Skip to main contentWhen Tupac Shakur died after being gunned down in Las Vegas in September 1996, I was sick to my stomach. Like so many other people, I accepted it as some sort of cosmic irony that someone who glorified violence so much in his music would die such a violent death. Yet at the same time I was disheartened by the untimely demise of a young black man.
When Christopher Wallace (a.k.a. Biggie Smalls, a.k.a. The Notorious B.I.G.) was killed six months later in Los Angeles, I was stunned. There was talk of it being retaliation for Tupac's murder--part of a deadly rivalry of East Coast vs. West Coast in the world of hip-hop. But that was a red herring. What it really amounted to was the death of another black man still in his 20s. To hell with the spotted owl--the real endangered species in this country is African-American men.
With the sixth anniversary of Tupac's murder only weeks away and no suspects in his case or in Biggie's named, arrested or charged with the slayings, it's time to face the brutal truth: At best, America is apathetic toward black people. Think I'm wrong? Remember how diligently the FBI and local police searched to find out who smacked some white figure skater on the knee? How much media coverage has the JonBenet Ramsey case garnered compared to Tupac's? Why did the disappearance of Chandra Levy elicit more government concern than Biggie's murder, when there is compelling evidence that members of the Los Angeles Police Department conspired to commit and cover up that crime?
The answer is simple: because no one cares. America is more obsessed with whether or not Elvis is still alive than with who killed Biggie and Tupac.
OK, maybe I'm overstating the case a bit. There are people who care about solving these crimes. It's just that they're derided as conspiracy theorists, chasing after the biggest coverup since the JFK assassination. One of the latest people to join the party is filmmaker Nick Broomfield, whose new documentary, Biggie & Tupac, attempts to shed light on the two slayings. For those with little or no knowledge of either murder case, Broomfield does provide some eye-opening information. Consider that Biggie and Sean "Puffy" Combs were under constant FBI surveillance--including on the day Biggie was murdered--and yet somehow there are purportedly no surveillance pictures of the crime being committed. Broomfield also interviews Biggie's bodyguard, who witnessed the murder and identifies the killer from a photo array of known suspects provided by Broomfield but who was never questioned by the LAPD.
A problem with Broomfield's film, though, is that he seems more interested in presenting himself as the intrepid investigative journalist than he does in telling the story itself. With the exception of Roger & Me's Michael Moore, one of the worst things a documentary filmmaker can do is include himself in the story he's telling--which Broomfield does every step of the way. The result is a film that barely scratches the surface of the Biggie case and only offers a cursory glance at Tupac's murder. Compared with Randall Sullivan's book LAbyrinth (see "To Live and Die in L.A.," WW, April 17, 2002), this film feels like merely an excuse for Broomfield to play Geraldo.
One result is that Biggie & Tupac falls short in examining the bigger picture surrounding the murders. Broomfield spends more time showing himself trying to get the story than he does explaining the Rampart scandal that rocked the LAPD, and its relationship to the murder of Biggie, which Sullivan examines in detail. Broomfield also fails to examine the racial significance of this case and the implications that surround the lack of progress in the investigation of these murders. For instance, why aren't black leaders like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton crying out to have these cases solved, and why is so much of white America apathetic?
The reality is that solving these murders threatens to expose the truth about the racial climate in the United States. And the truth is that black people murdered Tupac and Biggie, while other black people conspired to cover it up, including, quite possibly, the former LAPD chief of police. White people, on the other hand, are afraid to level any accusations in either case, for fear of being labeled racist (remember the O.J. trial?) or simply because they don't care. After all, what difference do two more dead black men make?
Despite the shortcomings of Biggie & Tupac, it is still an important film in that it helps shed light on something many people know nothing about. Consider it an entry point to a much more complex issue. From that point of view, the film is a modest success.
Biggie & Tupac
Rated R
Cinema 21, 616 NW 21st Ave., 223-4515. 7 and 9:15 pm Friday - Thursday,
Aug. 30 - Sept. 5. Additional shows noon, 2:15 and 4:30 pm Saturday - Monday.
WWeek 2015