 Bringing Down the House (2003) It's not often that a movie makes me wish I were watching Mrs. Doubtfire instead, but this wretched piece of shit did that. It makes Sgt. Bilko seem like knee-slappin' comedy and The Jerk seem like it had sensitive, insightful statements to make about race issues. On paper, you'd think that pairing Queen Latifah and Steve Martin in a Housesitter From the 'Hood scenario would be hard to fuck up, but the movie is built on such preposterous plot contrivances that I mostly sat there stupefied that anyone involved might believe they were on to something. Latifah, who deserves much better, plays a fugitive felon who crashes lawyer Martin's house, insisting that he help her re-open her case because she's innocent. Why doesn't he call the police at any point? Who knows. Why doesn't she just find another lawyer? Who cares. Most of the jokes center around Latifah speaking "Black" and Martin speaking "White," neither understanding each other clearly. And/or Martin speaking awkward "Black," or Latifah speaking sarcastic "White." It gets old real fast. Unnecessary subplots and inappropriately constructed characters abound. At one point, an attempted rape is played for laughs. And yes, there is a laxative scene. Betty White is good as a racist old rich woman, but it's not enough to excuse the rest. Eugene Levy grows increasingly creepy, and the guy who plays Lex Luthor on "Smallville" once again wears an unnatural-looking wig that makes him look like a cancer survivor. And the music (by Lalo Schifrin, who I had assumed was long dead) is straight out of "Newhart" … I haven't seen a movie scored like this since Blame it on Rio or Arthur. This was a lot worse than I thought it possibly could be. I hope the director is murdered.
Review by La Fée |
