Samuel L. Jackson. You know him. You love him. What more introduction or explanation does he require? In honor of Jackson’s 75th birthday this month, Midwest Film Journal staffers and contributors present a monthlong celebration titled Hold On To Your Butts.

How does a person have a love / hate relationship with a movie? My critical eye is too discerning to love every movie. At the same time, wasting that critical eye on a hate-watch constitutes a level of time-wasting not to be endured by the brown eyes in this head. With Jungle Fever, a movie I have both turned off in confusion and revisited a few times with joy, the film has shifted in my mind once again. Spike Lee’s slice of contemporary life now plays like a 1990s time capsule, for better and for worse.

Remember your Thanksgiving dinner plate from a few weeks ago? That plate was stuffed, filled with meat, sides, desserts. You thought to yourself: “I have put too much on this plate, especially Aunt Erica’s casserole that is never good.” But you finished the entire plate anyway. Jungle Fever is that dinner plate, bursting with too many ideas.

Racism: Flipper Purify (Wesley Snipes) starts an affair with his white coworker, Angie (Annabella Sciorra), and no one can deal with it. The two lovers have nowhere to turn, as family, friends and even their communities all recoil at the affair between the two of them.

Colorism: Obviously upset over her cheating husband, Flipper’s wife, Drew (Lonette McKee), cuttingly suggests Flipper went as lite as possible in choosing Angie due to discomfort with his own dark skin tone.

Drug Abuse: Gator (Samuel L. Jackson) is Flipper’s brother, whose crack addiction has turned him into a strung-out thief preying on the love of their mother (Ruby Dee) and defying the wishes of their father, (Ossie Davis), who has disowned Gator from the family. (Do not worry: We will talk more about the electric Jackson later, as his performance sets Jungle Fever ablaze every time he is on screen.)

Throw in some comments about gender roles (and the double standards that come with them), religion and police brutality, and you got a movie from Spike Lee that feels bloated and heavy-handed. Lee has his sledgehammer out, and he is gonna beat you with it.

A good one hits you like a slap on the set of Dynasty. I am talking about a good scene, one so good you must watch it two or three times. This is where Jungle Fever soars, with individual scenes that beautifully provide golden moments.

“I suggest you have the blackened catfish” is a now-classic line delivered by a waitress disgruntled by Flipper bringing Angie into a soul food restaurant. (If you have never seen Jungle Fever, I will let you discover who plays the waitress.) Also: Be prepared for the Black woman summit of brutally unfiltered honesty as the women in Drew’s life comfort her after Flipper’s affair is exposed. Get that thumb ready to rewind this one a few times, as the depths this scene mines in just five minutes are unmatched by sequences twice as long.

No conversation of Jungle Fever is complete without mention of Jackson and how every moment he is in front of the camera is like a firework lighting up the night sky. Gator’s descent into drug-addicted madness is comedic, shocking and deeply tragic, with Jackson’s bulging eyes and frenetic energy showcasing a star in the making and cementing Gator’s drug addiction as the film’s most compelling aspect. The New York Film Critics Circle and the tastemakers at the Cannes Film Festival got it right and awarded Jackson the honor of Best Supporting Actor. Shame on you, Oscars, for not even nominating him.

Spike Lee is a master provocateur. His films are always asking questions, poking at your side and reveling in how they stir the pot. While not the crown jewel in his filmography, Jungle Fever flirts with a level of social commentary befitting Lee’s best work. As the film continues to hold a place in my brain, I’m sure the next time I open this ’90s time capsule, the love for what was always loved will still be there … just as the wrinkled forehead will appear when I can’t decide whether rewatching Jungle Fever yet again is for better or for worse.