Boy meets girl, and boy loses girl--no more and no less than that--in this romantic story of young, upwardly mobile African Americans navigating through Chicago club culture to the perilous shores of a relationship. The film was surprisingly popular at a couple of key film festivals in 1997, but there isn't anything particularly noteworthy about it aside from its rare emphasis on a love affair between black urbanites. Larenz Tate and Nia Long are fine in the leads (Tate makes a convincingly self-centered boy-man), and director Theodore Witcher aims for his small target and hits it squarely. --Tom Keogh
Say, baby... can I be Your slave? I've got to admit girl you're the shit girl... and I'm digging you like a grave. Now, do they call you Daughter to the Spinning Pulsar... or maybe Queen of 10,000 moons? Sister to the Distant yet Rising Star? Is your name Yemaya? Oh, hell no. Its got to be Oshun. Oooh, is that a smile me put on your face, child... wide as a field of jasmine and clover? Talk that talk, honey. Walk that walk, money. High on legs that'll spite Jehovah. Shit. Who am I? It's not important. But me they call me brother to the night. And right now... I'm the blues in yourleft thigh... trying to become the funk in your right. Who am I? I'll be whoever you say? But right now I'm the sight-raped hunter... blindly pursuing you as my prey. And I just want to give you injections... of sublime erections... and get you to dance to my rhythm... make you dream archetypes... of black angels in flight... upon wings of distorted, contorted... metaphoric jizm. Come on slim. F*** your man. I ain't worried about him. It's you who I want to step to my scene. 'cause rather the deal with the fallacy... of this dry-ass reality... I'd rather dance and romance your sweet ass in a wet dream. Who am I? Well, they call me Brother to the night. And right now I'm the blues in your left thigh... trying to become the funk in your right. Is that all right?