Spike Lee's film on the life of a jazz musician features some wonderful music, but in its slapdash construction and melodramatic hokiness, it does little to illuminate the nature of the profession it attempts to explore. Lee, whose father was a noted bass player, has an unquestionably vast knowledge of the jazz idiom and the kind of life that goes with it. But the conflict between a personal and professional life that can become a problem for so many musicians -- as it is for Lee's protagonist, Bleek Gilliam (Denzel Washington) -- is dealt with in only the most glib and superficial manner. A gifted trumpet player who can't decide which of his two women he cares for, he's reluctant to do the "mo better" when he feels he should be practicing, as though vital musical fluids might somehow be drained from his body. There's some amusing by-play among the musicians, and Wesley Snipes makes a strong impression as Bleek's sax player, but the film contains none of the intensely competitive, hothouse atmosphere of this musical world. The problem of the exploitation of musicians is addressed only in a repulsively anti-Semitic caricature of a pair of Jewish club owners. To top everything off, the film's ludicrous, deus ex machina ending is as bad as anything Hollywood pumps out at its worst. Still, there are some things to like, including the standup comedy of the late Robin Harris, the vibrant camera work of Ernest R. Dickerson, and Terence Blanchard's bracing score.