ONE NIGHT IN MIAMI: FILM REVIEW
If I had to analogize my experience with “One Night in Miami” to a night at the bar, then Regina King is the bartender, I am the drinker, and the movie is a cocktail of intimacy, nostalgia, and soul-searching with a garnish of charisma to boot. King’s fictionalized account of the events that took place on the celebratory night of February 25, 1964 — the night that Cassius Clay (Eli Goree) spent with friends Malcolm X (Kingsley Ben-Adir), Sam Cooke (Leslie Odom Jr.) and Jim Brown (Aldis Hodge) after the first of his career-shaping bouts against Sonny Liston guided me to a place of symmetry with my college, dorm-room style conversations.
These talks, typically with confidants and comrades (but occasionally with the random drunk and gunner in the Black Experience in America class) ranged from the legacy of Malcolm X to who had the better verse on “No Church in the Wild”; they ranged in emotion from palpable frustration to unrestrained laughter.
Around that theme of intimate discourse, King shapes her directorial debut. What distinguishes the film’s discussion of Black issues from those held by everyday folk in barbershops, cafes, dorm-rooms and the like is, of course, that it is held between four Black American icons, each of whom sat at the seat of power during the history-shifting Civil Rights Movement. Against that context, we can imagine the heightened sense of responsibility that these men must have felt, locally for their families and communities, but also broadly for their country.
From the film’s opening, however, it is clear that King is not interested in a purely romantic depiction of the film’s notables. Instead, she strings together four backstories that illustrate just how fragile their lives could be. In 1963, Clay, later to be known as Muhammad Ali, narrowly escapes defeat during his match with Henry Cooper in London; Cooke faces riveting contempt in a performance before a White audience in Copacabana; Jim Brown endures an unsettling racist remark at the hands of a family “friend” in Georgia (more on this later); and elsewhere Malcolm X discusses his plan to break from the Nation of Islam with his wife, Betty Shabazz.
The film transitions to shed light on what is perhaps an understated aspect of Ali’s life: his friendship with Malcolm X, who serves as his spiritual mentor. A glimpse into their bond comes when Ali visits Malcolm in his hotel room for a prayer session just before his fight. Although they share a genuine and intimate affection, there isn’t perfect harmony in terms of the public image that Ali must maintain as he prepares to live his life as a Muslim in front of the world. Malcolm pleads with Ali to “tone down the rhetoric,” a request that Ali cannot oblige with even if he tried. He intimates to Malcolm that he is not just a fighter, but a showman, which is evident in his match with Sonny Liston. Ali floats, shuffles, punches, taunts, and boasts like only he can in the face of the doubters that he relishes in proving wrong.
Ali’s charisma is not limited to the ring. It spills over into the gathering with Malcolm, Cooke, and Brown. Much to their chagrin, Malcolm spoils the splendor of his victory by being — though I wish I didn’t have to say it — a killjoy. Right after beating one of the most feared fighters of his era into submission, Ali, along with Brown and Cooke, is ready for a night of fun, which the three of them define as indulging in women, food, and drinks. Malcolm, on the other hand, defines it as a deep conversation about identity, power, and purpose over two scoops of vanilla ice cream.
But what Malcolm lacks in fun, he redeems with his eloquence, passion and candor. At no point was this more evident than in the film’s central conversation between Malcolm and Cooke. Malcolm holds no punches when he tries to convince Cooke that his approach to music, while commercially viable, is bereft of the soul that Cooke needs to uplift his people. To emphasize this point, Malcolm went as far as to put on a record of Bob Dylan’s “Blowing in the Wind,” with the devastating implication that Dylan does more to speak about struggle for Black liberation than Cooke.
This was one of two moments where I had to truly wonder whether Cooke was about to put paws on Malcolm, the other being when Malcolm opined that Cooke is no better than a monkey performing for an organ grinder. While Cooke manages to restrain himself from advancing his own impression of Ali’s earlier knockout performance, he strikes back at Malcolm with legitimate points of his own. Perhaps most impressive is that Cooke devised a strategy for his artists to take advantage of the broad British commercial appeal by allowing acts like the Rolling Stones to record his artists’ music, which enabled them to share in the revenue generated by their IP. This was a scathing retort to Malcolm’s gripes — a retort that highlights the practical import of Cooke’s contributions, which some may argue Malcolm lacked. As Cooke put it in one of the more memorable lines from the film, “Everybody talks about they want a piece of pie, well I don’t! I want the god damn recipe!”
Apart from the internal disagreements, the film sharply reminds us about the vicious racism that these men had to endure. At the conclusion of what was a mostly pleasant conversation between Brown and a long-time family friend, Brown generously offers to help move furniture. Brown’s gesture is promptly denied, however, when he is reminded that niggers aren’t allowed in the house.
The insult from the scene was itself a cutting blow, but when viewed in the context of the current landscape of iconic Black athletes, there is some evidence that vestiges of such racism remain. Take, for example, the Fox News’ host, Laura Ingraham, who brazenly told Lebron James to “Shut up and dribble” in response to his characterization of the challenges that come with being a high profile Black American.
This real-life example may not be as overt or crass as the example from the movie, but the overarching implication is the same: Black athletes ought to know their place, and that place is on the basketball court or the football field.
Though such pain-filled moments are sobering and difficult to manage, there is balance provided by the strong performance from Goree, who embellishes the film with spot on impressions of Muhammad Ali. Ali’s footwork in the ring is as smooth as his talking and his charm can brighten the mood of any room. Goree’s expert representation of Ali’s accent and charisma are a large piece of what makes the film an enjoyable experience.
There is balance to the film’s low moments in Cooke’s performances. If you are wounded by some of the tension in the conversation or moments of blunt racism, there is room to also be healed by the “Chain Gang” a cappella performance and again by the film’s end, when Cooke resolves Malcolm’s call for protest music with the classic “A Change is Gonna Come.”
It is rare for a film to attempt to give an account of a conversation between four Black men who changed the complexion of American life. King not only meets, but far exceeds the expectations that anyone could have reasonably had for her ambitious debut. The personalities are honored, the issues are nuanced, and the joy is settled. Laugh when you can; cry if you must; but, above all, keep the conversation going.