DJay is a low-rent Memphis pimp with a small, unprofitable harem and a baby on the way. He can't afford air-conditioning, the Caddy's falling to pieces and his jheri curl is flat.

In short, DJay is a loser, just another 30-something working stiff watching his dreams go poof.

To be sure, writer-director Craig Brewer (“Resolutions of the Complacent Man") gives us the full, inglorious measure of DJay's groove in "Hustle & Flow," which ultimately is what makes this tale of hip-hop ambition so real, so soulful and so infectiously triumphant.

Once a wannabe rap star, DJay — played with just the right touch of frustrated pride by the always compelling, rarely recognized Terrence Dashon Howard (“Crash") — has a chance meeting with an old high school friend, church-choir sound engineer Key (Anthony Anderson from "Me, Myself and Irene") and finds his taste for rhyme rekindled.

Setting up a makeshift studio in DJay's bedroom, the pair go to work putting the pimp-poet's street-smart stylings on tape.

Joined by a geeky mixer (DJ Qualls from “Road Trip") whom DJay initially mistakes, humorously, for a Mormon missionary, the fledgling recording project picks up momentum, and so, quite by design, does "Hustle & Flow." Under the stewardship of executive producer John Singleton (“Boyz n cq imdb the Hood"), writer-director Brewer has made the ultimate paean to the creative process — the joy of it, the ugliness, the camaraderie and compromises.

Shaping DJay's catchy signature track, "Whup That Trick," the characters evolve excitingly into brighter, more purposeful people. Marriages are strengthened. Bonds are formed. Protégés anointed.

In two splendid supporting performances, Taryn Manning (“Crossroads") and Taraji P. Henson (“Baby Boy") play DJay's rough-hewn ingenues.
Determined to get his tape heard, DJay hustles here, sweet-talks there and finally comes face to face with his hip-hop hero (“Crash" co-star Ludacris) for a satisfyingly pow-pow finale.

Brewer — an unknown until "Hustle & Flow" knocked ’em dead at Sundance — has made the sort of movie "8 Mile" aspired to be: Rootsy, authentic, bursting with life. No filmmaker has ever explained hip-hop better in street-to-studio terms.

Rap fans will love it. Nonfans will finally understand the allure.