This is one of the most inept films in terms of craft I've ever seen. It is so poorly filmed that it makes an Ed Wood, Jr. movie or one of Oscar Micheaux's later films that are plagued by continuity problems seem masterpieces of craft in comparison. "They Call Me Bruce?" makes Wood's GLEN OR GLENDA? seem like Eisenstein's POTEMKIN.
The acting was atrocious, yet the film was strangely compelling -- as compelling as watching a car crash. I'm not joking. It takes some kind of negative panache to pull off a film that is so GODAWFUL. I just kept watching and watching, appalled yet fascinated. The scene in the Hair Styling salon, where Johnny Yune is wearing a blonde wig and a mumu and is posing as a mannikin (a mafia torpedo, looking for Yune's character in the shop, keeps stabbing the mannikin next to which Yune stands, never once noticing that Yune keeps moving to reposition himself down the line of mannikins to avoid getting stabbed himself; the torpedo's partner, holding a pistol to the shopkeeper's head, never notices the moving "mannikin" either, distracted as they are by the shouting of the clever shopkeeper) is just unbelievable. Talk about suspension of disbelief!
The scene that preceded this one, where a group of African Americans hold Yune and his partner at knife point and Yune speaks to them by using a HOW TO TALK JIVE dictionary, is also simply unbelievable. Yune's wooing of the African American "gang-members" with jive, who comport themselves with much eye-rolling, "jive-talking" and "soulful" body movements (imitated by Yune's character) that make the late Stepin Fetchit's shtick seem to ne as dignified as Paul Robeson in comparison, is one of the landmark moments of the cinema in the sense that it likely would wind up in some TV documentary about racism if this movie wasn't so damn obscure! If there ever is a TV doc about Asian-African American racism, this could be exhibit #1!
The acting was atrocious, yet the film was strangely compelling -- as compelling as watching a car crash. I'm not joking. It takes some kind of negative panache to pull off a film that is so GODAWFUL. I just kept watching and watching, appalled yet fascinated. The scene in the Hair Styling salon, where Johnny Yune is wearing a blonde wig and a mumu and is posing as a mannikin (a mafia torpedo, looking for Yune's character in the shop, keeps stabbing the mannikin next to which Yune stands, never once noticing that Yune keeps moving to reposition himself down the line of mannikins to avoid getting stabbed himself; the torpedo's partner, holding a pistol to the shopkeeper's head, never notices the moving "mannikin" either, distracted as they are by the shouting of the clever shopkeeper) is just unbelievable. Talk about suspension of disbelief!
The scene that preceded this one, where a group of African Americans hold Yune and his partner at knife point and Yune speaks to them by using a HOW TO TALK JIVE dictionary, is also simply unbelievable. Yune's wooing of the African American "gang-members" with jive, who comport themselves with much eye-rolling, "jive-talking" and "soulful" body movements (imitated by Yune's character) that make the late Stepin Fetchit's shtick seem to ne as dignified as Paul Robeson in comparison, is one of the landmark moments of the cinema in the sense that it likely would wind up in some TV documentary about racism if this movie wasn't so damn obscure! If there ever is a TV doc about Asian-African American racism, this could be exhibit #1!