The new rom com “You People,” starring Jonah Hill, Eddie Murphy and Lauren London and now streaming on Netflix, has the frank social commentary of “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” mixed with “Meet the Parents” family dynamics.
Directed and co-written (with Hill) by “Black-ish” creator Kenya Barris, “You People” begins as unhappy, socially awkward thirty-something Ezra (Hill) wonders if he’ll ever find a woman who understands him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a man who ever wanted to be in a relationship so badly,” says Ezra’s best friend Mo (Sam Jay), “besides Drake.”
The part-time podcaster and full-time office worker’s pampering mother Shelley (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) wants him to settle down, but there are no prospects in sight until he mistakenly jumps into fashion stylist Amira’s (London) car, mistaking it for an Uber.
It isn’t exactly love-at-first sight—“You’re a Jew from West L.A.,” she says. “What do you know about culture?”—but over time love blossoms.
“You’re dating a Black girl?” asks Mo. “I have never felt so understood by somebody in my entire life,” he replies.
It’s all sunshine and roses with Ezra and Amira, but this is a romantic comedy, so there have to be obstacles to their happiness. That friction comes in the form of the couple’s parents.
Ezra’s folks, Shelley and Arnold (David Duchovny) are rich, progressive and cringey in their attempts to prove to Amira that there isn’t a hint of racism in the family.
Amira’s parents, the devoted Nation of Islam Muslim followers Akbar (Eddie Murphy) and Fatima (Nia Long), do not warm to Ezra, and make no secret of their feelings over lunch at Roscoe’s Chicken & Waffles.
“So,” asks Akbar, “do you hang out in the hood all the time, or do you just come here for our food and women?”
“You People” takes on hot button subjects, like cultural differences and racial divides, but this is, at its heart, a rom com, so at the end, hurdles will be overcome and happily-ever-afters will be had. That is a given, not a spoiler, just reality, but it is also the weakest part of the movie.
“You People” is at its best when it puts the seasoned cast on screen together. The scenes that gather the young couple and the two sets of parents are highlights, delivering laughs and plenty of situational humour. Subtlety is not on the menu, but Louis-Dreyfus and a deadpan Murphy milk every laugh out of the script, playing up the cultural and faith-based differences that open between the families like a yawning chasm.
“You People” grasps at cultural relevance, but does so with a heavy, although well-intentioned, hand. As the run time moves towards the closing credits, the misunderstandings and accentuation of differences becomes repetitive, miring down the story, despite the efforts of the cast.
The comedy pros keep it as fleet footed as it can be. Only Murphy could get a laugh with a line like, “You shat your slacks?” and I was happy to take the giggles where I could as the movie wound down to its Rom Com 101 ending.
“You People” doesn’t exactly waste its bold face name cast—there are some very funny moments within—but the film’s predictable finish blunts much of the edgy/awkward humour that came before.
Rudy Ray Moore may be the most influential entertainer who is not exactly a household name. The actor, comedian, musician, singer and film producer is best known under his stage name Dolemite, his motor-mouthed pimp persona from the 1975 film “Dolemite.” Featuring a mix of clumsy kung fu action, flashy clothes and sexually explicit dialogue and action, it has a well-earned a reputation as one of the best bad movies ever made.
No one will ever confuse the “Dolemite” movie or its sequels “The Human Tornado” and “The Return of Dolemite” with great art, but the character, vividly brought to life by Eddie Murphy in the new biopic “Dolemite is My Name,” was a trailblazer. His vocal delivery, a blend of braggadocio and raunchy rhymes, was a direct influence on hip hop pioneers like Snoop Dogg, Busta Rhymes and 2 Live Crew, setting the template for a generation of rappers.
The new film, directed by “Hustle and Flow’s” Craig Brewer, is the story of how Moore became Dolemite but it’s also about an outsider who created his own path to stardom. Like “The Disaster Artist” or “Ed Wood” it’s about the power of a person to make their dreams come true.
When we first meet Moore he’s assistant managing Dolphin’s of Hollywood one of the first African-American-owned record stores in Los Angeles by day and flopping as an MC in the clubs by night. He’s what they called an all-in-one-act. He sings, dances and tells corny jokes that start with lines like, “What did the Elephant say to the man?”
It isn’t until he finds inspiration in the tall tales told by Ricco (Ron Cephas Jones), a homeless man who hangs around the shop. “I ain’t no hobo,” he announces. “I am a repository of African-American folklore.” Ricco tells hilarious stories of “the baddest m*****rf***er who ever lived, Dolemite,” giving Moore just what he needs, an act like no one has ever seen before. Dolemite, complete with rhyming street poetry, wild 70s fashion and enough obscenity to make Lenny Bruce blush, is an instant hit. Audiences love it and soon Moore is making raunchy, self-produced records that hit the Billboard charts despite having to be sold under-the-counter because of their filthy covers and subject matter.
The inspiration to bring Dolemite to the big screen comes after Moore and friends take in a screening of Billy Wilder’s 1974 comedy “The Front Page.” The mostly white audience eats it up, yukking it up throughout while Rudy and his friends stare at the screen, stone faced. “That movie had no funny, no t**ties, and no Kung Fu,” he says. “The stuff people like us want to see.” He hires D’Urville Martin (Wesley Snipes) and playwright Jerry Jones (Keegan-Michael Key) and self-finances a movie about a pimp who takes revenge on the criminals and corrupt police officers who framed him. The result is a playful, over-the-top jumble of kung fu fighting, low rent action and sexy, sexy good times that becomes a word-of-mouth hit. “All my life I’ve wanted to be famous,” Rudy says, “but this is more important. This is about connecting with people.”
“Dolemite is My Name” is a simple, very sweet movie about a very raunchy man. An inspirational story of outsiders who find an on ramp into the show biz life nobody else would offer them, it’s the tale of an independent man who doesn’t see problems, only solutions.
Murphy plays Moore with plenty of heart. It’s a live wire performance that brings to life the indefatigable spirit of a guy who thought big. “I want the world to know I exist,” he says, not only for himself but for his under-represented community.
“Dolemite is My Name,” from its wild costumes by Oscar-winning designer Ruth E. Carter, to the fun performances from Murphy, Wesley Snipes, Chris Rock, Keegan-Michael Key, Snoop Dogg, Craig Robinson and Da’Vine Joy Randolph in supporting roles, to the music and the comedy to the evocation of the 1970s, is an entertaining and heartening story of a life lived large.
“The Last Black Man in San Francisco,” a captivating new drama starring Jimmie Fails and Jonathan Majors, wonders aloud if Thomas Wolfe was right when he wrote, “You can’t go home again.”
Jimmie Fails (Fails) has a dream. He wants to live in the ornate Victorian house with red and gold trim his grandfather built after WWII in San Fran’s in Filmore district. His father (Rob Morgan) lost the house when Jimmie was just a child and now the home’s contents are stored in a relative’s basement. When he isn’t working at the old folk’s home he spends time at the house, even though another older couple own it. Uninvited and much to the consternation of the residents, he does odd jobs like yard work and painting the windowsills. “This house,” he says. “This is what I do.”
When the old couple moves, leaving the home empty, Jimmie moves in. After an unsuccessful attempt to buy the place from a realtor (Finn Wittrock) who needs 20% down on the $4 million price he claims squatter’s rights and has the bills put in his name. His friend, budding playwright Montgomery (Jonathan Majors), moves in with him and they attempt to recreate the home as Jimmie remembers it from his youth.
“The Last Black Man in San Francisco” is about many things. Nostalgia. Love of friends and city. It’s about how gentrification in San Francisco has marginalized people of colour creating housing inequality. Mostly, though, it’s about the bittersweet romanticizing of the past with a healthy dose of reality. Perhaps Wolfe was right, but simply because the home in question is four walls and a roof, not a panacea to Jimmie’s feelings of emotional displacement. Jimmie’s expectations linked to the idea of home, in this his case feelings of family unity, are likely never to be met. It’s melancholic and beautifully rendered in a film that feels like a tone poem of love and loss.
There seems to be something about basketball themed TV commercials that strike a chord with Hollywood. First it was Michael Jordan vs. Looney Tunes in “Space Jam” and now comes “Uncle Drew,” a new inspirational comedy featuring starring Kyrie Irving as the character he created for Pepsi Max.
The story begins with Footlocker employee Dax (“Get Out’s” Lil Rel Howery), broke after draining his bank account to sponsor a team in the Rucker Classic street ball tournament in Harlem. It is the epicenter of streetball, we’re told, “where the legends of the game you were born.”
The prize is $100,000 but more important than the money is showing up someone from his childhood, his nemesis Mookie (Nick Kroll), “the ghost of white boy past” who bullied Dax when they were players. “What’s that smell?” asks Mookie. “Is it a grudge?”
When Dax loses his best player and girlfriend (Tiffany Haddish) to Mookie he turns to an icon, streetball pioneer Uncle Drew (Kyrie Irving). Now in his seventies the onetime local legend once beat someone at a game of one-on-one with only his left hand while eating a ham sandwich (with extra cheese and mayo on it) with the right. He is the “Zen master of basketball,” but hasn’t played since his team skipped the 1968 Rucker Classic for personal reasons.
Together they hit the road to recruit a sure-fire team of Uncle Drew’s septuagenarian pals (Shaquille O’Neal, Chris Webber, Reggie Miller, Nate Robinson, and Lisa Leslie all hidden under layers of make-up) to take one last run at the game on the 50th anniversary of the game they never got to play.
“Uncle Drew” is a sports movie based on a commercial but there’s more swishes than misses here. It’s a sweet natured film about respect, teamwork—“Gladys Knight ain’t nothing without the Pips,” says Uncle Drew.—resilience and second chances. It is an undeniable, if somewhat predictable, feel good movie that doesn’t aim any higher than the rim of a basketball hoop. Filled with old coot advice we learn, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take,” and, “You don’t stop playing because you get old you get old because you stop playing,” it plays like a heavy-handed sports Successtory with loads of improv comedy.
For twenty years, from 1974 to 1994, Charles Bronson starred in “Death Wish” films as Paul Kersey, a successful New York architect turned vigilante after his wife was murdered and child assaulted. “If the police don’t defend us,” he growled, “maybe we ought to do it ourselves.”
In “Death Wish,” the new Eli Roth-directed reboot of the series, Bruce Willis steps in, beating out—but not beating up— Sylvester Stallone who was originally cast as Kersey.
This time around the backdrop is Chicago. Dr. Kersey (Willis) is a surgeon whose work in the ER gives him an up-close-and-personal look at the effects of violence in his city. He gets an even closer look at the carnage when home intruders viciously attack his wife (Elisabeth Shue) and young daughter (Camila Morrone). The healer turns killer, exchanging the scalpel for a gun, which he learns to fire by watching a YouTube show called Full Metal Tactics. “I love my family and when they needed me most I failed to protect them.” As bad guy bodies (and snappy one-liners) pile up he becomes headline news—the newspapers billboard “Grim Reaper Alerts”—but is he right to take the law into his own hands? Is he a folk hero or domestic terrorist?
With gun control front and center in public debate right now “Death Wish” could have been a timely and relevant film. It could ask questions. When does a good guy with a gun, shooting bad guys with guns, become a bad guy with a gun? It could have been a poignant film about a man pushed too far but there is nothing poignant about Roth’s reboot of the seventies series. It’s not a character study of grief or a portrait of Chicago’s escalating crime rate. Satisfied to take the low road, it’s a revenge film pure and simple. Audiences are meant to applaud every time Kersey blows away a bad guy and not think too deeply about the normalization of dangerous behaviour.
Willis, whose resume is dotted with charming hero types, plays Kersey as a wounded man who finds strength in his revenge. He’s locked, loaded and ready to rock. His most famous character, off-duty New York City Police Department officer John McClane, was always keen to dispatch a villain but he didn’t go hunting random victims or torture them once he found them. We are supposed to get the great contradiction of Kersey’s life—he’s a healer in the O.R. but a killer on the street—but the movie gives equal weight to the yin and yang. He’s a good guy because he cures people and a patriot because he rids the streets of undesirables. To be truly effective he must be one or the other. The muddy antihero middle is an ugly, exaggerated male violence fantasy. Is Kersey a folk hero or a killer? The movie can’t seem to decide.
“Death Wish” will provide ammunition for discussion, so that’s something. Gun violence has been a hot button topic when the first movie came out in 1974. It still is, but the conversation has changed.
Part “Dreamgirls,” part Mickey and Judy put on a show, “Sparkle” is a musical drama set in Detroit when Marvin Gaye was a superstar and musicians hadn’t yet discovered auto-tune.
“American Idol” champ Jordan Sparks is the title character, (recreating a role made famous by a pre-“Fame” Irene Cara in the 1978 original), a Motown teen with the dream of becoming a star. “I want to be better than Diana,” she says, heady words at the height of the Supremes’s fame. Forming a band with her siblings, the sexy Sister (Carmen Ejogo) and brainiac Delores (Tika Sumpter), the group rockets to fame in the Detroit area based on Sparkle’s songs and Sister’s sex appeal. Soon, however, drugs and domestic violence cast a dark shadow on their success.
“Sparkle” is two movies. The first hour is a musical Motown fairy tale, complete with sparkling sings and glittering costumes. The second hour becomes a campy cautionary tale, complete with lines like, “Sister can’t fly on one wing,” as Ejogo preps a line of coke.
Of course it ends well, with a huge redemptive musical number, but it’s hard not to wonder why the movie isn’t called “Sister” instead of “Sparkle.”
As dramatic storylines go Sister has all the bases covered and Ejogo hands in a charismatic performance that is much more dynamic than Sparks. Imagine a James Bond movie where M got to do all the cool stuff, and you get the idea.
Sparks holds her own, although she isn’t required to do much other than sing and act plucky, but is outshone (except when she sings) by the more experienced actors. Ejogo, a star in the UK but a relatively new face here, is a scene-stealer, and Mike Epps is terrific as her husband, the vicious comedian Satin. As Stix, the determined but kindhearted manager, Derek Luke has charm to burn, but it is Whitney Houston, in her last role who will likely command most of the attention.
As Emma, the stern single mother who long ago gave up on her dreams of being a singer, Houston is simple and unaffected. She provides a highlight with her take on “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” belting out the gospel song with equal parts gusto and world-weariness.
Hindsight is, of course, twenty-twenty, but it is hard not to read deeper meaning into some of her dialogue. Now that she is gone a line like, “Was my life not cautionary tale enough for you?” seems to ring with meaning.
“Sparkle” is an amiable film that despite its glossy outer shell and melodramatic moments is a crowd pleaser.
