Abstract
The depiction of jazz musicians and of jazz-related subjects in the history of North American film has suffered from the chronic neglect and misunderstanding that still marks this culture's pathological abuse of creative energy. The inventory of that abuse is poised to expand with another dramatic adventure in applied techno-sadism as computer-operated tanks and planes prepare to fertilize the Saudi desert with human blood. In the history of North American cinema, war, murder, violence, and destruction of every imaginable kind have archetypal predominance above the ordinary uses of human capacities. When we turn to a film that explores the risks and joys of artistic development, we hope for an enlargement of our understanding about the ways that creativity thrives or lingers against harassment. Spike Lee's recent film, Mo' Better Blues, promises to reward such hope. If it defers the task of giving the jazz musician a place and a voice appropriate to the magnificent accomplishments carved from end-
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