On September 18^th, 2004 Dave Chappelle and director Michel Gondry (“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”) helped stage a giant hip-hop rabble-rousing block party at the intersection of Quincy and Downing Streets in the heart of Brooklyn, New York. This unprecedented free event performed in front of a community day care center featured the comedy stylings of Chappelle and music from some the top talents in the industry including Kanye West, Mos Def, Common, Erykah Badu, The Roots, Jill Scott and, for the first time in over seven years, the Fugees.

The fruit of this labor is easily the most crowd-pleasing concert film to hit cinema screens in ages, the comic and the director joining forces to bring “Dave Chappelle’s Block Party” to gigantic chart-topping base-thumping linguistic-spinning gigantically entertaining life. But what starts out as an amusing foray into foul-mouthed comedy and raucous rap music spins into something far more profound; twisting, turning and jiving its way into a gut-wrenching, heart-breaking and rapturously uplifting examination of race, culture, community, poverty, celebrity, faith and family so wondrous I can’t wait to see it again.

And I don’t even like rap music or David Chappelle. Just imagine what my opinion would have been if I did?

Simply put, I did not see this movie coming. Most of the artists taking the stage I either didn’t know or didn’t care about, while Chappelle’s antics in his popular Comedy Central variety program usually left me twiddling my thumbs in boredom. And while that’s not completely accurate (I do love both Jill Scott and Erykah Badu, while Kanye West is a talent that makes me think time and time again I need to broaden my musical horizons), it’s still pretty close. Maybe it’s because I can’t relate, and even though my family wasn’t the richest or most affluent in Spokane, WA, I can’t exactly say they ever let us go without. More so, I’m not a racial minority, and as much as I’d like to say I’m the perfect Caucasian girly-girl the truth is I’ve had breaks and handouts many of my African American and Asian friends probably went without.

The genius of what Gondry and Chappelle accomplish is to make the music, the setting and the people soaking it all in universal for everyone no matter who they are or what their background. The comic is insistent on getting people from all walks of life into this free, once-in-a-lifetime extravaganza. He hands out golden tickets to random strangers back in his Ohio hometown, then on a whim decides to convince the president of Central State University to the marching band make the trek to the Big Apple. He goes inside the day care, befriending the children and connecting with the real-life tales of hardship hitting the neighborhood’s residents.

The filmmakers get an intimate portrait of, not just the artists connecting into the influences and inspirations for their music, but also of the people residing in the neighborhood welcoming them into their lives for a day. It is celebrity reality VH1 would never have the guts to attempt, a journey home for so many of the musicians, a reminder of where they came from and who’s voice it really is pulsating inside so many of their songs. It is a communal rollercoaster for everyone at the party, emotions and music colliding one into the other to such rapturous heights it affects every single person both performing and enjoying the event.

It is, of course, the music that matters most of all here. Instead of just taking the stage for an individual set, the performers come and go like a family, joining both the fantastic house band and the other musicians in give-and-take free-for-alls that are some of the most remarkable I’ve ever had the pleasure to see. I know I already said this, but I don’t like this kind of music. I’m a Tori Amos, Tom Petty, Pearl Jam, REM, Concrete Blonde, Go-Go’s, Britney Spears type of girl. I’ve got an unhealthy infatuation with Kelly Clarkson for gosh sakes. This kind of thing just isn’t for me.

F**k that. I’m going to go find a Dead Prez compact disc and play it as loud as I can, and I plan to follow that one up with a double-dip of The Roots and Mos Def. Best of all, I get to break out my Fugees, so happy to see Lauren Hill and Wyclef Jean standing on stage holding one another I’ll probably wear out their groundbreaking disc all over again. Great music is great music, and it is the responsibility of an open mind and a ready heart to try and take it in even if it comes from an avenue you don’t normally like.

That’s what makes “Dave Chappelle’s Block Party” so special. This isn’t just a celebration of celebrities giving back to a community; it’s a celebration of what it is that makes us all, black, white, yellow, green, blue, purple or all-of-the-above, who we are. It is an exuberant journey into the nuances making us individuals, the differences making us human and the commonalties making us all one race. By the time the lights went down and the busses left for home, I didn’t want the party to end, realizing I was ready to keep on carousing long after the music had faded and the musicians had left the neighborhood.

Maybe I’ll just have to go buy a ticket and see it again. Twice. Three times. 

In the words of James Brown, “Hit me!”

Film Rating: êêêê  (out of 4)