Superfly Review

The lurid story of a ghetto coke dealer chasing a final score, this is chiefly remembered for its iconic title and peerless soundtrack, the latter created by Curtis Mayfield and never surpassed in its raw, soulful swagger. Sadly, beneath the pimped-up veneer is a rather tawdry tale characterised by poor acting and a schlocky plot, starring the dashing Ron O’Neal, who with retro styling, flowing locks and suave facial hair array is every inch Harlem’s answer to Empire’s own Kim Newman. With its slick dudes and loose women, violent crime and gentle soul, gangsta threads and naked flesh, Superfly confirmed blaxsploitation as a genre. But intent primarily on milking poor black audiences’ cash, what a low-rent genre at that.