Yet, the nation
goes Tipper over Dr. S' latest hit, "I'm the King of
Your Mouth." Now I know what you're thinking: That's
kinda funny. Yes, and in a Rusty Cundieff way, "It Ain't
My Baby Because I Don't Like You" works too. But those
are the high points of the movie. Within the first twenty
minutes, Marci and her JAP chorus make their way on-stage
at the least convincing gangsta rap concert in the historyit
looks like Homey the Clown rapping at a community theater.
Dr. S "keeps it real" by refusing to censor his
lyrics, even though their controversy drove Marci's father
to a heart attack. So he tosses Marci the mike. The Fat Sassy
Black Bitches yell mean things at Marci, but she pulls it
together and, backed by her JAP chorus, raps about her purse.
Which turns the community theater into a gospel show. So Dr.
S falls in love with Marci.
That's more or less what happens, if you can make any sense
of it. To be honest, I was irretrievably startled after the
opening scene in which Marci, whose life consists of emceeing
fundraisers for the American Jewish Federation, says to polite
applause, "You Jews, you wonderful Jews. Who needs Santa
Claus, am I right?!" Or when her JAP shrew friend observes
the drug addicts for whom they're raising money: "Can
you imagine being addicted to heroin?" "But does
the weight stay off?" If you don't think drug addiction
is funny enough for you, then how about very cruel made-up
diseases? Marci talks Dr. S into emceeing a Jewish benefit
for Kids Without Feeling in Their Arms (KWIFTA); he raps to
old Jewish women about how small their husbands' penises are,
which gets them and the whole room to raise the roof. Except
for the kids. They have no feeling in their arms. So their
arms just flop around while they dance.
I'm not sure what else to say about Marci X. This
half-finished review has been sitting here for four weeks,
which means Marci X has been out of the theaters for
three. Well, let's try this: At the big congressional hearing
about Dr. S' (this S stands for "Snatchcatcher) rap lyrics,
he uses the opportunity to defend himself. As far as I can
tell, this legal argument proposes that black people's preference
for anal sex is a response to slavery. Or, as Marci puts it
(as she sits at the congressional hearing in her pseudo-Nubian
outfit), "Let me love you with respect." That's
what violent, misogynist ass-fucking really means in rap songs.
Then Dr. S and Marci get married. Which should really scare
WASPs, I guess. But not so much that President Bush doesn't
ask Dr. S to address the nation. That's the scene I wanted
to see. Maybe in Marci X 2, Dr. S and Al Sharpton can
be the Democratic ticket in 2004. Can't be worse than Head