Video Exclusive: Interview With Actor Terry Crews for "The Expendables 2"

Yes, it's been a while. But here is my debut on BET.com, interviewing actor Terry Crews on his latest role in The Expendables 2. 

A Venture into Video

Here's a video segment I helped produce for BET.com featuring Jermaine Dupri, Pharrell and new comer Leah Labelle. I'm rarely impressed with new singers, but Labelle has a little something...

Reflecting on Heavy D

The overweight lover gave hip hop’s edge a heart.

From BET.com

With the death of rap icon, Heavy D, hip hop lost a trailblazer who defied what folks expected of the genre and its superstars.  Being hip hop’s first corpulent solo rap superstar, Heavy (born Dwight Myer) had talent that equally matched the novelty of his size, enough to help launch Andre Harrell’s Uptown Records in 1986 with the release of Heavy D & The Boyz’s debut hit single “Mr. Big Stuff.”

But also driving Heavy’s success was his ability to maintain a fun, clean-cut respectability that garnered respect from both hardcore hip hop fans and grandmothers alike. It was that universality in his music and image that allowed him to cross his talents over to film and television. After writing (and performing) the theme song for the ground-breaking sketch comedy series In Living Color, Heavy—like many rappers in the early ‘90s—parlayed his hip hop stardom into acting roles on the small and big screen. His first major role coming when he was cast as a regular on the hit TV series Roc.

Yet, most notably, for those paying attention in 1993, Heavy would also play a pivotal role in the continuum of overweight rap superstars changing the face of hip hop when his LP Blue Funk debuted an up-and-coming Notorious B.I.G. (the song “A Buncha N***as”).

Which of Heavy D’s hip hop contributions do you remember most?

10 Reasons "Real Husbands of Hollywood" Should be a Real Sow

Could this spoof be the next big TV comedy?

 
 
From BET.com
Hands down, one of the star moments from the 2011 BET Awards was the reality show spoof Real House Husbands of Hollywood.  Bringing together Bobby Brown, Kevin Hart, Jermaine Dupri, Nick Cannon and Nelly, the clips were a hilarious twist on the Real Housewives series, briefly poking fun at the turbulent personas of celebrities. Since the send-up has gone viral, folks may be looking for Real House Husbands to become its own series. Here are some reasons why a permanent show should be considered...

10. Because we prefer to laugh at a slightly scripted version of Bobby Brown’s insanity as opposed to his real-life craziness.

9. Because Tammy’s talent for acting the crazy, confrontational cast member would work better here than being one on any episode of Basketball Wives.

8. Because Nick Cannon’s willingness to poke fun at his married life—apart from being extremely brave—was one of funniest aspects of the show.

7. Because we want Jermaine Dupri to be just as brave about making fun of his former relationship with Janet Jackson.

6. Because Mariah Carey could make a special guest appearance.

5. Because every season the show could rotate cast members. Just think of a season with Mike Tyson, Eric Benet, Kevin Federline, Katt Williams and DMX.

4. Because we’d rather watch a spoof of a juicy reality series than another insipid, exploitative reality show with Black folks displaying the worst behavior.

3.  Because this is the perfect vehicle for a Nelly comeback.

2.  Because this will help us finally forgive Kevin Hart for starring in Soul Plane.

1. Because, point blank, it could be the genius black TV comedy we’ve been looking for since the cancellation of Everybody Hates Chris.

Bristol Palin’s Blowing Up for the Sistas Who Can’t

Fame for being a teen mom is a far cry from what it used to be.

From BET.com
By Marcus Reeves

This past Monday, it was reported that Bristol Palin will follow up her Dancing With the Stars run with a Bio Channel docu-series—basically, a reality show—following the single mom on her move from Alaska to Los Angeles with her son, Tripp, to work at a small charity in need.

She’ll be living with her DWTS co-star actor Kyle Massey and his brother Chris, which is the selling point (can you say reality TV Three’s Company?). But the idea that Bristol Palin is being rewarded the Hollywood spotlight merely because she was a high-profile teen mom can make America’s social universe seem off-kilter, if not downright twisted.

During the teen pregnancy explosion of the '80s, Black and Latina teenage moms received a major TV spotlight of their own, though it was mostly news items or conservative political speeches skewering them as the face of this epidemic. Loose morals. No regards for their future. Ronald Reagan, during an early, unsuccessful run for president, argued that they were a drain on the economy, labeling them “welfare queens.”

But that was before the fracturing of the TV landscape, the rise of cable/the Internet/reality TV, the mainstreaming of Black urban culture and the detonation of celebrity. Now we’re in a world where fame is an occupation and dysfunction is functional—especially for TV ratings. But since we still live in a country where right race plus right place equals stardom and money, having a problem that used to be solely (and negatively) associated with Black and brown girls can prove lucrative. Let’s not even begin to talk about reality shows like 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom turning white teen moms into stars. And now Bristol Palin gets a TV series…

Then again, I’d like to think of Bristol as having a bigger mission within her reach for celebrity and money, besides getting her baby some Pampers and Similac. And that’s to take the former curse of being a teen mom and blow it up into a huge social ladder for young girls caught in that situation to climb. If not for them, then for the sisters back in the day who were socially and financially bruised by a lost moment as a teen. It’s a thought, of course. Hell, we can all dream…

The Death of the Black Child TV Star

Are the glory days of this adorable archetype long gone?

From BET.com
By Marcus Reeves

As the anniversary of Gary Colemen’s (May 28) tragic death quickly approaches, folks old enough to remember are reminded of how his passing marked the end of an era. More so, the end of an archetype—the Black child TV star. I’m talking about those kid stars whose onscreen celebrity exploded beyond age, race and the boob tube to create a supernova that could forge a Black media presence as an unprecedented phenomenon as well as a tragic Hollywood burn-out.


We were introduced to the pioneers of this elite group via ‘70s repeats of the Our Gang short film series on television. Allen “Farina” Hoskins—the first Black child screen star—may have appeared the typical pickaninny with his ratty clothing and signature pigtail braids. But Hoskins’ increasing popularity in the ‘20s didn’t just reportedly earn him more pay than his white co-stars but the clout to evolve Farina into an on-screen leader of his crew. Ditto for Hoskins’ replacement, Matthew Beard, whose slick-tongued, con artist character “Stymie” earned him such star-power for his comedic ability, Stan Laurel (half of the Laurel and Hardy comedy team) presented him with the gift of a derby—the highly-regarded crown of a good comedian.


The resurfacing of Hoskins’ and Beard in the ‘70s, via TV, was the perfect accompaniment to the rise of the Black child TV star. Rodney Allen Rippy, with his adorable cheeks and manicured afro, kicked the party off, becoming a pop culture superstar after appearing in a commercial for the Jack in the Box fast food chain. Rippy’s TV appeal—and appearances—opened America’s living rooms to the ‘70s B.K.W.A. (Black Kids With Attitude), including Ralph Carter’s midget militancy (and, later, Janet Jackson’s Mae West-impressions) on Good Times. Though it was one of the show’s guest stars, Gary Coleman, who marked the high point of the Black child star on television.


Playing the lovably smart-mouthed Arnold Jackson on Diff'rent Strokes, Coleman became the kid America—young and old—couldn’t get enough of. With TV movies, a Saturday morning cartoon, merchandising and not to mention that iconic phrase (“Wut’chu talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?”), Coleman created the Black child TV star industry, opening doors for the popularity of the Cosby kids, Raven-Symoné and, the last of the major Black child TV stars, Jaleel White (a.k.a. Steve Urkel).


Although this archetype has completely disappeared off network TV in the 21st century, there are remnants of them on cable, translating fame in a niche market—primarily among kids—into power and wealth. But can their stars ever shoot into a galaxy beyond? Don’t bet on it.

10 Reasons We Are Tired of Charlie Sheen

Here's a countdown I did for BET.com. Oh, and please make a choice in my poll in the right column.

With reports of Charlie Sheen’s recent recording session with Snoop and his upcoming TV appearances, the media’s fascination with the actor clearly isn’t over. But his love affair with the public may be, as indicated by his difficulty at completely selling out his upcoming tour. Here are some reasons why he may be losing his, uh, sheen with us.

10. Because after being bombarded by Charlie Sheen–mania, we just simply can’t stand no more! And, really, did we need THAT much coverage?

9. Because we realize that while Sheen’s firing from Two and a Half Men may hurt the series, the show is in its last days anyway. Besides, is it a top show in Black households?

8. Because we’re no longer laughing at witty uses of Sheen terms like “tiger’s blood” or “Adonis DNA.” Jokes or comments making use of those terms are now D.O.A.

7. Because we don’t want to buy tickets for his My Violent Torpedo of Truth tour. Actually, we saw the best of the Sheen circus via the news/Web anyway. We don’t need the Cirque Du Soleil version.

6. Because yelling the catchphrase “Winning!” has grown beyond tired. File it next to Martin Lawrence’s “You go, girl!” and Jimmie “J.J.” Walker’s “Dyn-o-mite!”

5. Because at the end of the day, we realize the Charlie Sheen debacle is just a fight among the wealthy. Unlike us, these folks are dealing with no parts of recovering from a recession.

4. Because while we enjoyed the distraction, it’s time to get back to reality. Enough said.

3. The earthquake, tsunami and nuclear disaster in Japan. Reality numbero uno (not to mention news-worthy problems in America and around the world).

2. Because recording a song with Snoop is a sheer sign of desperation. And we know Snoop was too nice (literally and figuratively) to decline the offer.

1. Because we ultimately realized that warlocks should just say NO … to drugs. And you should, too.

Is Tyler Perry Really Making TV History?

A question of quality or quantity.

Recently, Tyler Perry sent a message to his fans via his Website in part trumpeting the monumental success of his TV show House of Payne. The show had just celebrated its 210^th episode, a feat the movie/TV mogul was eager to file in the annals of black TV history.

“Let me just put this in perspective for you,” Perry wrote. “House of Payne has done more episodes than Good Times, more episodes than Sanford and Son, and even more episodes than The Cosby Show. The Jeffersons is the only show of this genre to have more episodes. Ella and Curtis are running a close second to George and Weezie. ”

Only, within this celebratory note about numbers was Perry’s lack of an in-depth mention about any creative value he feels his series has. Maybe a thought on the show’s connection to its audience or what his characters mean to loyal viewers. (A difficult question to ask or answer considering there are no Black shows on network TV and—excluding salacious reality shows—only a half-handful on cable.). But it’s an important thought given Perry’s eagerness to think of his series in the context of iconic Black sitcoms.

In comparison, consider the ground these shows broke when they aired. Sanford and Son turned a crotchety junk dealer and his son into the biggest Black TV sitcom duo since the cancellation of The Amos ‘n  Andy Show. Good Times transformed the impoverished Evans family into America’s ghetto storytellers and cultural tour guides. The Jeffersons were America’s first beloved upper middleclass Black family before The Cosby Show turned Bill Cosby into America’s dad.

While House of Payne has a viewership of 1.2 million, the series has yet to establish what its footprint will mean in the pantheon of TV history. Given the show hasn’t made the cultural impact of a cable smash like The Sopranos or a network hit like, say, Martin its hard to gauge what will be the show’s legacy.

So the question that has to be asked is: Although Perry’s TV acumen produces sizable numbers and historic business deals, will he produce something on the small screen that reaches beyond the fact that he did it, did it big and, mainly because of that fact, it’s great.

Cleveland, Texas and Gender Jim Crow

By William Jelani Cobb

In the three weeks since the New York Times broke the story of a child’s rape there, the events in Cleveland, Texas, have morphed into a category-five media storm. The Times piece, which echoed and amplified currents of victim-blaming in the town, generated a tide of criticism. Yet beneath the outrage was a parable of modern media. Aside from the familiar and incendiary themes it contained, the Times article seemed an object lesson in what happens when cash-strapped newspapers parachute a reporter into a complex situation hoping for coverage on the cheap. In-depth coverage requires resources and the time to do the deliberate, painstaking gathering of facts that were in short supply in James McKinley’s article. “The New York Times,” as one friend put it, “can no longer afford nuance.”

Add to that equation the fact that Twitter-orchestrated protests, web petitions and Facebook posts pushed the Times to apologize (or at least come close to it), and our understanding of the gang rape of an 11-year-old girl becomes yet another front in the battles between old and new media. Even the way the assault became public knowledge—digital images traded around on cellphones—seems to be part of the narrative of modern technology and information.

Yet for all this modernity, the most troubling aspect of the ongoing fallout from Cleveland is the way it resurrects themes of race, sexual violence and provincialism long interred in American history. Some weeks ago I taught students in my civil rights history class about the plague of lynching, which claimed the lives of more than 3,000 African-Americans in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Beyond the horror of the organized murder of black citizens, students were most troubled by the recreational nature of it all: the images of smiling white citizens, fathers and sons, upstanding Christians gathered in fellowship around the smoldering ruin of a black body—all preserved on postcards.

If you asked any of these people in the abstract if it is right to hang a person, set him on fire and then riddle the body with bullets, they would likely have called those actions illegal and sinful. But there is an asterisk: unless that person was black; unless he had demanded his wages, or been to slow to vacate a sidewalk when a white person walked by, or been “unpopular” (these are all actual reasons cited for lynching). These are actions of people who have been given a moral escape clause, an asterisk in which upstanding Christians can sate the demonic appetites of their collective id. Thus an act of abomination becomes a moment worthy of commemorating with a photograph.

I thought about that discussion of lynching again as news spread that the alleged perpetrators were so utterly secure in the righteousness of their act that some of them snapped pictures or recorded footage on their cell phones. We have, in 2011, reached a point when the public display of charred human remains is no longer acceptable. But the response of some of the citizens of Cleveland, Texas, to this horrific assault has brought us face to face with a kind of gender Jim Crow. Here the asterisk is not failure to conform to racial etiquette but the lax adherence to an equally stringent gender code, one where “innocent” is a relative concept and rape, like lynching, can be elevated nearly to the level of civic responsibility.

The rape, which allegedly took place in a filthy trailer, has been mitigated by qualifiers on the child’s innocence—and necessarily, the guilt of the accused. It is, as an abstract idea, wrong to force a preteen child to have sex with a dozen and a half men. Unless she was “fast,” or dressed like a much older woman, or had slack maternal supervision. Add enough exceptions and even the unconscionable begins to look like a six-in-one-hand undertaking. It is the bitterest of ironies that African-Americans in Cleveland have been the most vocal proponents of this warped ideal. We of all people should understand how the moral exception game works. (For those who believe the fact that the girl is Hispanic has colored the responses to the crime, rest assured, “fast” 11-year-old black girls are seen as every bit as disposable within the black community.)

Read the entire essay @ THE NATION

Bun B Brings 'Scream' to Rice U.

Just got word from a colleague that Texas rap artist Bun B is co-teaching a "Religion & Hip Hop" course at Rice University. Best of all, Somebody Scream is one of the text used to teach the class. As always, am surprised and flattered at the inclusion. Below is a pic of all the required books included—in great company. A happy new year, indeed...