Together Brothers (1974)

          The inner-city drama/thriller Together Brothers brings together a number of disparate elements, and though the picture doesn’t hold together well, it makes for an oddly memorable viewing experience. When the story begins, we meet Mr. Kool (Ed Bernard), an African-American beat cop who uses a human touch while patrolling a tough black ghetto. Fair and hip, he’s respected even by criminals and street kids. Yet one night, Kool is murdered—right before the eyes of grade-schooler Tommy (Anthony Wilson). Kool’s assailant flees, and the police are slow to follow up on leads, so Tommy’s older brother, teenager A.J. (Ahmad Narradin), and his pals decide to track down Kool’s killer. Among other things, they’re afraid the murderer might track Tommy down to eliminate a witness. After this interesting set-up, the movie drifts into a lively section during which A.J. and his buddies seek aid from their rivals, a Hispanic street gang led by Vega (Richard Yniguez). So far, so good, right? Well, we’ve reached the point where Together Brothers becomes offensive—the killer is revealed to be a flamboyant homosexual named Billy (Lincoln Kilpatrick), who goes back and forth between brutal rage and prissy crying jags.

          Yes, Together Brothers continues the vile tradition of stereotyping gay men as unstable freaks. And that’s a bummer, because up until Together Brothers goes wrong, it’s thoroughly arresting. Director William A. Graham shoots the hell out of the picture’s grimy urban locations, depicting vibrant souls living in defiance of crushing poverty. Furthermore, the action scenes are taut, and while the juvenile performances are spotty, adult players Bernard, Kilpatrick, Yniguez, and Glynn Turman (who plays a therapist in one scene) deliver strong work. And we haven’t even mentioned the secret weapon of Together Brothers, R&B superstar Barry White, who composed the picture’s lively score and a handful of songs—including the thumping groove “Somebody’s Gonna Off the Man.” With his imaginative arrangements and lush strings, White kicks some Together Brothers scenes into full-on blaxploitation funkiness, even though the picture is, generally speaking, bereft of blaxploitation clichés. So, while it’s difficult to recommend Together Brothers too heartily given its flaws and its ugly portrayal of homosexuality, this is an interesting picture offering small rewards for adventurous viewers.

Together Brothers: FUNKY

Boulevard Nights (1979)

          An early exploration of Latino gang life in East LA, made before images of that particular subculture became familiar to mainstream audiences, the straightforward morality tale Boulevard Nights is not particularly audacious in content or execution, but the plain-faced style helps ease viewers into a rich world. Richard Yniguez, who deservedly caught some notice for the suspenseful telefilm The Deadly Tower (1976), is strong as Raymond Avila, an auto mechanic who escaped the gang lifestyle that infests his East LA neighborhood. He earns a decent living, enjoys the respect of his peers, and entertains dreams of opening his own shop some day. He’s also involved in longtime relationship with Shady (Marta DuBois), who has gone further than Raymond in escaping the barrio; she works in an office downtown even though she still lives in the ’hood.

          The only big impediment to their relationship is Raymond’s prolonged adolescence, because he loves to spend his weekends cruising the neighborhood boulevard, showing off the hydraulics in his souped-up lowrider—the only big impediment, that is, except for Raymond’s little brother, Chuco (Danny De La Paz), who’s so deep into the gang life that tragedy seems inevitable. As the story unfolds, Raymond tries to balance the joys of building a life with Shady and the trials of keeping Chuco out of trouble, a challenge exacerbated by Chuco’s drug problems and emotional issues; the younger Avila is so wired that he lets a scuffle with a rival gang snowball into a blood feud.

          Directed by journeyman Michael Pressman, written by Desmond Nakano, and produced by Tony Bill (who later made an equally sensitive story about life on the streets, 1980’s My Bodyguard), Boulevard Nights has the by-the-numbers professionalism of a good TV movie, and except for a healthy smattering of F-bombs, there’s little here that screams “major theatrical feature.” Nonetheless, the sincerity of the effort put forth by those behind and in front of the camera carry the day, making Boulevard Nights into an anguished statement that steers clear of bleeding-heart histrionics; instead of speeches about the terrors of gang life, the story presents everyday realities about life in a minority enclave that’s almost hermetically sealed from the outside world, with codes and values defined by factors including drugs, poverty, and racism.

          What makes the picture distinctive, aside from across-the-board good performances, is the lack of a white character functioning as an observer (or, shudder “voice of reason”). With very little fuss, the picture immerses viewers in a world that feels credible, though undoubtedly jacked up for dramatic purposes, thereby earning the emotional hit at the end of the story. Boulevard Nights isn’t a great film, but as one of the first mainstream productions to explore its subject matter, it’s admirably groundbreaking. (Available at WarnerArchive.com)

Boulevard Nights: GROOVY

The Deadly Tower (1975)

          At their best, the “ripped from the headlines” TV movies of the ’70s gave viewers vivid re-creations of important events without excessive dramatization. The Deadly Tower is a great example of the genre’s possibilities. The picture depicts the horrific events that took place on the University of Texas at Austin’s campus on August 4, 1966, when troubled youth Charles Whitman (Kurt Russell) took a position atop UT’s tower and shot people until 13 were dead and 34 more were wounded. Police ended the siege by storming the tower and killing Whitman.

          With an unvarnished style that’s so much more chilling than the standard melodramatic treatment, The Deadly Tower meticulously tracks the steps of Whitman’s bloody last day, intercut with the progress during the same time period of the Latino cop (Richard Yniguez) who eventually took Whitman down. This ongoing contrast between insanity and normalcy is effective, especially because Russell’s disturbing portrayal of a mentally damaged automaton defines him as a seemingly impossible challenge for the ambitious but understandably terrified policeman.

          Russell’s casting was a clever choice, because in the mid-’70s the young actor was known for starring in frothy Disney comedies; his casting amplifies the idea that Charles Whitman was an all-American boy gone terribly wrong. Committing wholeheartedly to the role and yet underplaying in a way that deepens the film’s effect, Russell distinguishes himself so well that it’s a surprise it took him several more years after this project to completely shake his Disney image.

          Yniguez provides the movie’s heart as a decent man trying to overcome workplace prejudice in order to provide for his growing family; there’s real tension watching him dart between buildings on the campus as he dodges bullets to make his way into the tower. Ned Beatty adds sweaty Southern flavor as a bystander who inadvertently becomes part of the assault force heading after Whitman, and John Forsythe lends bleeding-heart warmth as a reporter trying to discover Whitman’s motivation before the shooter becomes a victim of his own rampage.

          Despite obvious budgetary limitations, everything in the picture comes together well, because it works as a clinical depiction of madness loosed on an unsuspecting public, and as a taut thriller in which the stakes couldn’t be higher. (Available at WarnerArchive.com)

The Deadly Tower: GROOVY