At a time when rap, America's favorite whipping-music, is once again at the center of controversy, "The Hip Hop Project" presents the genre as a healthy form of expression rather than a force for cultural depravity. Though it was of fire, this documentary is decidedly critical of the music's obsession with expensive goods and cheap women - "ho's and clothes," according to Chris "Kazi" Rolle, who heads the after-school program that gives the film its name. Rolle, who encourages teens to use hip-hop to work through their problems, speaks from experience: He's a former homeless teen and petty criminal.
Now an impressively well-adjusted adult, Rolle serves as a street-smart father figure effect positive change, they actually listen. For them, hip-hop becomes not just music but poetry, diary, therapy, even psychodrama. Their connection with the music can be intense.
In one arresting scene, a standing before him. Eyes closed, tears on his cheeks, Ty pours it all out in rhyme. It's a brave performance, especially given the inner-city code of steely As we watch Rolle's students record their music for a compilation disc, we also follow a few personal plot lines.
A boy nicknamed Cannon deals with a Rolle himself tries to reconnect with the mother who gave up on him. The stories are sketchy, but they illustrate the kinds of problems that fuel the the nonprofit program Art Start, which funded Rolle's project. And one of the Still, Matt Ruskin, the director and editor, sneaks in a segment in which the in hilariously snooty British accents.
It's a sly comment on the white establishment, which generally regards rap as a pariah but still wants to be Like the kids it studies, "The Hip Hop Project" has a good heart and more than a little trouble organizing its thoughts.
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