Written by Andreas Babiolakis

I hate that I’m giving On the Come Up a low score, because I was extremely fond of The Hate U Give: an adaptation of another Angie Thomas film, which I would easily consider one of the better films in recent memory to be made for teenagers. Thomas’ ability to speak to younger audiences about serious sociopolitical issues was effortlessly captured by this previous film within its thorough depictions of systemic racism, and I was hoping that the same punch, urgency, and scale would have been at least slightly matched in this next adaption. I feel like performer Sanaa Lathan — who is a first time director of a feature film here — tries her best at bringing On the Come Up to a similar place of poignancy, but the film completely mishandles its subjects; The Hate U Give’s cohesive nature feels watered down here. Even if I were to completely forget about the previous film’s existence (especially because there is no common ground here outside of both films being based on one author’s novels), On the Come Up is tonally amiss and the majority of its points land with clumsy thuds. There is a lot to hear here, but the messages just aren’t being relayed well at all.

I also don’t typically point out the differences between a film and its source material, because I try to judge films on their own merits, but I cannot help but be reminded of how much substance is missing from this picture. Entire plot points and backstories are either emitted or boiled down to seconds worth of remarks, and the underlying messages regarding the detriments of one’s image and voice in the day and age of direct malice don’t ring out nearly as well as they could have; you had a tome of material that could have enhanced this film so much better. In short, the story is about up and coming teen rapper Bri: the daughter of the late (fictional) M.C. Lawless who is trying to make a name for herself in hopes of a better life (as well as helping her struggling family make ends meet). She is also the recipient of blatantly racist police brutality in her high school, as she is pegged as a marketeer of contraband (really, she was selling candy to make a few extra shekels). Bri is at odds with her manager (who is also her aunt, Pooh), whose stunt gets them both banned from the local rap battle scene, until Bri is approached by Supreme: a local hip hop legend who wants to take her on as a prodigy. These are all of the separate storylines: one about problems at home, another involving the larger picture of racism within an imbalanced society, and the last point being a rise-and-fall tale of a star.

Unfortunately, these stories don’t tie nicely together at all, outside of them all being based on Bri’s current predicaments. Bri running into dangerous territory due to her successes is handled very briefly and with very little threat (outside of one “intense” scene that is marred by blurry shots and a lack of real clarity; it’s one of those moments where the film would have benefitted from not having any scene at all, and hearing about the situation after the fact would allow us to conjure up these awful events in our heads, but instead we’re given something half baked to try and take seriously). Her home situation and rise to fame are both given very little structure for either storyline to truly blossom, and this goes back to the missing contexts that the novel provided. Lawless’ death and life are barely discussed. Supreme (the rapper that takes Bri in as a new talent) is meant to be bad news from the start (a dangerous musician to affiliate with), but he’s reduced to an artist that favours money to safety (not quite the seriousness that’s present in the novel). Bri’s mom and her battles with addiction feel like footnotes here (outside of being fodder for opponents at rap battles). Nothing is properly explored in On the Come Up.

This issue continues — and is felt the most — with the plot points involving Bri being mistreated by the high school cops. This attack escalates into an ongoing protest in her name (which she didn’t desire, but they carried on without her anyway), and we don’t feel the weight of these conflicts (teachers and authority figures having to band together against the youths of today, of which are the leaders of tomorrow) whatsoever. This plot thread actually dissolves rather than resolves: one moment of confidence results in the situation being reexamined, and the day is saved (in case this quick-fix solution isn’t bad enough, this storyline isn’t returned to afterward). This isn’t the only part of On the Come Up that fizzles when it should soar. That’s right (I know you’re thinking it). The ending is so abrupt and unsatisfactory, that everything that precedes this moment feels completely wasted, including the solid-to-strong performances (Lathan herself shines as Bri’s mother, and Da’Vine Joy Randolph is fantastic as Pooh; Method Man and Lil Yachty are also quite good, and new star Jamila C. Gray holds her own as Bri). It’s unfortunate that this promise feels squandered by a film that lost sight of what it was trying to be or say from the very beginning, and no amount of fairly interesting rap battle bars or moments of strong acting can save it. For a film titled On the Come Up, it doesn’t really gather any steps to take flight at all.

*Editor’s note: thanks to my lovely girlfriend for the pointers regarding the On the Come Up novel. Her pondering about these omissions felt crucial to include.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.