"Welcome to your Magic Johnson Theatres ..."

F*ck Magic Johnson.

F*ck Earl Ofari Hutchison. F*ck Anthony Samad.

*The operative checks, to be certain he has your attention*

Switch the names above to "Hype Williams," "Rappers" and "Black Youth," and you have the thesis of the turmoil surrounding Belly.

" ... this theatre is a local effort, and you're part of the team!"

By the time this column sees print, Belly will already have had its box office ambitions scuttled by betrayal. On video, it'll end up a footnote in the generational war declared by C. Dolores Tucker in a community decimated by fratricide.

Here's the 411: the film Belly has been banned from the growing Magic Johnson Theatres chain (www.magicjohnsontheatres.com), due to concerns about violence and negative stereotypes of African Americans. Community activists like Hutchison and Samad have jumped on the bandwagon, decrying Williams' film as the next worst thing, garnishing publicity for their fledgling activist organization.

Almost none of these people have seen the goddamned movie.

" ... we have a few rules that apply to everyone ..."

Hype can be annoying as hell -- letterboxing all those videos, wacky shots, that stuff could work your nerves. He has glamorized artists who are a) wack, b) promote self destructive values systems and behaviors or c) all of the above. None of that has a lick to do with the film Belly.

In Belly (not to spoil too much), all the main characters live! In a Black movie, that's a frickin' miracle. On top of that,. all the main characters improve themselves not only financially but spiritually, atoning and trying to improve. This sort of film, we see, is not welcome at the Magic Johnson Theatres.

" ... they're not there to disrespect! They're there so we can all have a good time!"

Original Gangstas played on multiple screens at Magic. Fred Williamson, Pam Grier (how could you, Pam?) and Jim Brown started in a film that's central tenet said today's youth are beyond redemption, must obey elders who abandoned them or be killed. In the penultimate scene, a repentant "gangbanger" says to Jim, "Killed your son? I'm your son! You made me and now you wanna kill me?" Jim then inserted a dagger underneath the boy's solar plexus. That's the kind of film, we see, welcome at the Magic Johnson Theatres.

"... so if you have a problem, leave it on the streets."

Starship Troopers. The Siege. Bride of Chucky. All fine, all multi screen shows at Magic. A film where the rugged, thuggish youth try to pull themselves out of their own karmic muck and do better? Drive yo' ass to Hollywood or the Marina, we don't show that here.

"We can do it in our own community. I know I will."

The only possible reason for this outrageous playerhatred is that our parents don't love us anymore. The elders in the Black community, too frustrated over their failures and incompetence in the '60s and '70s as well as their inability to know how to raise us through free love vibes and draft cards, have had enough. They want us dead. They want us gone from their sight forever, so they can wallow in their own defeat and self pity.

Damage Control would like to respond thusly: f*ck all y'all. You weren't there to raise us right, so what loyalty do we have to you now? We'll improve ourselves without your sittin' in, beggin' in, dyin' in asses. If the war had to be fought between us, we have learned one thing from you -- losing is for the weak. We'll build a better world for ourselves with you, or on the ashes and bones of your corpses. All the same to us.

"Thank you for choosing Magic Johnson Theatres, now f*ck off and go home."