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If that is so, it is because the director sees so much riding on each of his films: the future of cinema, precious testimony from an African-American perspective and, not least, the reputation -- carefully nourished, always vulnerable -- of Spike Lee. "Spike was on the set," recalls an observer who was close to the shooting, "and a guy comes up and tells him, 'I know you! I saw your film -- Boyz N the Hood.' " Lee was miffed, but the crew members laughed seditiously. They surely knew that John Singleton's Boyz N the Hood earned about as much money as Jungle Fever and Do the Right Thing did together. Lee doesn't care to be overtaken by the young black directors whose careers his success helped make possible.
Nor would he settle for a Malcolm-like niche in movie history: the radical prophet who achieved his stature posthumously. Lee would rather be a top- grossing auteur now than a biopic subject later. Perhaps that is why his movie is so stately, reverent and academic, so suitable for the Oscars with which Hollywood rewards high-minded mediocrity. Some other director will have to find a way to merge the danger of a brilliant, racist orator with the seismic jolt of energized filmmaking. That picture will be worth skipping school for.
Moviegoers may accept Lee's burning logo and tepid melodrama as cinema's vision of Malcolm X now. They can hope for the fire next time.