I’m going to pour out a little liquor for Ice Cube—he’s dead to me now.

The infamous rapper, who has also enjoyed a film career of late, has been tapped to star in a remake of “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House,” the 1948 comedy starring Cary Grant. The film was previously reinterpreted in 1986 as “The Money Pit,” a film featuring Tom Hanks. Now that Cube has joined the ranks of American sweethearts like Grant and Hanks, I think it’s safe to say that whatever remained of his street credibility is shot.

But my libations may be a little premature: Cube is still, in the biological sense of the word, “alive” (unlike, say, Tupac and Biggie). But the last ten years of his career have all but erased the memory of his ascendancy in the controversial West Coast “gangsta rap” scene.

While I’m sure there are plenty of people who are more than happy to see Cube’s “gangsta” persona laid to rest, I lament the loss of a uniquely defiant American voice.

I blame the movies for Cube’s domestication: with the exception of John Singleton’s stellar “Boyz n the Hood,” none of his film projects has been faithful to the grimy realism of his best records—“Straight Outta Compton” or “AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted.”

Cube’s music was so affecting because it relentlessly questioned the sacred American themes of equality, opportunity, and progress. His most significant tracks were those that graphically detailed the manifold ways in which American society has failed to deliver on its oft-referenced ideals, particularly where young African-American men are concerned.

For example, his anti-patriotic screed, “I Wanna Kill Sam,” in which he accuses the military of luring inner-city youths into military service with false promises of financial remuneration, illustrates his defiance .

Cube’s films, by and large, have embraced mainstream values while reinforcing the white-washed American master narrative. In “Barbershop,” for example, Cube plays the role of the titular shop’s owner. Throughout the movie, he assists his local police department in the capture of two petty criminals, thwarts a neighborhood loan shark, and forsakes his “childish” dream of building a home recording studio so that he can focus on keeping the barbershop solvent.

How ironic that Cube, who coined the phrase “fuck the police,” should play a law enforcement stoolie. Worse, his character echoes the worst tendencies of the bourgeois ethos: he abandons his creative endeavors to become more fiscally successful. “Barbershop” is a complete repudiation of everything that Cube stood for as a musician. When did the self-described “nigga you love to hate” become so thoroughly inoffensive?

The runaway popularity of the “gangsta rap” aesthetic in the 1990s conferred star status on Cube and enabled him to make the transition from recording studios in South Central to film studios in Hollywood. His first major role was in Singleton’s “Boyz,” and the commercial and critical success of that film proved that Cube was a bankable actor. Perhaps seeking to capitalize upon his initial success, Cube’s more recent projects have been increasingly mainstream (read: spineless).

The end result is that Cube is now “safe” enough to stand in for Forrest Gump. I suppose his cinematic development is indicative of a certain type of progress: who could have imagined that a poor black kid from the wrong side of the tracks would make it so big? But this progress comes with a terrible price.

Now that Cube is the living embodiment of the American dream, who will remind us of the American nightmare?

--Crimson Staff Writer Bernard L. Parham can be reached at parham@fas.harvard.edu.