You don’t need a budget when you have a hero this damn cool

Dolemite (1975)
A weird thing about the blaxploitation wave of the ’70s: The soundtrack albums, most of the time, were richer, more imaginative, and generally better than the movies themselves. They had higher production values, too. This was the moment when movie studios and small-time entrepreneurs discovered the ticket-buying power of the black audience happened to overlap with a great era for soul music, when all these geniuses were pushing their sounds into funky, expansive, orchestral realms. And so these towering figures—Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield, James Brown, Marvin Gaye, Bobby Womack—were giving some of their best music to no-budget B-movies. Coffy has a great, iconic central performance from Pam Grier, but it’s about as choppy and rough as studio movies get. So it’s fascinating to think about someone like Roy Ayers making a lush soul-funk odyssey to accompany it. If D’Angelo did the score for a straight-to-DVD underground-fighting-tournament movie, that would be pretty weird, but the rough equivalent was happening all the time in the ’70s.
That wasn’t an issue for Dolemite. Dolemite had no budget for music or for anything else. The 1975 opus was an utterly DIY independent affair, but it was less passion project and more branding opportunity. The stand-up comic Rudy Ray Moore had carved out a name for himself with X-rated, rhyme-heavy party records, and he’d introduced the Dolemite character on his very first album, 1970’s Eat Out More Often. (Supposedly, he’d built the routine and the character after hearing a homeless man’s toast about a mythic street figure with the same name.) And Dolemite the movie is built completely as a vehicle for Dolemite the character. Moore was going to create the baddest cinematic motherfucker that he possibly could, and he was going to do it on as little money as possible.
The music of Dolemite is nothing special, especially in the context of the era; it’s serviceable blaxploitation funk from unknowns like Ben Taylor. There are a few club scenes with musicians performing and their lip-syncing is way off. But the movie really works as its own soundtrack. Moore wasn’t a musician, exactly, but his specialty was rambling, cuss-heavy toasts and long parables about slick underdogs getting over on their oppressors—or, in the case of the Signifying Monkey, not quite making it. He tells a couple of those stories in the movie, and it’s the moments when Moore really starts performing that the movie comes to life.
When Moore is actually acting, though, he’s just barely getting his lines out. Moore wasn’t an actor; Dolemite was his first movie. And to be fair, almost nobody in the cast was an actor. Jerry Jones, who plays Dolemite’s good-cop ally and who also wrote the screenplay, had a few bit parts in movies and on TV shows. Director D’Urville Martin, who also played the villain Willie Green, had briefly been in movies like Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner and Rosemary’s Baby. This was his first time directing, and it’s tough to imagine that he, or anyone else associated with Dolemite, had ever had anything to do with a legit Hollywood movie. Dolemite doesn’t just break cinematic rules. It’s completely oblivious to them, like they never existed.
Dolemite is not, strictly speaking, a good movie. There are long pauses in the dialogue, like the actors aren’t sure who’s supposed to speak next. They talk over each other sometimes. The boom mic makes appearances, and it doesn’t just dip into the frame; it hangs there, suspended, for minutes at a time. The plot seems to work on its own alien logic. The movie opens with Dolemite being released from prison. The warden is letting him out so that he can prove his own innocence, which seems unorthodox. And given that Dolemite literally murders four people on the drive home from jail, it seems like it probably wasn’t the best plan. (They were all trying to kill him, but still.)
And yet Dolemite is also great, and for many of the same reasons that it’s bad. Take, for instance, that scene where Dolemite gets out of jail. A car full of women picks him up, gathering around him and helping him take his shitty suit off before he gets in the car. One of them has brought him cotton drawers, and he cusses her out; he does not wear cotton drawers. Prisoners gather in the yard, and appalled, envious guards look on. Dolemite throws his old suit at one of the guards, tells him to wipe his ass with it, and the guard can only respond with a sniveling, “Awww, you’ll be back.” Pretty soon, Dolemite is in a powder-blue suit with an enormous bow tie, and he’s making out with two women at once in the car. And then he’s killing some guys with a machine gun. And laughing about it.