‘The Prinicpal’ art of elevating
garbage into cinematic craft
By Charles Lieurance
Senior Reporter
“The Principal,” State Theater,
14th and 0 streets
Sometimes it’s hard to tell exactly
what it is a movie director docs. Films
have become so slick and seamless
that the director’s work is nearly invis
ible.
In the past the auteur was not so
Movie Review
a terrifying place, a maze of corrup
tion and lawlessness, where scra\ I d
anarchy symbols on the walls take on
a new, menacing significance. Bc
lushi emotes and jokes his way
through the terrors around every cor
ner perfectly. There arc occa
sional thuds throughout the film,
though, where the true banality of the
situations shows through the slick,
i • * I ^ UnfA anrl t linm cnf I
Pw INI'tn VVIIVVI . Iivivwiiw ^
or Bclushi gel a lad too sentimental
and land on a laughably maudlin line
or two. Here and there one of the
jungle kids gets a little too cute and
winds up playing Jai to Bclushi’s
white savage.
The last lines of the film thud like
a plumb bob hitting the bottom of an
oil barrel:
“Who do you think you are, man?”
“He’s the principal, man!” shouts
Jai proudly.
“Yeah, I’m the principal, man,”
says Tar/an.
But considering the enormity of
trash potential in this film, these lines
and scenes arc forgivable, because all
in all “The Principal” is perfectly lik
able and involving. It rides along w ith
breakneck momentum and sheer cha
risma, never stopping to let the audi
ence think about how' ludicrous each
situation is. Had a lull ever appeared in
this film, it would have fallen apart
completely.
T his is the director’s craft and sul
len art, to elevate garbage to the level
of art, to suspend disbelief, to create
inconspicuous. The great directors —
Eiscnstcin, Truffaut, Godard, Hitch
cock — lent a certain jaggedness and
eccentricity to their films that, al
though it hampered commcrciality on
occasion, left a definite director’s
signature on the celluloid.
In modern corporate America, the
mark of a truly ingenious d ircctor may
be his or her ability to salvage com
plete trash.
“The Principal,” directed by Chris
topher Cain, is a perfect example.
Sporting a script full of obvious holes,
nearly absurdist situations and an
inane “new Tar/an” mentality, “The
Principal” would look like unfilmable
crap to most reasonable directors. But
not to Cain, who manages to quell
natural disbelief with an explosive
soundtrack, gritty cinematography
and totally engaging performances by
James Bclushi, Louis Gossett Jr. and
Michael Wright.
Bclushi plays a sort of anti-hero
Tar/an festering in a good white sub
urban school. His dead-end job and
frequent drunkenness have made him
a man of somewhat “uneven” tem
perament. In the first few minutes of
the film, Bclushi explodes when he
sees his w ife in a bar with her divorce
lawyer. Bclushi is one of the few
people who could make a bat-wield
ing drunk sympathetic.
As punishment for his behavior,
Belushi is sent to hell, a blackboard
jungle littered with kids who cat
sweathogs for breakfast. The teachers
have reached a level of scared impo
tence. The police have better things to
do in the neighborhood than keep
track of the kids. And Michael Wright,
as Victor, has formed a brutal, violent
terror-mafia in the school.
As white principal of this black
jungle, Bclushi’s first reaction is to
jump ship fast. But it seems Gossett,
the school security guard who knows
“how things arc 'round Branded
High,” has been waiting for a last
chance white man with Bclushi’s
feverish personality. And together
they set about quenching the fires of
this urban inferno.
For those hypercritical souls who
see through sheen to vapidity with
ease, “The Principal” can hardly be
recommended. At its core is a fraud.
For those who glory in the illusion
and escapism movies can provide,
“The Principal” is an explosive, taut
piece of general entertainment.
Troy Winbush, James Belushi and J.J. Cohen in “The
Principal.”
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