Saw this movie last night at Sundance at BAM. I thought that I would get a look at the history, structure, economy, and cultural legacy of gang-life in LA. This movie didn't deliver on any of these fronts. Instead of history it just ran over the broad-strokes of black oppression on the west coast. Instead of gang's organizational structure it just talked a lot about finding a family and not having a father figure. Instead of the economy of drug- selling it just talked about how crack totally messed stuff up. Instead of cultural legacy it just flashed a bunch of pictures of west-coast rappers and had a hip-hop inspired soundtrack.<br /><br />Throughout the film there are constant montages of hyper-masculine men, showing off their muscles, guns, and clothes. After awhile, we can't help but question the filmmakers leering, homo-erotic/homo-phobic view of these gang-members. We rarely learn anything concrete about them. They rarely tell us particular stories, facts, or credible statistics. Instead we are presented with their hyperbolic exaggerated rants about how tough they are. It reminds me of some of the AA meetings I've attended, where former alcoholics brag about how high, drunk, messed-up they got in a way that seems to relish the very self-destructive aspects of their lives they now pretend to critique. In the end, this is one of those movies that can't get enough of the guns, blood, and violence culture, it pretends to disapprove of.