Culture: In words and pictures, dancehall and church are fast neigbours in Kingston

I grew up in the suburbs of Toronto had lots of friends with Jamaican heritage. We all listened to hip hop, reggae, house music, etc. and Jamaican culture was always pretty dominant, especially in Toronto’s hip hop scene. Fast forward a bunch of years and I had moved from hip hop journalism into conflict journalism.

I had just returned from Afghanistan, with no idea what to do with myself. I figured I would go to Jamaica for a couple weeks, write a little story. But then the Arab Spring took off and I ended up going to work in Libya, instead. There I started thinking a lot about beauty, love and God, and about articulating something without words.

I finally made it to Jamaica, which can be a very religious place, and continued developing that train of thought. I’m wired maybe to see the worst of religious culture. What I often see is hypocrisy, hyper judgemental – the typical stuff that you see in churches and get turned off by. But I felt like, what if I could step back and see the beauty too. What if that existed? And what if I could see the beauty and links between the two – church and dancehall? What if I looked at these two worlds without judgement? I imagine that’s how God looks at the world, more with love than judgement.

I spent a lot of time in churches, a lot of time at dancehall parties. I moved and shot a lot. I started with digital and then just dropped anything digital because I was overwhelmed. Switching to film – I shoot on an Fuji Instax Mini Neo 90 and a Yashica T4 – changed how I worked. I shot less and aimed to be present more. To look for moments. To anticipate. To trust process. Basically just hang out and hope people forget the skinny white guy with the camera. Respect the welcome.

Dancehall always seems to be enjoying another moment. Whether Chaka Demus and Pliers ‘Murder She Wrote’ or mainstream/crossover artists like Sean Paul, Vybz Kartel or Drake flirting with the genre, dancehall makes a mark. Dancehall has continued to reinvent itself since it became popular in the ‘80s. Dancehall, like Jamaica itself, always hits above its weight class, culturally.

The more time you spend in dancehall parties, you see how comfortable people are with the idea of God. Popcaan has his ‘Unruly Prayer’, for example. I set out to photograph the links between the two worlds, although in Kingston there’s not so much the gap between them that you would expect elsewhere: dancehall and church are one world.

The photographs run together, with no words. It’s colours, movements and photographs that link different parts of this one place. Most is shot in Mountainview and the surrounding neighbourhoods of Kingston. Our short film, Everblessed, does the same but with Kingston-based director Nile Saulter’s distinctive visual language, revealing more of these worlds with movement.Like the photography, Everblessed came about organically. I’ve known Duane Crichton of Nomad Republic (who exec produced the film) for decades. Shooting became a continued practice of non-judgement, of learning more about others and about myself. And Nile gets that, creating a liminal space where each part of story comes together to give space.

One night we left a party to buy ice at like 3am or something. And we were driving up Mountainview Road. It’s empty, just the ugly light of the street lights, and we come around a corner and a car is parked off the curb, music blasting, doors open, and a dude is daggering this girl.

So we got out and they’d all just come from a water party. And this one girl, she was phenomenally athletic, I’d seen her at parties in the neighbourhood, she was stretching and doing sexy poses and she had the body for it. She was a pro. I mean, she would dance like that for herself, for Jamaicans and for me.

And the other girl, she was well, this more homely girl. And she posed up by herself, sticking her ass out by this stop sign. It wasn’t sexy, it was lonely. Like, trying for attention and getting it but probably for the wrong reason. And I can relate to that stuff. I mean, even if I imagined it. I try to find that emotion.

Most Jamaicans are Bible literate. And very conservative in their moral world view. But like everybody else, ideas and actions can differ. That I can relate to, as well. And throw that into a place like Kingston where physical space is at a premium. You don’t get to live separate there. You’re intensely aware of all facets of who you are and so is everyone around you. You can front but you will be known.

The whole process of documenting the crossover between church and dancehall in Jamaica reminded me of the value of community. Of knowing and being known. What makes you go out at night? Friends. To church? Same. Not to oversimplify, but it took me to those kinds of values and commonalities, instead of thinking about the project as strictly dancehall, or church. Community. For someone who is on the road too often, like me, that can be challenging.

Movies: Sweatin' with Cannon, Dancehall Style

- from The Hollywood Reporter, at the Toronto Int'l Film Festival

Nick Cannon wrote, directed and stars in this musical drama woven around the influential Jamaican dance scene, which also features Busta Rhymes.

Even if you don't know your Dutty Wine from your Hottie Hottie Bogle, your Pop Di Collar from your Row Di Boat, or your Wave from your Wacky Dip, chances are you'll recognize the pulsating moves and sounds in King of the Dancehall as the frequent inspiration for artists like Beyonce and Rihanna. As writer, director and star, Nick Cannon immerses himself in the vibrant Jamaican dance scene to return those bold syncopated beats and motorized bumps and grinds to their Kingston street-culture origins. If his raggedy storytelling skills don't match his affection for the subject, the unpolished craftsmanship is as much a part of the movie's kick as its humor and hot rhythms.

What it is, basically, is an entertaining mess that benefits from Cannon's relaxed charisma as well as from the extensive exhibition of his sculpted physique. Tank tops are tossed with abandon, including one hilarious nude-look mesh number in rasta colors that comes off to showcase the rippling muscles of his character Tarzan Brixton in triplicate, as multiple images of him are shown practicing dance moves on the Jamaican shore. Call it a vanity project if you will, but there's something inherently likeable about Cannon's chutzpah, both in front of and behind the camera.

Among his inspirations, Cannon has cited City of God, which is reflected in the restless energy and saturated tropical colors; as well as Saturday Night Fever and Dirty Dancing. Unfortunately, it's more the latter film's contrived 2004 ersatz sequel, Havana Nights, that this formulaic string of clichés evokes. But hey, who doesn't love a dance-off? Clearly not Cannon, for whom the element of competition has been a unifying career thread, from his breakout role in Drumline to his comedy improv battle series, Wild 'n Out, to his 2014 directing debut, School Dance.

The film is based on a true story and, not that the plotting-by-numbers supplies much authenticity, it's punctuated throughout by documentary-style commentary from Moses "Beenie Man" Davis, who also provides some soundtrack tunes.

The story begins with Tarzan's release after five years in prison. Returning home to his ailing mother (Whoopi Goldberg, barely awake) in Brooklyn, he learns that she spent everything she had on his legal fees and is unable to afford healthcare. Having stashed away $5,000 before he went inside, Tarzan travels to Jamaica to team up with his cousin Allestar, aka "All Star Toast" (Busta Rhymes), to move high-grade low-cost ganja at huge profits.

The veteran hip-hop star's flair for broad comedy in helpfully subtitled thick patois is the best thing about this early section, and the blast of a time he appears to be having is quite infectious. In the midst of a spat with his lady, Allestar has temporarily moved back in with his no-nonsense mother (Dorothy Cunningham, hilarious) — "It was Christmas 1979 the last time she smiled," says Tarzan in one of his too-frequent voiceover notes — so the two grown cousins sleep on bunk beds like outsize kids.

A local stunner named Maya instantly catches Tarzan's eye, played by Kimberly Patterson, who applied to the makeup department but was recruited instead to be Cannon's leading lady. She's the daughter of a stern holy man (Louis Gossett Jr.), but her wild sensuality on the dancefloor suggests anything but prayer.

We learn that dancehall originated in the 1970s but has roots as far back as the '40s, and as dancers of all colors, shapes and sizes shimmy and pop and limbo and leap, Tarzan observes, "Down here, they put the 'nasty' in gymnastics." It's one of the cardinal rules of filming dance that the camera should never forget the feet, but cinematographer Luis Perez more often opts for the bouncing booty shot, a choice pretty much dictated by the sexually provocative moves. The dance scenes become somewhat repetitive but the athleticism on display is off the charts.

Maya explains to Tarzan that dancehall prowess is an essential part of bad-boy currency in Kingston, and that if he wants to make headway with her he had better learn to feel the beat. She gives him lessons in Daddy's church, of all places, but keeps it strictly terpsichorean. "I consider myself a queen," she tells him. "A man has to be a king before he can enter the castle." To prepare him for that inevitable coronation, she hooks him up with the best underground dance crew in town, the All-Star Blazers.

Tarzan spends months refining his dance skills, while also building up his weed operation. But he ruffles the feathers of Young Dada (Colin "Collie Buddz" Harper), the white son of a crime kingpin, by intruding on his turf and getting mixed up with Dada's sizzling half-sister, Lady Kaydeen (Kreesha Turner). She and Maya are old enemies, and their rivalry is played out on the dancefloor as their respective crews, the Dutty Gyals and the Ladyeez, do battle.

Dada's goons and the corrupt cops on his payroll put a serious crimp in Tarzan's operations, and things look grim until Maya's father uses his connections to help. Determined to go straight and honor a promise made to his mother, Tarzan sees the cash prize in a dance clash as his key to a fresh start. But while things get serious with Maya, Kaydeen doesn't take rejection lightly, calling in her sociopathic gangster father (Peter Stormare, in a bonkers performance) to dole out punishment.

To his credit, Cannon chooses not to wrap it all up with an improbably happy ending, but instead to anoint Tarzan as a legend in a bittersweet conclusion that carries on his legacy. Even on the rare occasions when the story does take an unpredictable turn, however, there's a rote feel to the proceedings, with the lack of shading in the characters and performances robbing the romantic thread of much depth. Some truly awkward closeups don't help in that regard.

Cannon favors the busy cutting and frenetic pace of music videos, while handling dialogue scenes with more obligation than interest. That means the dramatic stakes never feel terribly real, even when Dada is out for blood. But the movie comes alive on the dancefloor, which is where it matters most, and the film partly compensates in scrappy charm for what it lacks in sophistication.