Sticks and stones, we were once told, may break our bones. But names, names could never hurt us. It was always one of the least practical nuggets of wisdom you could receive as a child - translating in playground speak into "your swearing has no effect, please beat me to death instead" - and anyway, it's just not true. A well chosen insult can gnaw a troubled soul long after a bruise has mended. And things are about to get worse. With the release of Eminem's movie 8 Mile, being as disparaging as is humanly possible about one another, especially one another's mums, could soon replace the handshake as our standard mode of interaction.
In the surprisingly good rags-to-self-respect biopic, rap battles - in which aspirant rhyme writers go head-to-head in an effort to insult each other into credibility oblivion - are the undoubted highlight of the picture. It is via these contests that Jimmy "Rabbit" Smith Jr (Eminem) rises from obscurity to notoriety on the streets of Detroit and thus proves himself in the classic Elvis movie/ Stardust/ Flashdance/ "let's do the show right here" music-movie tradition. 8 Mile surpasses such comparisons because not only is it more Rocky than Purple Rain but because these confrontations are some of the most stunning and sometimes hilarious master-classes of invective ever seen.
After the music, the clothes and the posturing, the freestyle rap is the latest element of hip-hop culture to grab the mic, as it were, of mainstream consciousness. In America, where automatic weapons would appear to be the preferred method of establishing dominance, being very rude indeed to one another could be seen as rational return to traditional values. What may surprise viewers, though, is that the battles follow a strict pattern in terms of how and why the insults flow and just how creative its exponents are within that framework. Not to mention calm. Though the film has its share of beatings, none stem from the battles. It's all insult and no injury. Impressionable British teens would do well to remember that this is a) America and b) a film. In the average pub car park things may not go so smoothly.
A concerned parents' website reckons that 8 Mile features "about 191 F-words and its derivatives (some in rap song lyrics), nine obscene hand gestures (one scene has an entire crowd at a club using obscene hand gestures), nine sexual references, 92 scatological terms, 29 anatomical terms, 15 mild obscenities, 12 derogatory terms for African-Americans, 22 derogatory terms for women, four derogatory terms for homosexuals, three religious exclamations, five religious profanities". This strikes me as a conservative estimate. But the battles are characterised less by their use of traditionally obscene language than by the areas of the opponent's perceived shortcomings that come under attack.
Chiefly these would seem to be your mum, the "bitches" with whom you associate, your area code, your parents (God help you if they're married), your school, sexual problems, your mother (again), your hair, clothes, posture, comparisons to obscure cartoon characters, age, weight, your house, where you live, your girlfriend's morality and your overall lack of physical strength, intelligence and wit. And your mum. While this may sound puerile, in the right hands these stand-offs are as exhilarating as any sporting spectacle or more established cinematic mode of confrontation.
What also adds charm to such an apparently charmless business is the context in which they occur. While the film's important battles take place at a club called The Shelter - a faithful recreation of an actual Detroit venue - in front of an audience who vote with their applause (Hughie Green would have loved 8 Mile - it's the ghetto clapometer) others spring from nowhere. In one particularly great scene, Eminem and his fellow factory workers are queuing at the lunch truck when lyrical hell breaks loose. After one of his co-workers launches a rhyming attack on a homosexual colleague, it is Mr Mathers himself who springs to his defence: "Enough with the gay jokes - Paul's gay but you're a faggot." While there is clearly some level of atonement at work here, it does yield one of the film's more splendid insults: "If the tin man came in a cup, you'd probably drink it." It's a joyous moment, partly because it has more in common with Oklahoma! than New Jack City. If Tommy Steele was on the scene today he'd be shouting "'arf a sixpence, you motherless bitch" all the way to the bank.
Another endearing aspect of all this cruel and crafted invective is that, whereas much of what we see of hip-hop on screen is obsessed with life's peripherals and superficial wealth and acquisition, this is not. Curtis Hanson films Detroit like the frozen ruin it is. Everyone is poor, badly dressed and on the ropes (except the baddies, who have a shiny black van) and as a consequence these apparently low-brow and childish confrontations are infused with a spectacular nobility. Never before has calling someone a big gay idiot who can't string a sentence together and whose mum slept with the milkman seemed so exciting and brave. And herein lies the danger.
As this is a 15-certificate, be warned, parents of surly or even previously well behaved teens who return from the multiplex with a mouth like a stoker. On no account resort to physical punishment. This will only serve to alienate said teen, who will then make a multi-platinum album about how rubbish you are. And who'll be laughing then?
If the film does generate any hysteria then it will be grossly misplaced. People without much else to do have been insulting one another for kicks since, I suspect, language began. It is only because this culture has been fast-tracked so gloriously to the mainstream that any discomfort will arise. How different, really, is it to the choral exchange of views between football fans or the indigenous British tradition of the "wind-up"?
Should you doubt the creative merits of freestyling then have a go yourself. The film offers plenty of opportunities to fashion your own responses to those thrown down on screen. Trust me, you can't do it. And if you can, you are unlikely to be as good as Eminem, who even in a scripted approximation of the real thing comes across as touched by the hand of a sarcastic, super-articulate God. Given that the US (and hence the world) is saddled with one of the most verbally inept presidents of all time, it should only be a matter of time before Marshall Mathers' relentless progress leads him into politics. Lyrics of mass destruction - now where's the harm in that?
