THE INKWELL
A Film Review by Scott Renshaw
Copyright 1994 Scott Renshaw
Starring: Larenz Tate, Joe Morton, Glynn Turman, Jada Pinkett. Screenplay: Tom Ricostronza and Paris Qualles. Director: Matty Rich.
Despite the credit, no one named Tom Ricostronza worked on the script for THE INKWELL. Novelist Trey Ellis, who developed the original screenplay, made a rancorous departure from the production over philosophical differences with Matty Rich, and substituted a pseudonym which is a loose Italian translation for "full of excrement." Whatever the specific points of disagreement might have been, it would appear that Ellis knew something that Rich did not. It is clear that THE INKWELL could have been a gentle look at a rarely- seen side of the black American experience; instead, it's a sloppy and ham-fisted collection of caricatures which seems to trip over an occasional truth rather than aiming for any.
It's the summer of 1976, and 16-year-old upstate New York resident Drew Tate (Larenz Tate) is preparing to take a two week family vacation with his parents (Joe Morton, Suzzanne Douglas). The destination: the home of his conspicuously middle-class Uncle Spencer (Glynn Turman) and his family on Martha's Vineyard. Tension is present from the outset, as Drew's parents worry about his strange behavior, and Drew's father Kenny, a former Black Panther, clashes with his bourgeois brother-in-law. As Drew explores the town and the local beach frequented primarily by the island's black residents (nicknamed The Inkwell), he finds a few things which attract his attention. One is a kindly therapist (Phyllis Yvonne Stickney) who seems to be the only person who understands him; another is an inaccessible young resident (Jada Pinkett) who steals his heart.
At times, I thought I might end up liking THE INKWELL. There was a relaxed, nostalgic tone to some of the scenes featuring Drew, and Larenz Tate brought a geeky, confused charm to Drew's fumblings through adolescence. But for every scene which endeared, there were two which annoyed. Matty Rich ricochets between the sublime and the ridiculous with reckless abandon, treating us to foolishness like Drew and his island cronies bumbling around an unappealing nude beach, and Kenny taking on Uncle Spencer in a tennis match reminiscent of the over-the-top Richard Pryor/Bill Cosby contest from CALIFORNIA SUITE. THE INKWELL tempts you with sweetness, then smacks you over the head every time you try to embrace it.
It's also exceedingly hard to take THE INKWELL at all seriously with so many characters so miserably realized. Glynn Turman huffs and puffs as the unashamedly Republican Uncle Spencer, delivering one of those horrible drunken diatribes that only movie drunks deliver. Jada Pinkett is genuinely annoying as the haughty island princess, all hooded eyes, arched eyebrows and faux-Valley Girl vocal stylings. Morris Chestnut preens and postures as the town cad, and Phyllis Yvonne Stickney speaks deep truths in a Jamaican accent. Two talented actors (Joe Morton as Kenny and Mary Alice as Drew's grandmother) rise above the level of the material, but for the most part Drew Tate seems to be living in a world of people whose sole purpose for existing is moving him towards losing his virginity.
And that's really the fundamental problem with THE INKWELL. Since I knew exactly where it was going, its only chance to work for me was in how it took me there. I wanted to be interested in Drew's story, but I was repeatedly drawn away by the seemingly pointless class struggle between Kenny and Spencer; I wanted to lose myself in the characters, and they repeatedly reminded me they were phony. Time and again, I found myself convinced that Matty Rich had no real sense of what he wanted to do with this story, so he did a little bit of everything. And somewhere, Trey Ellis must be having the last laugh.
On the Renshaw scale of 0 to 10 inkwells: 4.
-- Scott Renshaw Stanford University Office of the General Counsel
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