Most of the week, I have what passes for a life in San Antonio to attend to, but does that mean I'll leave you, the loyal AV Club reader attentive enough to notice the South By Southwest sidebar, hanging? Hell no, it does not mean that. It does not mean even a little that. I will jet up to Austin when I can, and when I can't, well, that's why God created screeners. My living room may not have the energy or the bill of fare of the Alamo Drafthouse, but it has a better selection of liquor, and the chances of Harry Knowles showing up are practically nil. So let's get on to today's viewing.
Say My Name is first in line, and it's one I've been looking forward to for quite some time. Hip-hop is all growed up now — it's got a good thirty years of action under its belt, and that means the ladies should have their say by now. But the rap world is still widely perceived as a man's man's world, with rampant misogyny in both the lyrics and the life. The bitch-and-ho paradigm still largely holds sway, and pimp and player anthems still dominate the charts. The ladies are largely expected to be in the club to peel for the gents, not to grab the mic and represent. Say My Name is a compelling documentary on women in hip-hop by the Dutch multimedia artist and filmmaker Nirit Peled, in which a diverse array of female rappers, DJs and R&B performers — hailing from the Bronx, Britain, and Europe — frankly discuss the expectations, tribulations and experiences of gender, sexuality, and race in a musical genre where machismo is the cheapest available fuel.
Peled gets props right off the bat for the sheer weight of diversity at play in her film; there are interviews with everyone from big stars (Jean Grae and Erykah Badu) to veteran performers (Estelle and Remy Ma) to brash newcomers (Invincible and Choc Thai). European, British, and American voices are heard; issues like lesbianism, sexism, abuse, and unequal opportinity are all given a chance to be examined, as are rarely-discussed aspects of the scene like the influence of white fans and performers, and the bizarrely taboo subject of class. But while there's no question this film is driven by a cause and a easily detectable sociopolitical stance, it's very rarely didactic and never plodding or obvious.
Part of the reason for this is that, Peled's skill as a director and interviewer aside, she has such a terrific cast of characters to work with. No one who steps in front of her camera is shy about speaking to the realities of being a female rapper, from the threat of violence to the shadow of sexual abuse to the simple economic realities of having to hustle twice as hard to make half as much money. But what really illuminates the film, and makes it a joy to watch in its best moments, is the pure enthusiasm and energy these women have for performing. They know they have a hard road ahead of them, and many of them have precious few illusions about where that road will eventually take them, but everyone in Say My Name straight-up loves what they do, and any time they're shown performing, there are no doubts about why they stay in the game. Thankfully, Peled gives plenty of screen time to performances, and the soundtrack is stone solid.