In Theaters: Good Hair

At the outset, Angelou says something that seems typically overblown and creaky -- a woman's hair is her crowning glory, something her family and community can take pride in and celebrate -- that actually gains depth and credence as the film moves along. The most interesting scenes, which cover ground from Atlanta to Birmingham to LA and Brooklyn and then over to India (where the majority of the black hair industry's supply for weaves and wigs is shorn from the heads of devout Hindu women), take place in local barbershops and salons. As Rock makes clear, the salon -- and the grooming rituals performed there -- are very often the heart of black communities and black culture. That's not a choice that anyone but the members of that community can make, and yet inherent in that choice is an evolution whose roots are firmly lodged in oppression. It's not a coincidence that "European" is the word the interviewees usually end up on in their brief descriptions of what makes good hair; even the women themselves declare that "relaxed" hair (it relaxes white people, see) looks more "natural" and put-together.

A fascinating argument crops up around the sexual politics of a black woman's hair (the men say they are never allowed to touch their woman's hair, and that creates barriers; one woman says that taking a shower with her man would be far more intimate than having sex) and the staggering amounts of money working class women will shell out for hair care is discussed -- issues seem to crop and get combed over with the amiable topical sprawl of a visit to the salon.

The most problematic element is the decision to use the "Hair Battle" that takes place annually at the Bronner Brothers hair show in Atlanta as the film's main structuring device. Every time Rock hits on an angle -- such as the Anglo and Asian monopoly of the multi-billion dollar black hair care market -- that begs for more attention, the film cuts back to contestants preparing for this truly bizarre contest, the purpose of which seems to be to cut hair live, onstage, under the most ridiculous circumstances possible. These interruptions seem pointless, and they chop up the momentum and the coherence of an otherwise engaging look at what is not simply a phenomenon of vanity but the notion of how easily and early many of us cede what we should hold most dear: our self-respect, self-conception, and the standard by which we judge ourselves to be a worthy member of society.

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