This isn't exactly the most unique story in rock & roll history. A naïve
young black singer hooks up with a parasitic white manager who snakes him out of
most of the profits from his chartbusting singles. Then, after the singer's rapid
decline and untimely drug-related death, figures from his past converge like hyenas
to scavenge the bleaching bones of his estate. But even though Gregory Nava's embellished
biopic about Fifties hitmaker Frankie Lymon offers no new perspectives on the pop
music biz's already well-exposed dark underside, it's still a revelation in terms
of Nava's capabilities as a filmmaker. Based on Nava's past work (El Norte, Mi Familia,
Selena), I've always pegged him as an overrated screenwriter-director whose stilted,
earnest-unto-death writing undercuts the power of his impressive -- if derivative
-- command of film's visual language. But from the opening blast of orange-and-chartreuse
credits and turbocharged doo-wop music to the closing close-up of Little Richard's
devilish, mascaraed mug, there's no trace here of the tedious, myth-mongering Nava
of yore. The obvious explanation is that, for the first time in any of his major
features, Nava has turned the writing chores over to someone else -- in this case,
talented first-timer Tina Andrews. As a result, the dialogue and pacing have a new
snap and suppleness and the movie takes flight like a balloon that's jettisoned a
few hundred pounds of damp sandbags. Plenty of credit is due to the actors too. Tate
(love jones, Menace II Society) is close to Academy Award territory with his portrayal
of Lymon, a white-hot young orb of ball lightning who's utterly lost in any context
where he has to confront the basic emptiness behind his angelic face and electric
stage persona. Rochon (Waiting to Exhale), Berry (Losing Isaiah), and Fox (Soul Food)
are equally delightful as the wildly diverse trio of ex-wives battling it out in
court for $4 million in unpaid royalties that Lymon's manager (Mazursky) owes the
estate. They're especially wonderful in the down-and-dirty personal confrontations
that occur late in the court battle, veering abruptly from amusingly specious female
bonding moments to full-pitched verbal catfighting. But most of the credit for this
movie's ability to sustain energy and interest despite its marginally interesting
subject matter has to go to Nava. Ditching the noble sepia-tone kitsch of Mi Familia
for vibrant, solarized colors, relentlessly imaginative shotmaking and a giddy narrative
surge that he gracefully integrates into a flashback-driven story, he often generates
a level of rock & roll vibrancy that one associates more with young bucks like
Danny Boyle (Trainspotting) than fiftyish veterans. Why Do Fools Fall in Love? probably
won't be remembered as the best film Nava ever made. The story's a bit too commonplace
for that. But with its intriguing hints of untapped creative energy it may well be
something just as important in the long haul: a turning point.
--Russell Smith
Full Length Reviews
Why Do Fools Fall in Love 
Why Do Fools Fall in Love 
Capsule Reviews
Why Do Fools Fall in Love 
Other Films by Gregory Nava
My Family 
Film Vault Suggested Links
Rosewood 
The Winslow Boy 
The Madness of King George 
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