Get Rich or Die Tryin’

by

Tragically, I have never seen the 50 Cent biopic, ‘Get Rich or Die Tryin’’. One day this cosmic imbalance will be rectified. Until then, fellow agoraphobes, here’s my review of the film:

The title of this film, Get Rich or Die Tryin’, points suspensefully to two possible outcomes. Will 50 Cent achieve the affluence and gravitas he craves with every ounce of his lumbering, ursine body? Or will he perish, Icarus-like, in the attempt; a great waxy bear eviscerated on the pointy shingles of greed; a grotesque ball of feather, claw and bling rolling in with the spumy tide, warning other rappers to rest contented with their modest lot. Granted, the fact that 50 Cent – in an apparently non-cadaverous state – appears in this biopic lessens this suspensefulness somewhat. Seeing 50 Cent, alive and on the screen, labouring quixotically to do a passable impression of himself, we can only assume from the outset that fate has rewarded him with the pricey keepsakes and well-fed piggybanks that he once eyed so covetously.

As a giant child, 50 Cent devised all kinds of eccentric schemes in order to make a sweet buck. His first venture involved selling home-made lemonade to his neighbours. At the end of the day’s business, 50 Cent’s profit margin was a paltry 50 cents. It was this mortifying introduction to the world of commerce that earned him his nickname. The unfortunate aura of cheapness that surrounds everything in which the avaricious rapper has been involved can perhaps be traced back to this pseudonym.

Following these inauspicious beginnings, 50 sought his millions as a sailor. He was soon to learn, in an all-too-personal and painful way, the truth of Winston Churchill’s comments regarding naval traditions: to wit, that they consist solely of ‘rum, sodomy and the lash’. A weaker rapper than 50 Cent would have submitted to his fortune at this point. But then, 50 Cent is not a weaker rapper than 50 Cent.

A series of equally unsuccessful enterprises ensued as 50 tried his hand, variously, at being a gold-prospector, a professional hopscotch player, a celebrity chef and a writer of science-fiction novels. Ultimately, success came in the unlikeliest of forms. 50 Cent became rich and famous beyond his wildest dreams by groaning over a simple electronic beat. Like an alchemist, transforming base lumps of gravel into gold, 50 turned the pain and existential despair of his life as a lemonade-vendor and sailor into art. His arrhythmic, non-verbal mumbling offered the public an initially depressing but eventually soul-affirming insight into the absurdity and meaningless pain of human life in general, and 50 Cent’s life in particular. The kids loved it!

The film ends as 50 Cent looks into the camera, laughing with his mouth, but crying with his eyes. A phalanx of liveried servants hovers behind his enormous throne, desperate to help him in any way they can, but forlorn in the knowledge that they will never be able to lift the thick polyp of angst that clings obstinately to the chambers of his sorrowful heart. The camera withdraws to take in platinum records, expensive artefacts and, in the corner of the shot, a cracked lemonade jug.

This is the life of 50 Cent. Look on his works, ye mighty, and despair.

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10 Responses to “Get Rich or Die Tryin’”

  1. oldrope Says:

    http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2009/may/29/blockbuster-film-rental

    The Agoraphobic Reviewer looks on and permits himself a conceited chuckle

  2. oldrope Says:

    http://www.lovefilm.com/

    The Agoraphobic Reviewer is robbed of his excuse?

  3. johnlebaptiste Says:

    Love Film are worse than Nestle. They practically eat children from the developing world.

  4. Joe Says:

    I heard 50 Cent once punched a hole in time, thereby bringing the Legion of Superheroes back into the 853rd century. Think he did a yodellin’ track about it on the B-side of his cover of the The Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum). It had a great bit of swanee whistle in the middle eight.

  5. johnlebaptiste Says:

    I’m pretty sure that’s not true Joe. I’m pretty sure it was just a weird sort of flute in the middle eight.

  6. Joe Says:

    Mm, maybe. I get confused between 50 Cent and that other bloke. Chris De Burgh.

  7. johnlebaptiste Says:

    They are pretty indistinguishable.

  8. johnlebaptiste Says:

    A few years ago I composed the following short rap about 50 Cent. At that time and occasionally since I harboured the wish to present the rap to 50 Cent and in that way to ingratiate myself into his crew. But, as time passes, and I become more and more entangled in the warty roots of bourgeois conventionality, this possibility recedes further and further into the distance. Here is the rap:

    Look out mister
    There’s a drive-by going on
    There goes 50 Cent
    He knows he looks the bomb
    He’s going to mack some rudeboys
    He’s going to have a ruckus
    He’s going to bling their bottoms
    Like a fucking diplodocus.

  9. oldrope Says:

    That’s pretty dope, JLB, but here’s the 495, there’s little that we can bleep out for the radio edit, you mention zero expensive brands to show how rich you are and it creates or uses no contemporary street slang. All the shizzle in your rap be oldizzle.

  10. johnlebaptiste Says:

    Oh yes, sorry about that. Here are some new rhymes, following your advice:

    Give me my Dyson you cunt
    Or I’ll confiscate your Breville

    Not so rhymey really.

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