Pitchfork

I show up to the only movie theater in the world playing Killa Season, starring and directed by one Cameron Giles, and there's a blue and white car stationed in front. Hip-hop cops never sleep.

Though this is one of only 10 scheduled screenings (on earth!) of the much-hyped autobiographical Cam saga before it heads to DVD later this month, there are exactly three people waiting in line in front of me 15 minutes before show time. This wide dichotomy between the planet-pulsing Dipset Movement propagated on mixtapes and blogs, and the actual Dipset movement-- which can't even pack a theater half full for one of its key 2006 events-- would pop up throughout the night.

After getting my bag searched, emptying my pockets and standing through a thorough wanding ("sorry," says the metal detector after poking me in the ribs), it was time for the movie event of the hour. (Mrs. Henderson Presents was also playing at this theater). Described in an accompanying flyer as a "Harlem inspired story that details Flea's (Cam'ron's) rising empire and desire to take over the streets and hustle all the money in the world," the film's ambitions were certainly grand enough. But could it live up to the web-inflated hype?

Simply, no. Given its horrendous sound (think home movie with wind whipping the mic), embarrassing lighting (strange they couldn't find high-watt a bulb considering much of the film takes place in a corner store) and an apparently improvised anti-plot that manages to further every dumbshit stereotype about rap music imaginable without much cleverness, Killa Season was generally disappointing. Of course, I wasn't expecting Goodfellas, but it really would have been nice if they had hired an editor to trim the nearly two-and-a-half hour epic a friend called "the worst movie I've ever seen"-- and Purple Haze was his favorite album of last year.

Personally, I wouldn't go that far, partly because I saw Garfield: The Movie (it was for work) and partly because of a few choice bits that exemplify the cartoonish Dipset aesthetic that fans fawn over. Like how Cam's chiming chain-clink quickly turns into a sharp sonic calling card. Or how Juelz Santana wears the same shirt (prominently featuring Sylvester the Cat) in all of his scenes-- which ostensibly span months. Or how Cam is forced to "cry" after his seven-year-old niece gets blasted outside a Papa John's. All in all, I laughed out loud about 15 times.

Even though many accounts point to Cam and much of Dipset actually selling drugs at one point (several have spent time in jail to prove it), Killa Season's generic depiction of the hazardous Harlem underworld could have originated in the mind of a suburban kid who's watched Scarface a couple times. There's the big-boned kingpin, the glorified cap-gun shootings (Cam actually takes a guy out while riding a bike at one point), and the Baltimore heavy that shows up toward the end for no reason.

But instead of pushing the movie into the all-out quasi-universe that marks most of the Dip's best material, Cam lets it languish in a realm that's obsessed with a semi-grounded, clichéd machismo that undermines his crew's gonzo appeal. As an obsessive fan who pays too much attention to ancillary Setters like Hell Rell (who, I must admit, is boring as hell playing Cam's second-in-command here), I'm glad I saw Killa Season. That said, it largely promotes the worst aspects of Dipset's hood heroism en route to unwatchability.

For a taste of Killa Season, check out this clip. It's pretty much all you need.

As for Cam's new album, (titled, yes, Killa Season), the tentative release date is May 16.

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