Time for another foray into Finkle is Einhorn territory with writer/director Spike Lee, as his newest feature is a modern reinterpretation of the Bill Gunn cult classic Ganja & Hess. Normally in instances such as these you would find myself railing against the idea of remaking a film, especially a cult classic such as Gunn’s. However, in a case like this I find myself thoroughly intrigued by the prospect of Spike Lee reimagining an experimental horror film from the ‘70s. So, if the question is “Who better to remake Ganja & Hess?”, I would honestly have to say that Spike Lee would reside at the top of that list.
There are a number of changes between the two films with the obvious one being the time period in which the narrative takes place. Although, the narrative path of Da Sweet Blood of Jesus essentially sticks to the same course as the original, it does appears to be a more streamlined affair; which is odd, considering that Da Sweet Blood… is 13 minutes longer. Instead of drawing out and lingering on certain scenes, as Gunn did, Lee always keeps the film moving forward.
A polished film that lacks the rawness of Bill Gunn’s classic, Da Sweet Blood… still maintains the thought-provocation of Ganja & Hess without dedicating large chunks of dialogue to the philosophical musings of its characters. The musings are still there although they have been whittled down, more succinct but still effective. Also gone are the experimental hallucinatory sequences that were, undoubtedly, one of the highlights of the ‘70s version. No haunting slow-motion to be found within Lee’s joint, no Queen of Myrthia striding through the fields beckoning Hess to join her.
The biggest discrepancy between the two films is the overall lack of experimental imagery in Lee’s remake. Not only the experimental slow-motion visuals, but also the haunting musical score that accompany these sequences are no where to be found Da Sweet Blood… The African chanting relentlessly layering on top of itself, reverberating into a tumultuous swell of ancestral chorus, transfixing and spellbinding in its application. These aspects are sorely missed in Lee’s reimagining, but at the same time it’s understandable that Lee would choose not to rework these distinctive features. The sound design and musical score (provided by Sam Waymon) of Ganja & Hess remain, perhaps, incapable of being improved upon.
The performances contained within both films are serviceable enough with the standouts being Duane Jones as Dr. Hess Green from the 1973 version and Zaraah Abrahams as Ganja Hightower in the updated version. Jones was able to carry the original through an almost silent performance, relying on communicating the complexity of his character’s predicament with an array of facial expressions and body language, distinctly conveying all the torment and anguish battling it out deep inside himself. Abrahams, on the other hand, showcases more range in her performance, commanding every scene with a beguiling air swathed around a forbidding demeanor. Breathing some much-needed life into Da Sweet Blood…, her injection to the narrative is perfectly placed adding another layer to an already dense exploration of religion, white assimilation, and addiction.
Whilst Spike Lee’s modern interpretation, for the most part, can be seen a straightforward remake of Ganja & Hess, at times lifting portions of dialogue from the original, Lee does incorporate one major alteration in the film’s storyline – Ganja’s initial feeding through seduction. In the 1973 version, Ganja (Marlene Clark) seduces a man which subsequently leads to a rather long, drawn-out sex scene involving the two; whereas, Lee’s version is modified to girl-on-girl action for whatever reason. I’m not sure of the reasoning behind this alteration, whether it is a merely a harmless change or an attempt to sex-up the proceedings.
Both films are their own kind of mess. Gunn’s Ganja & Hess has the rawness and grittiness that’s usually associated with independent productions of the 70s era, while Lee composes his own unique brand of mess despite the film’s digital aesthetic. Either one is thoroughly entertaining and intellectually stimulating in its own way and, more importantly, Lee’s joint retains the thought-provocation of the 1973 cult classic. The themes and racial implications of Ganja & Hess survive the update, even with Lee stripping away some of the original’s detours into philosophical soliloquy.
