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Last Updated: May 30th, 2008 - 11:49:13 |
It would be wishful thinking to say that the new documentary “Mr. Untouchable,” will cure us of our glamorization of the outlaw drug dealer (especially as our man Denzel arrives next week in “American Gangster”). Though he may not cure us, director Marc Levin explores enough history, socio-economics and racial politics to tell the real story and tragedy of Harlem drug kingpin Leroy “Nicky” Barnes.
The result, I think, is a sobering and sad tale of both Barnes and Harlem, beginning in the 1970’s to the present, following destruction of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. In many communities, the vacuum of political leadership was easily filled by the diversion of drugs flowing inward and by drug dealers who sported outward signs of material success and of the so-called “American dream.” It might be difficult for those of us, who grew up within stable families with parents as role models, to understand how easy it was for a man like Barnes to capture the imagination and loyalty of a community that he was, at the same time, killing with heroin and a murderous enforcement of turf and power.
Levin does an admirable job of exploring this strange constellation of outlaw entrepreneurship, race loyalty and the desire to see a Black man beat the system—like in some hyper-reality film of the era, such as “Superfly.” Levin charts a rough history that illustrates how, for an impoverished community that felt few benefits from the 60’s, Barnes rise to power might be seen as a twisted extension of the fight for equality. As one of his female employees says in this movie, “Not everybody was eating in the 70’s” and Barnes came on the scene, employing hundreds of people who were often earning the most they ever had. He and his six associates were known as “The Brotherhood.” They cloaked much of what they did in the Black nationalist phraseology of the time and quoted from the Bible and Koran to construct a code of conduct and business.
In “Mr. Untouchable,” we learn much of this through a series of on-camera interviews, the most striking of these are with Barnes, who has been in the Federal Witness Protection Program since 1985. He is shown only in silhouette, or through shots of his torso, arms and hands, which reveal a gold watch and ring.
Barnes gained his fame and notoriety for many reasons. He was the first Black to take from the Italian mob such complete control of Harlem’s lucrative drug market. Second, his wealth afforded him many luxuries that set him apart from Harlem’s then-hardscrabble existence. He was a ruthless businessman, responsible for untold numbers of murders of those deemed as traitors to his cause. Despite his criminal activity, he was known to “give back to the
community,” in the form of free turkeys at Thanksgiving and support for various community activities, especially youth sports. His legend and, some say, his arrogance only grew after several failed attempts by law enforcement agencies to convict him of various drug-related charges. People began calling him “Mr. Untouchable” and when he landed on the cover of The New York Times Magazine, it was too much for then President Jimmy Carter to take. All the all resources of the federal government, which had already started its “war on drugs,” were brought to bear on bringing Barnes to justice and ending his days of swagger.
Levin offers this complex story of various voices, about a particular man and a time, without appearing to praise or bash Barnes. He lets the story unwind on its own, revealing all of the beauty marks, warts and scabs. Inclusion of Barnes in the line-up of interviews creates a tension from those we “hear” from: His former associates consider their one-time boss a snitch and remind us that there remains a $1 million bounty on Barnes’ head. Barnes, on the other hand, tells his story with a sense of self-righteousness about betrayal by those he trusted to run his business after his conviction. Maybe it makes sense that such a ruthless enterprise—built with a certain inhumanity—was finally brought low by the human weaknesses of jealousy, betrayal and pettiness.
This review also appeared on Tom Joyner's BlackAmericaWeb.com.
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