Rest In Peace: Rudy Ray Moore

By Jemiah Jefferson

It was with great sadness that I read about the passing of Rudy Ray Moore, one of the most influential, offensive, brilliant cultural voices of the 20th century. I don’t believe that I exaggerate when I say that. His uniquely out-there perspectives, voice, and performance can be heard imitated and sampled in countless examples from hip-hop and Tarantino; his films are classics of the “completely ridiculous, hilarious, independent cult curiosity” genre. The term “blaxploitation” is a catch-all for movies and culture with a lot of black people acting the fool, shooting folks, acting violent and crazy, dressing loudly, pimping, revenging; the films of Rudy Ray Moore transcend and encapsulate everything about them, but in a way that no one else dares to do. I’ve got a special place in my heart for RRM, if for nothing else than because he is the centerpiece of one of the few films that I just couldn’t get through on the first try. That film was Dolemite.

Yeah, I know Dolemite‘s a classic—oft-sampled, oft-quoted, completely over the top. It’s got it all: crime, violence, trash talk, glaze-eyed whores, and costumes that would blow your mind. And I love this genre; I was raised watching these films, I was raised in this culture, and I have tried to be an ambassador for it. But Dolemite defeated me utterly. It’s a distillation—it’s like drinking 98 proof industrial alcohol when you’re used to drinking beer. There are just so very many whores, so many smash cuts, so much of Rudy Ray in the altogether. In one of the sex scenes, the woman is wearing bright orange, talon-like fake nails. Even I have limits.

I’ve made up for my epic fail since, however. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen Avenging Disco Godfather, and I’m guilty of forcing it, and the vastly underrated gem Shaolin Dolemite on unsuspecting friends who invariably punch me afterwards. My particular favorite RRM movie, though, is Petey Wheatstraw, The Devil’s Son-in-Law. If that title doesn’t immediately tell you what the theme song is like, I’m not sure what to do with you. Not only does it have one of the best theme songs of all time, it’s hysterically funny, extremely incorrect in every single way, has howlingly awful special effects, and the outfits are excellent. Moore had a big hand in everything that he did, so I give him props for all of it.

His brand of comedy may not be for everyone; he’s fouler than Moms Mabley or Redd Foxx, and most of what comes out of his mouth are self-aggrandizing statements, usually in verse. And yet, does that sound familiar at all, hip-hop fans? Do we not love those who shout out their awesomeness with a bullwhip tongue and a beat built right in?

The world is a lesser place without him. Do yourself a favor and dig up one of his records, or just go rent The Human Tornado, sit back, share a forty, and prepare to shake your head in wonder.

Rudy Ray Moore was born March 17, 1927 and passed away October 19, 2008.

Additional Resources:

The Official Rudy Ray Moore Website