Reviews
Big Momma's House (2000)
Script merely serves as a vehicle for Big Momma's not-so-hilarious antics and escapades
Think of a Mrs. Doubtfire meets the Nutty Professor hybrid, with a smattering of Kindergarten Cop thrown in for good measure, and you've pretty much got Big Momma's House. Except the former three are all reasonable films, and, unfortunately, Big Momma's House just isn't.
When dangerous convict Howard Laster (Terrence Dashon) escapes from prison, undercover cop Malcolm (Martin Lawrence) is sent with fellow FBI agent John (Paul Giamatti) to track down Laster's ex-girlfriend Sherry (Nia Long), in the hope of luring the armed robber back in the direction of the slammer. This involves staking out the house of Sherry's Southern grandmother 'Big Momma', but when the latter leaves town Malcolm feels compelled to take on her guise, with the help of a few prosthetics and some extra padding. Things take a complicated turn, however, when Malcolm begins to fall for the beautiful, yet unknowing, Sherry.
The film bounds along like an enthusiastic dog, with the script acting as little more than a vehicle for Big Momma's 'hilarious' antics and various escapades. The action often degenerates into uninspired gross-out comedy and toilet humour as Big Momma stumbles from one rib-tickling predicament to the next, with Malcolm often only being saved by the former's reputation as a lovable and outlandish character. Big Momma attends a self-defence class. Big Momma has nasty moments on the toilet. Big Momma plays basketball. And Big Momma delivers a baby. Cue many moments of roll-in-the-aisles hilarity. Or not.
Unfortunately, convict Howard is soon forgotten as the film focuses almost solely on Lawrence, and seriously begins to grate as Big Momma's Southern screeches make up about 95% of the dialogue. The slowly developing romance between Malcolm and Sherry is also guaranteed to make audiences cringe with it's predictability.
Lawrence and Giamatti make the best of a bad job, although the audience are left wondering exactly why they took on the roles in the first place, whilst Dashon is convincing as Evil Criminal on the Loose. Predictably, all characters are shockingly two-dimensional, but to be fair, Big Momma's House does at least generate some laughs along the way.
It is difficult to see specifically who this film is aimed at, but there must be some attraction, judging by a high-grossing opening weekend in the States. However, non-existent plot and character development will ensure that many of the audience leave disappointed. Only to be seen by those who know what they're letting themselves in for.
The Next Best Thing (2000)
Potentially interesting idea suffocated by cliche-ridden script
Although praised for her roles in the likes of Desperately Seeking Susan and Evita, The Nest Best Thing sees Madonna returning to the form of such previous mishaps as Body of Evidence and Dick Tracey.
The film tracks the relationship between broody yoga teacher Abbie (Madonna) and her gay best friend Robert (Rupert Everett), who end up in bed together following a rather over-zealous Fourth of July celebration. Although Robert agrees to help raise the resulting child, things become problematic when, several years on, Abbie meets and falls in love with Ben (the vastly underwritten Benjamin Bratt), who asks her to settle down with him.
Although there is some on-screen chemistry between Madonna and Everett, the audience expects more, considering the twosome are real-life friends and basically playing themselves. Everett fares best, pulling out all the stops in a reprise of his previous gay role in 'My Best Friend's Wedding'. Madonna's performance, on the other hand, is constantly inhibited by her mega-star status. It is sadly impossible to forget that she is none other than Ms. Ciccone, meaning that her desperate-for-love character appears somewhat implausible.
The script is a clunker, rendering the first half-hour of the movie cliche-ridden and woodenly acted, as the actors have little to work with. To be fair, it does get better as it becomes less predictable, and it is a good move by director Schlesinger to avoid playing the conventional happy ending card, instead prompting the viewer to ponder for themselves the futures of Abbie, Robert, and their son, Sam (Malcolm Stumpf). This cannot, however, excuse several fatal blunders, including the fact the Next Best Thing suffers from an identity crisis, flailing wildly every which way from forced rom-com humour to courtroom drama, not helped by Abbie's sudden and bizarre personality change mid-film. Perhaps irresponsibly, the script also allows Sam (a rather old-looking 5 year old) little emotional reaction to the troubles between his parents.
Although watchable, with reasonable enough performances, the mediocre script fails to convince, leaving the viewer with a frustrated sense of what should have resulted from a potentially interesting Hollywood pitch.