FilmBlather.com

"Ever wonder at what point you gotta stop living up here and start living down here?"

The first time we see Eminem on screen, silent-rapping in front of a mirror, we know we're witnessing something special. In his semi-autobiographical screen debut 8 Mile, the fiery rapper never leaves the screen, and never strikes a false note. The jury is definitely out on whether he can branch out beyond playing a version of himself, but in this role, he is the revelation of the year. The movie itself matches him beat for beat; elegant and tough, unpretentiously directed by Curtis Hanson (L.A. Confidential), it doesn't for a second pander to what is supposed to be the star's target audience. Few things are more satisfying to a movie lover than great, intelligent filmmaking with a built-in box-office sell.

The powers that be have made a point of emphasizing that the movie is not, in fact, based on Eminem's origins as a rapper trying to make ends meet in mid-90s Detroit, but is simply a story written specifically for the musician. Remarkable, that such a self-consciously fabricated project can work so beautifully. I don't know how accurately it portrays a world in which people apparently live from one freestyle rap "battle" to the next, but it convinced me; if that, too, is fabricated, then the film works as fantasy.

There are, of course, parallels between the actor and his role. Eminem's character -- Jimmy Smith Jr., nickname Bunny Rabbit -- is a prodigiously talented freestyler who dominates the competitions he enters when he can get past his insecurities and actually get words to come out of his mouth. He has issues with his mother (Kim Basinger), though he's just moved back in with her: she is dating a bum who is supposedly waiting for a settlement check while she is about to be evicted from her trailer (Eminem, as we know, is working out a far more serious conflict with his own mom). He has a job at a stamping factory, but can't always get his car to get him there.

There are other fringe elements to the storyline, which spans the course of a week. Jimmy has a loyal posse, as well as a group of rap rivals who call themselves the "Leaders of the Free World." One of his friends keeps promising him studio time to record his demo which, everyone is confident, will automatically score him a record deal, the equivalent of "Bentleys and Benjamins." And he has a girl, an aspiring model named Alex (Brittany Murphy), who also has "getting out of Detroit" as a primary goal.

I love the way the movie handles the potential can of worms regarding a white man in what is typically thought of as a black world. The general sentiment towards Eminem's rap persona is that he "wants to be black," but 8 Mile ignores the issue entirely. Yes, there are the obligatory boos and groans when a white boy comes up on stage, but "belonging" is never an issue; Jimmy exists in this culture, like it or not. Hanson and his writer Scott Silver are disinterested in playing the race card.

But 8 Mile's strength is its recognition of the fact that the problems plaguing these people will not be resolved if Rabbit wins a battle. The film's ending is hopeful -- inspiring, even -- but it wisely decides very little of material consequence. The movie knows that it can't neatly gift-wrap the economic woes of inner-city Detroit, but it can and does eloquently conclude the inner struggle of its compelling protagonist.

Expect a lot of talk about Eminem the thespian this winter. He is a marvel. Endearingly playful one moment, convincingly earnest and noble the next, then casually intimidating before he even finishes the sentence, he is the movie's entire dramatic fulcrum, proving, at the very least, that he can unequivocally command our attention for two hours. It need not be said that his character in 8 Mile is much more interesting and likable than his I'm-a-Walking-Controversy music world image.

The film depends more on individual moments than a distinct story arc. A couple of scenes brought tears to my eyes, particularly one in which Jimmy comes to the defense of a beleaguered female freestyler on the factory lunch break. Listen to the way he delivers that final line, and then watch the woman's reaction; for a moment, Rabbit becomes Oskar Schindler. Later, there's an impassioned sex scene in the middle of the stamping plant that is most notable for what it doesn't do: it isn't gratuitous, but it's not a plot device either.

8 Mile is a masterpiece in its own way, full of sorrow, and life, and hope. It is inconceivable without Eminem, whose incredible turn may not silence his detractors, but should at least give them pause. If the film doesn't represent reality, it persuasively creates its own.