Stewart Nkosi
THE only reason I sat through Jump the Gun is because I had invited a companion along and it really would have been rude of me to yank her off the seat and walk out. I did ask her whether she would mind leaving, but she wanted to see all of it. So I had to sit through one of the most turgid cinematic presentations to come out of this country.
It does try to be a film about the new South Africa, but like many other things out of South Africa at the moment, it is a too-little-too-late type of situation. About 10 years ago Mapantsula, a low-budget film about the old South Africa, was a highly exciting cinematic event. If Jump the Gun had been released at that time it would done pretty well on the underground viewing circuit of university activists and comrades – for whom watching it would have been considered an act of insurgency.
That’s how Mapantsula made its mark. In present-day South Africa, one wants to go to the cinema and be entertained. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have an authentic setting thrown in for good measure, though. Which is all that Jump the Gun is – an authentic South African setting with a storyline that’s really nothing to write home about. The plot consists of a number of threads clumsily trying to weave themselves into a South African tapestry. There is Clinton, a white clich – an unemployed electrician who passes through the big city and gets shocked by how “African” South Africa has become. Most of the movie concentrates on him. (Shades of Mississippi Burning, Cry Freedom. The story of the lower castes will only be told if that of the master race has been told.)
There is Gugu, a black female clich – a young girl who has come from Durban and wants to see her name in lights, so fucks her way into the band manager’s pants and sings her way into the sunset. (Shades of Jim Comes to Joburg? Give the lower castes some music and let them dance and make merry, and they will be a contented people.)
Then there is Bazooka, an emerging black male clich – a wheelchair-bound young man who is gainfully employed in a criminal manner. He apparently lost the use of his legs while doing his stint as a member of a self-defence unit. (Shades of The Shock Troops of the Revolution, who went up the hill a saint and came down a hijacker, a feature-length thriller still to be made, based on a liberal sociologist’s PhD dissertation on how the crime problem in the country can be traced back to the liberation struggle.)
Now, storylines like these hold up valid themes that need to be looked at, especially now, but I really expected more for the R12 I spent at Ster-Moribo. I expected better acting from Baby Cele, whom I have seen doing sterling work on stage. I expected meatier roles to be given to actors like Themba Ndaba and Nomsa Nene, who is wasted as a shebeen queen.
I expected a better complement of black actors, rather than these, who are in desperate need of acting lessons. But I got a great surprise from Joe Nina – some significant kwaito brat. The boy is a natural. Let’s hope he gets more kind directors like Les Blair, who can help him hone that rough talent.
In terms of being authentically South African and telling a great tale, Jump the Gun is a wasted opportunity. For authenticity it scores a perfect 10. For telling a great tale it scores a perfect zero.