"Rogue Cop Revelation" - A black, rookie cop named Clarence (Anthony Griffith) witnesses three white officers beat, frame, and murder black city councilman Martin Moorehouse (Tom Wright) for going after crooked police officers who've been dealing drugs in the community. A year later, Clarence is a drunk and off the force when he hears the voice of Moorehouse, who commands Clarence to bring the murderers to him.
"Boys Do Get Bruised" - Young Walter (Brandon Hammond) begins at a new school where his kindly teacher Mr. Garvy (Rusty Cundieff) notices bruises on the boy. When asked, Walter claims the monster in his house caused them. He even drew a picture of the monster, believing if he destroys the picture, he'll destroy the monster.
"KKK Comeuppance" - Gubernatorial candidate Duke Metger (Corbin Bernsen) sets up his campaign in a former plantation mansion where his ancestor murdered his slaves rather than free them. Metger, a former Klansman, ignores warnings that the souls of the murdered slaves now haunt the mansion in Hoodoo dolls, and they will not rest until they receive reparations.
"Hard-Core Convict" - Violent gang leader Crazy K (Lamont Bentley) survives being shot but is arrested and sentenced to life in prison. Dr. Cushing (Rosalind Cash) offers him redemption if he agrees to undergo behavior modification treatment. Plunged into darkness, he is confronted by the ghosts of the people he's killed.
Executive produced by Spike Lee and directed by Rusty Cundieff, Tales from the Hood (1995) does what the best horror does: uses fantastical monsters and scares to comment on real-world issues.
It's an anthology in the tradition of E.C. Comics but told from an African American perspective. In addition to the expected zombies and ghosts, the movie presents all too-real horrors, including police brutality, domestic abuse, gangster life, and the legacy of slavery.
Tales from the Hood is a thought-provoking film, and it's not hard to watch it and spot uncanny parallels to the real world. The murder of Moorehouse in the first story is reminiscent of the then-recent beating of Rodney King, and King's famous quote "Can't we all just get along?" is mocked by one of the cops, Strom (Wings Hauser), just before he pisses on a murdered man's grave.
Meanwhile, Metger is undoubtedly a parody of real-life politician David Duke, a former Grand Wizard of the KKK who ran for governor of Louisiana, winning a majority of white votes. These white characters are openly racist, corrupt, self-serving, and in positions of power they use to abuse, discriminate, and oppress.
The film is just as relevant today as it was 20 years ago, considering the number of recent high-profile deaths of black individuals at the hands of police officers and the fact Donald Trump received support from the real David Duke.
In the movie at least, justice prevails. In the tradition of the best just desserts stories, the scales of justice weigh against the corrupt through supernatural means when human law fails, and these villains exhibit no remorse, regret, or conscience toward their actions.
But Tales from the Hood is not a just a cathartic, revenge-against-whitey diatribe. The film turns its gaze onto the inner-city black community and points out sins there. Clarence stood by and did nothing when Moorehouse was murdered, the monster in Walter's house is not a boogeyman in the closet but his abusive stepfather Carl (David Alan Grier), and Crazy K is unrepentant and defiant to the end, unwilling to accept responsibility for his actions or break the chains of violence when given the chance.
In prison, Crazy K rooms next to a white supremacist, who points out that all the people Crazy K has killed have been black. During Crazy K's treatment, he sees images of gang violence side-by-side with lynchings and Klan murders.
When we come back to the three youths with Mr. Simms, we learn, in a predictable but satisfying final twist, these boys have literally damned themselves.
Heady subject matter aside, Tales from the Hood is a fun, stylish horror movie that mixes a variety of monsters to tell its stories, including the requisite zombie back for revenge and the tiny, terrorizing creatures, without which no horror anthology is complete. The makeup effects are cool, and Cundieff keeps things moving at a brisk pace.
The performances are uniformly great, whether wonderfully hammy, subtly creepy, over-the-top despicable, or heart-breakingly sympathetic. The standouts are Williams, probably my favorite "host" for this type of movie; Grier, surprisingly menacing in a rare villain part; and Bernsen, who is go-for-broke sleazy.
The movie also suggests a possible solution to some of these social ills: art.
In "Roge Cop Revelation," the final murderer is killed when Moorehouse uses flying heroin syringes to crucify him inside a street mural; art spreads the truth, refusing to let a good man be remembered as a drug dealer and showing who the real criminal is.
In "Boys Do Get Bruised," Walter's drawings have a power he uses to stop his stepfather. Art, and by extension education, give him a path out of a toxic environment.
In "KKK Comeuppance," the dolls first appear in a mural that Metger vows to paint over but never gets the chance to. Art keeps history alive, refusing to be whitewashed.
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