Seven Oaks Magazine.

Spike Lee's new film is one of two very different things: a terrible, amateurish, meditation on the lack of corporate responsibility and ethics, or a virtuoso black comedy. Lee's accomplishments as a filmmaker cannot be dismissed, but neither can his spectacular failures. She Hate Me is a confusing, infuriating film to consider because its pedigree includes the triumphs like Do The Right Thing , and lighter fare like Girl 6. It seems, strangely, that She Hate Me is made by both Spike Lees, resulting in an angry, confusing, bag of mixed messages and metaphors. I don't know what to make of the film. My confusion seems inevitable, given the two-toned plot.

Jack Armstrong (8 Mile 's Anthony Mackie) is a young executive working for a pharmaceutical firm that is about to release a drug that promises to cure AIDS. One day, his friend and head researcher, Dr. Herman Schiller, commits suicide. Armstrong has little time to deal with Schiller's death. The new drug will not get FDA approval.

Jack learns of the WorldCom, Tyco, Enron-style fraud being committed by an executive at the company and his conscience gets the better of him. He anonymously' reports the incident to the Securities and Exchange Commission, getting him fired from his job, shunned by the corporate community and placed under investigation, which freezes his bank account.

It's here when She Hate Me inexplicably shifts gears, venturing into a bizarre, highly improbable plotline involving lesbians, sperm, money and, of course, ethics. Jack's ex-fiancé Fatima (Kerry Washington) and her partner Alex (Dania Ramirez) show up at his door, offering money in exchange for his man juice.' The women are rich, comfortable, and view the exchange as business. We'll pay you, an exasperated Alex's says to Jack's repeated denials.

The deal is made, and soon leads to Jack impregnating a queue of rich, childless lesbians. He is paid very well for his services. Insemination takes place the old fashioned way; not a turkey baster in sight, just a steady diet of Red Bull and Viagra, followed by vigorous, graphic humping; little surprise, given Spike Lee's films' long history with objectification of women. The vast majority of lesbians in She Hate Me are of the lipstick variety, and are willing endure sex with a man.

These activities, of course, come into consideration when the fraud charges finally come to a head. By whistleblowing, Jack has chosen a difficult, arduous road. His diabetic father puts it best: You fuck with the money, it's gonna be cold blooded. Anything, including the provision of certain services, will be spun and convoluted to question the whistleblower's integrity. Jack has whored himself out to lesbians so they can bear children. Can he be trusted to tell the truth about his former company's activities?

Or something. Drawing connections between the two, starkly different situations is difficult and, worse, probably not even the point. It's not clear what She Hate Me is attempting to do, but it sure is interesting to watch. Lee makes provocative, engaging and intelligent commentaries on society. They are statements that are conscious of history and culture, and usually concern themselves with race in the United States. It would be derelict to ignore the possibility.

Jack Armstrong is a young, successful, Black New York City executive, working in one of the more lucrative industries on the planet. He is often referred to by his education, Harvard and Wharton, two schools that churn out captains of industry, and traditional bastions of privileged white families. Like his co-executive and friend Margo (a sassy, lethal Ellen Barkin), his only concern is money and how to maintain it. His is a world of large, beautiful urban apartments, extensive wardrobes and the finer things in life.

Lee is suggesting a reality where a Black man can rise to the highest levels of power. But is it fraudulent? Visual cues suggest otherwise. Jack is a boxer, often working out on the punching bag hanging in his apartment. The image of a Joe Louis painting recurs periodically; Louis, the first venerated and accepted Black athlete in the American mainstream, seems to comment on Jack's place in the corporate world. He made millions and was celebrated the world over, but was left penniless.

When Jack does fall from grace, we are treated to his boss's regret for meeting the minority quota, followed by Jack's descent into an angry black man desperately trying to hold onto his wealth and life. Do the highest powers of corporate America believe in the old, racist punchline that an African-American man in a suit, tie, and fancy car is still a nigger?'

On the other hand, maybe it's shamelessly apologetic to bedizen She Hate Me with lofty claims of racial commentary. It might be a film that started out that way, but was saddled with observations about new' families, homosexuality, parental responsibility and whistleblowing, sinking the whole project before it even set sail. Maybe it's just a bad movie.

The question of whether it is a brilliant parody or a failed social commentary may be unanswered, but its capacity to goad response is not. Given its distasteful, politically incorrect approach, She Hate Me is destined for the bargain bin, to be picked up by a film buff who was confused by his first viewing, but left wondering if there was something he missed. My hope was this was the Spike Lee that made Crooklyn. I suspect, however, that I sat through another Jungle Fever.