A LOVE SONG FOR LATASHA: FILM REVIEW
In historical contexts, Latasha Harlins’ name is inseparable from her tragic death — a victim of another racially-motivated shooting in a country that continuously fails to acknowledge that the cost of racism is someone’s life — and more. However, to remember someone solely for their end is de-humanizing, as their life existed independent of such an inconsolable and unjust event. Like others who have died in the hands of an unjust system that does not seek to protect its people, Harlins was someone’s daughter, niece, classmate, and best friend. She was a lively girl who woke up each morning with a day full of possibilities. And her death, now 30 years ago, does not overshadow the need to celebrate and remember her life. Nahli Allison’s 20-minute documentary short, “A Love Song for Latasha,” aims to do just that by painting a holistic and incredibly beautiful picture of Harlins that goes beyond her name.
On March 16, 1991, when Harlins was just 15 years old, she was shot in the head by Soon Ja Du, the Korean-born store owner of South-Central Los Angeles’ Empire Liquor Market and Deli. Du falsely accused Harlins of stealing orange juice. The price? Her death. Though Harlins was construed as a potential threat during her trial, the security camera footage fails to corroborate this narrative. And even if it did, Du’s violence against Harlin would still be gravely unjustified (when is such violence ever justified?). Du was sentenced to five years of probation and a $500 fine. Harlins’ death became a catalyst for the 1992 Los Angeles riots.
“A Love Song for Latasha” opens with a narration by Harlins’ friend, Tybie O’Bard, who describes an incident that happened in the sixth grade while she tried to teach herself how to swim in a South Central Los Angeles pool. A group of boys came by, splashing her and holding her head beneath the water. Another girl jumped into the pool, clothes and all, and yelled, “You better leave her alone!” The two girls then sat together on the swings, trying to catch their breath. It’s the start of a friendship between Harlins and O’Bard, who, fast forward to March 16, 1991, sees Harlins’ face on a TV screen along with an announcement stating that she was shot over some orange juice.
Accompanying stories about Harlins from her friend and cousin Shinese is footage of ordinary Black kids walking together, going to school, and playing on the beach — precious moments that exist in the day-to-day. Interspersed between such recreations of a child’s life are experimentally-driven clips — some mimic static black and white TV screens while others visually depict the overlaying narration through animated drawings. Voices also often exist alone, as Allison gives the stories of Harlins some space to breathe, ensuring that they are taken as they are, untainted by images. Shinese says that Harlins’ mom was murdered when she was just nine and describes Harlins’ unparalleled resilience. These intentional visual and audio pairings paint Harlins as a whole being, a spirit that exists beyond the vacuum of history and our screens.
The film ends with Shinese reading a piece of Harlins’ writing, as she says, “What I want most in life is to fulfill my goal to be an attorney and to also graduate from high school.” Shinese’ voice breaks. “...with an almost perfect GPA to go to college.” The film’s finale lets Harlins speak for herself — her dreams, her confidence, and her care for others. Undoubtedly she is a star — one that continues to burn bright.
