Good Hair is the rare film that lives up to its preview - fast, funny, bracing with barely controlled anger, Good Hair delivers on its promise to go inside the story of black people, their hair, and the complex mix of culture, 
chemistry, and creativity that is wound up in it.
Chris Rock's basic premise - that he's struggling with what to tell his little girls about "good hair" (largely a cultural conception that you are doing better, hair-wise, as a black person if your hair more closely resembles that of European white women) - ostensibly drives the documentary, but that may be the film's weakest payoff, since he's no closer to a good answer at the end than he was at the beginning.
But the getting there is fascinating, revelatory, and shows how throwing humor into the documentary mix can add layers to how we look what's unfolding in front of us. Part Paris is Burning, Part Michael Moore, Good Hair, in its best moments, doesn't just climb in, under and around its subject, but shows that the documentary form can still evolve, and can still be the best form for the right subject.
Rock's journey is organized in fairly straightforward manner; he takes apart, piece by piece, each element of what goes into styling black hair - from touring factories that make relaxer (the lye-based chemical that is used to straighten especially coarse hair), to visiting the largest trade show for beauticians in Atlanta, to exploring the elements that go into making "weaves" (hair that is glued or sewn onto the head), Rock pulls together a fascinating tale of money, and conflicted politics in which everyone's choices are problematic... but the whole is so much more than the sum of its parts.
Along the way, Rock gets great, frank observations from a wide swath of African Americans about some of their most intimate aspects, what goes into making their hair the way it is, how they feel about it, and why they do it. As several of the women point out, for a long time, everyone pretended that no one got weaves... and the admissions about weaves, who wears what and what they entail, is by itself worth the price of admission.
It might not, however, be worth the price of a weave; Rock makes a compelling case - aided, brilliantly, by Al Sharpton, of all people - that the biggest problem here is economic: both the exploitation of women in India who essentailly give their hair away, and the black women who scramble to find the resources to cover hair care bills that run into the thousands... though, that said, my $300 Asian perm suddenly seems comparatively cheap.
Rock ends with an American Idol style hair show contest at the Atlanta beauty trade show, a much coveted prize among stylists. The value of the contest footage is debatable, but it does underline Rock's overall observations of the complexities in this: you've never seen anything quite so strange, quite so beautiful... and so thoroughly artificial. And the question that lingers is... really, is any of this worth it?
The answer isn't obvious; as I left the theater, I felt more self conscious than usual about my long, straight hair, that moves with the kind of ease many of us crave. The sociocultural observations Rock raises - and never fully resolves - are not ever easily answered. But it is, really, long past the time we asked what we're doing, why we're doing it, and whether or not it's worth it. That Good Hair manages such a challenging notion, and remains thoroughly respectful of its subject, and utterly enjoyable, is a rare quality in any film, never mind in documentaries. As a cultural object, it insists on being seen; as a film, I highly recommend it.
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