Good Hair

I've always thought Chris Rock was pretty clever. Also incredibly balanced in his humor. And I was a fan, albeit one of the few, of the sitcom he created and produced "Everybody Hates Chris."

But, now Chris is a documentary filmmaker. And if his future attempts are anything like his first movie, "Good Hair," I hope he never does anything else. This flick hits all the documentary requirements for me. It teaches me about something I never knew. It makes me leave the theater with both questions and answers. And it's damn entertaining.

The logline is pretty straight forward. Chris gets asked a simple question by his young daughter. "Why don't I have good hair?" As it turns out, this is a query that's been perplexing Black women throughout the ages. Because, as much as they want their own individuality via holidays like Kwanza and Martin Luther King Day, Black ladies desperately want to have the same type of hair as White folks. And this provides the springboard for a very illuminating ninety minutes. The secondary title for the movie could actually be "Straight Hair And How Do I Get It?"

Chris Rock is a perfect tour guide for this journey. He centers the movie around an annual convention in Atlanta that is devoted to Black hair styling. Who knew there was such a thing? And, at the end of the event, there is a thoroughly mesmerizing competition where four styling finalists must cut the hair of three people in the most creative and musical way. You meet the four contestants. One is actually this gay hillbilly of a White kid who looks like the Dodgers' Clayton Kershaw. He used slutty models as his backdrop for cutting hair. One chick cut hair while suspended from a door jamb. Another competed while under water. And the ultimate winner employed a marching band as his musical accompaniment. It was bizarre as it sounds on paper.

But, in between all the stories about the contestants, Rock takes us through, via interviews with actresses, models, and even Reverend Al Sharpton, the extremes used by Black people to get their hair "white."

First, there's the ever popular relaxor. Creamy crack, as actress Nia Long calls it. This is applied to heads almost as soon as they are four years old. It straightens out the nappiness. It makes hair as straight as an arrow. And, apparently, it can destroy your scalp in the process. Chris has a renowned chemist analyze this deadly pomade. One drop on a raw chicken breast burns a hole in the poultry. A soda can submerged in a liquid variation of the relaxor disintegrates in the space of three hours. Yet, this is daily slopped onto heads in Black hair salons from Harlem to Crenshaw.

And then there's the ever mysterious hair weave. Beautiful straight locks that are virtually sewn into heads. Most deny they have hair weaves. Tons of Black women do. And, ironically, the hair weave of choice is made from the hearty folicles of folks in India. Yep, Rock travels to the land of monsoons and telephone operators to watch Indians sacrifice their hair in the name of religion and biggo buckeroos.

The laughable thing about all this is the fact that the biggest importers of Indian hair into the United States are the Chinese. And they are selling it for a premium. Everybody is getting their finger into this money pie. And this explains why hair weaves will cost a Black women upwards of several thousand dollars. Chris interviews a few and questions their willingness to cough up this kind of expense on their hair. Whether it's a high class fashion model or a third class teacher, it's a no-brainer. It's worth the money. And you wonder where your stimulus tax dollars are really going?

Black men don't get untouched by this frenzy. Many lament that they're the ones supplementing their ladies' hair addictions. And they don't like it one bit. Especially if the wife or girlfriend has a weave. Because, then, they're not allowed to touch the hairdo. Even during the heat of passion. This is driving them crazy. Chris goes into a Harlem barber shop for this debate and it's perhaps one of the funniest unscripted scenes I have even seen on film. One guy announces that this is the main reason why he perfers to date White chicks. "They let you touch their hair when they're giving you some."

The movie stuck with me. It reminded me of some Black women I used to work with. One always seemed to be vacillating between some crazy hair styles. One morning, she showed up with hair that reminded me of Abe Lincoln's stovetop hat. Two weeks later, her hair was shaped like a crown and it resembled a candy dish in Grandma's house. We spent one day throwing gum wrappers onto her head.

Another lady's hair was so carefully done each day that she was constantly afraid of it getting messed up. If you literally walked within five feet of her, you'd get the warning. "Watch my hair." I now realize that this was probably one of those secret hair weaves.

I also thought a bit about our own First Lady, as odd as that it would seem for me to do. I had just seen an old school photo of her. Now, I want to know, Michelle. Is it a weave or is it the creamy crack? You can leave your answer in the comments section, please.

What do you think?

Dinner last night: Turkey burger at BJ's.