Tribeca 2021 Review: Bitchin’: The Sound and Fury of Rick James

Bitchin’: The Sound and Fury of Rick James (2021) is an American documentary film about the life and career of iconic funk music pioneer Rick James. It was written by Sacha Jenkins, Jason Pollard, and Steve Rivo. It was directed by Sacha Jenkins.

“Cocaine is a Hell of a drug.” This statement was made by Rick James on his now infamous 2004 appearance in an episode of Chappelle’s Show (2003-2006). It became a meme almost overnight, in an era that predated the ubiquitous nature of internet memes. An occurrence that makes sense when scrutiny is applied. Anyone who has had any experience with the drug was in on the joke. Cocaine IS a Hell of a drug. Those with no experience could laugh and take it on faith that this was true. This was a punchline they could use in their lives to to make light of any situation in which questionable judgment had been used.

Indeed, the writers/editors of Chappelle’s Show mined the line to exceptional comedic effect. The episode become of of the most notorious episodes in the show’s three season run. However, for Rick James, his family, friends, and loved ones, the statement “cocaine is a Hell of a drug” was true, but it wasn’t funny.

Rick James, born James Ambrose Johnson Jr. in 1948, rose to worldwide fame, acclaim, and success in the 1970s, as one of Funk’s most outspoken and outrageous statesmen. His career in music began in an unsuccessful, yet auspicious manner. Fleeing to Canada to avoid serving in the Vietnam war, he immersed himself in the Toronto music scene. While not making a huge name for himself at the time, he made a lot of friends and connections, putting a ton of experience under his belt during the process.

Following his return to the United States, James re-branded himself and eventually took the world of Funk, Soul, and R&B by storm, releasing a series of amazing and influential records. Eventually, as is often the case in showbiz, his success began to wane, and in in it’s absence, drug addiction moved in, and sadly, never moved out.

Bitchin’: The Sound and Fury of Rick James, brought to us by documentarian Sacha Jenkins chronicles the incredible, at times almost unbelievable, rise and fall of Rick James. Featuring testimonials from family members, co-conspirators, Rick James himself, and most importantly his music, Bitchin’ tells James’ story in a thoughtful, loving, yet not uncritical manner. From his birth to his untimely death, Bitchin’ covers as much as it can within it’s approximately two-hour runtime.

I am not familiar with any of Jenkins previous work. However, looking at his filmography in preparation for this review tells me that I have been missing out, and that I need to go back and do my homework on this filmmaker. Bitchin’ is not borne out of morbid fascination, but a genuine love of not only the music of Rick James, but of its importance in the history of Black music, and the need for that to become public record.

It is clear through this film that Jenkins has a true love and admiration for the work and accomplishments of Rick James. Even the most outrageous stories are not presented in an exploitative “can you believe this guy” fashion. Rather they are admitted as evidence in this 111 minute exploration of James the man, as well as James the icon.

While I might not have been a fan of Sacha Jenkins until now, I have, for years, been a fan of Rick James. His contributions to the musical lexicon of the 20^th century might not have been as well-known to a lot of folks as those of say, Stevie Wonder, Prince, or Michael Jackson, but Rick James is equally as important, equally as influential as those guys, even if MTV never played his videos. His excesses might have stolen the headlines, but the man was a musical force to be reckoned with. Each one of his records with the Stone City Band is an absolute classic, and he will go down in history as one of the most vital voices in the music of the 20^th century.

Bitchin’ was an incredibly satisfying watch. Jenkins paints James’ portrait in a confident, authentic way. You feel the joy, and the sorrow. You are excited for Rick James when the success he has been busting his ass to achieve finally arrives. Your heart breaks for him when he becomes so far gone that none, save for maybe himself, could have saved him. Most importantly, you experience the exuberance and joy of his music.

Rick James might have been notorious for the more sensational aspects of his life. The drugs, the parties, the womanizing, the criminal charges etc. What gets lost in all of that noise is how much this man loved music. How music was such a powerful force inside him, that it eventually propelled him to Icarian heights. He didn’t just write hit records for himself, he wrote them for a bunch of other people too.

That to me is the most important thing about this film. Other than the possibility that it might turn future generations on to his robust catalog of amazing records, it is a far more fitting cinematic epitaph than his appearance on Chappelle’s Show. I don’t mean to suggest that Chappelle’s Show was exploiting Rick James, however, for too many people, that sketch is the way they are the most familiar with the man, and that isn’t right.

As discussed in the film, while the whole world was laughing their asses off at “cocaine is a Hell of a drug,” those who really knew Rick James, weren’t laughing at all. They were the ones who really knew just how destructive a force cocaine was to the life and career of a person who they knew to be a wellspring of talent, and whom they loved dearly despite his opprobrious behavior.

In this way, Bitchin’ isn’t just a great documentary, it is an important piece of work, in that it corrects the popular misconceptions about this legendary performer who, to an entire generation of people, became little more than a caricature. To far too many people Rick James is just that. He’s Rick James, bitch. But behind the bullshit he was so much more. By committing this work to celluloid (or the digital version), Jenkins is setting the record straight.

Don’t know what else I can say about this film other than I watched it twice before writing this thing. There is so much one can learn from this film. It is a biography, a cautionary tale, a rags-to-riches fairy tale, a redraft of the public record, but most importantly, it’s a celebration. A celebration of the amazing life, times, and work of an incredibly talented, if troubled artist, who, despite his idiosyncrasies, deserves to have his legacy honored, and to have the popular misconceptions about him dispelled.