The X Factor

By JANICE C. SIMPSON

What draws the crowds is the movie inside -- but outside, on the sidewalks, far more is going on than mere ticket buying. Vendors hawk books, buttons and photographs. Ticket holders passionately debate the film's subject even before + they see it. At one New York City theater last week, the director showed up to thank moviegoers for their support and was engulfed by a throng of youths eager for his autograph or a handshake. Meanwhile, at another theater across town, a street-corner activist paced in front of the waiting line, shouting, "Don't see this movie!"

After months of controversy and more media coverage than any event this fall, with the possible exception of the presidential election, Malcolm X, Spike Lee's 3-hr. 21-min. epic about the martyred black leader, has finally arrived on the big screen. For Lee and for millions of African Americans, Malcolm X has always been more than just a movie. It is, in fact, a cause. In the 27 years since his assassination, Malcolm has become a revered icon in the black community. Young blacks in particular, idolize his philosophy of pride and defiance.

But many of them know little about the details of Malcolm's remarkable evolution from a street hustler who slept with white women to an ascetic minister in the Nation of Islam who preached against whites and finally to an orthodox Muslim who embraced all races. Seldom do they mention Malcolm's reverence for education or his admonition that rights don't come without responsibilities. Lee has said that his primary mission in making the movie is "to open up the history book" on Malcolm's life and legacy. At the very least, he seems to have touched a nerve.

Audiences at the first few days' showings -- commonly up to 80% black, many of them young -- tended to be highly vocal, shouting at the screen and applauding, especially during scenes of Malcolm's flamboyant hustler days and later during some of his militant speeches. But by the end there was usually a respectful silence. Many people wept.

Whether the film will have a similar impact on nonblacks is still uncertain (though crucial to the film's chances of returning a profit on its $34 million budget). Some whites have been turned off by the racist rhetoric with which Malcolm is often identified; others fear that violence might be provoked by scenes like the opening montage, in which an image of a burning American flag alternates with clips from the Rodney King videotape while a recording of one of Malcolm's most militant speeches plays in the background. "It's not going to be interpreted intellectually," frets Constance Cumbey, a white attorney who practices in the Detroit suburb of Bloomfield Hills. "It's going to be visceral."

In the film's opening days, no violent incidents were reported. One nervous Portland, Oregon, theater chain initially refused to show the film but gave in after local blacks protested. Actually, many whites who have seen it say Lee's restrained PG-13 approach quickly allayed any fears they had. "I didn't think it was as controversial as it was made out to be. The book was a lot more inflammatory," says Peter McCabe, a 26-year-old actor in New York. "I could have definitely taken a bit more shaking up even though I'm white."

Director Lee stirred up a storm a few months ago by suggesting that black youngsters skip school in order to see his film on opening day -- a notion that struck many as contradictory to Malcolm's pro-education message. Whether or not students heeded Lee's call, the film grossed $2.4 million its first day, a whopping 66% more than Oliver Stone's JFK, a movie whose success Lee is explicitly challenging.

Some teachers, like Diana Wright, an Atlanta high school English teacher, headed off any potential truancy by organizing class trips to see Malcolm X. "I wanted to help them become more informed," says Wright, who is leading her students in discussions comparing the film and The Autobiography of Malcolm X, the posthumously published story of Malcolm's life that he co-wrote with Roots author Alex Haley. Other educators found ingenious -- perhaps too ingenious -- ways of drawing educational points from the film, like teachers in Washington who made a chemistry lesson from the formula that Malcolm used to "conk" his hair during his street-hustler days.

The kids are responsive because Malcolm is a hot commodity in pop culture now. X shirts, X mugs, even X potato chips and X air freshener are selling briskly. X caps are so ubiquitous that even Bill Clinton sometimes wears one when he jogs. Inner-city barbershops are being besieged by youngsters who want the letter X shaved into their haircuts.

Fortunately, some of this newfound fascination with Malcolm is cutting deeper. Libraries can't keep copies of the Autobiography on their shelves. This week the book will hit No. 1 on the New York Times's paperback nonfiction list. Other volumes about Malcolm are also moving well. Says publisher Kent Carroll, whose Carroll & Graf firm has five books about the leader in print: "There's a hunger for information on this guy."

Ultimately, the excitement -- some are calling it the X-citement -- about the movie strikes many African Americans as an opportunity not only to define and enshrine Malcolm but also to regain the initiative in determining their place in society. "His basically ethically conservative message about self- discipline and self-development is a source of strength," says Jesse Jackson. "The movie lifts him from being a symbol of violence to a moral leader. And his moral leadership provokes thought."

With reporting by Christopher John Farley and Georgia Harbison/New York