Gunnin' For That #1 Spot

Packed with style and expertly positioned for a theatrical release the day after many of its teenage stars are drafted into NBA superstardom, Gunnin’ For That #1 Spot unabashedly celebrates the talents of an elite class of high-school basketball stars who gather for an all-star game at Harlem’s legendary Rucker Park, a place where street-ball legends and NBA millionaires have routinely rubbed elbows, traded jump shots, and exchanged smack talk.

Packed with familiar hip-hop, Beastie Boy ringleader Adam Yauch’s directorial debut examines the lives of ten kids who haven’t paid for sneakers in a long time, many of whom (UCLA’s Kevin Love and Kansas State’s Michael Beasley, for instance) will be immediately familiar to anyone who watched last March’s NCAA tournament. Although one could argue that Peter Gelbert and Steve James’s 1994 documentary Hoop Dreams or Spike Lee’s He Got Game cover similar territory with more grit and intelligence, Gunnin’ For That #1 Spot manages to be both enjoyable and informative, for both the casual basketball fan and the obsessive junkie.

The film quickly dips us into a world of college scouts, supportive grandmothers, sneaker pimps, and barbershops, introducing people who are “grassroots consultants” for Nike and scamper around in Air Jordan shirts. These teenage athletes, much like their counterparts in tennis and gymnastics, live in a world where nothing other than basketball takes priority in their lives. Yauch’s film, which presents us with basketball sequences that are slowed down, sped up, played in reverse, repeated, and sound designed, is clearly the product of a devoted basketball nerd, but it is perhaps too willing to gawk with awe at the amazing talents of these young players while failing to explore their individual worlds. However, we get fascinating glimpses into the cultural, racial, and class divides that still exist among Americans, ones that are clearly breached by the transcendent skill of these players. Where else, other than in the worlds of sports and hip-hop, would white upper-middle-class Kyle Singler and black working-class 16-year-old Tyreke Evans so easily mingle?

Yauch mainly stuffs the soundtrack with Beastie Boys cues, most of which are well picked, wisely sticking to their Check Your Head/Ill Communication-era songs. At times the basketball footage grows stilted and lacks the graceful pacing that could have given the astounding acrobatics on display some extra heft. That said, this is an accomplished and pleasant entry in the basketball genre, but probably for aficionados only.

                                                              Brandon Harris