It was hip hop that proved to be the fitting undertone to his last flick, “Hustle and Flow,” but this time around, writer-director Craig Brewer infuses Southern blues into a borderline racist, misogynistic, and exploitive movie that is gritty, seductive, and truly original.

“Black Snake Moan” tells the story of nearly-naked nymphomaniac Rae (Christina Ricci). Her hard-partying-screwing-everything-in-sight ways have left her bruised and beaten on the side of the road. Enter Lazarus (Samuel L. Jackson); fully clothed in righteousness and candor, he finds the scantily clad girl lying in the road and carries her into his house. Lazarus, a god-fearing bluesman whose wife has just left him for his brother, decides to take on the responsibility of curing the drugged-out girl of her immoral “sickness” by literally chaining Rae to his radiator.

The absolute outrageousness of it all unexpectedly works on many levels.

Rae moans and wriggles without inhibition, portraying sexual addiction with lust and emotional emptiness, all the while, sporting little white underpants and cropped, midriff-baring tees. Her barely-there attire at times overshadows Ricci’s heartbreaking performance. Despite this, she gives her most memorable role to date (yes, even including her work as Wednesday from the Addams Family). Ricci is unplugged, mesmerizing, completely depraved and a force to be reckoned with.

The movie thrives in the sweaty heat of sensuality and southern hospitality. Take away the powerful music and the appropriate setting; it would be a far lesser film.

The soulful, dirty blues grind their way into your heart and head, making it nearly impossible to refrain from stomping your feet and nodding along to Jackson’s passionate performance. It is yet to be known if there is anything Jackson can’t do, but as Lazarus, he proves he can sing too. And as fans know, only Sam Jackson can make profanity poetic. His talent for unrelenting-bad-ass-cursing is not wasted in “Black Snake Moan” as his character loves God and blues as much as foul language and a certain 12-letter expletive. Jackson is the most righteous we’ve seen him since “Pulp Fiction.” He’s spitting fire and brimstone and quoting scriptures with utmost conviction.

Brewer succeeds in portraying smoldering decadence without fear. His honest and unmerciful approach has you cringing, blushing and laughing- either from shock or from simple release of tension.

In the movie’s weakest moments, it’s saved by truly electric performances – Justin Timberlake included, who proves he can hold his own among seasoned Hollywood veterans as Rae’s troubled boyfriend, Ronnie.

On the surface, this provocative picture’s content is all kinds of offensive. But Brewer presents a nymphomaniac with a heart of gold in a similarly serious style as “Hustle & Flow’s” pimp with big rap dreams; both characters that initially seem better made for punch lines.

This time, he proves it’s hard out here for a nympho.

3.5*/5*






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