 |
||||||||
l
|
||||||||
- Wanna submit something?
|
FiyaStarter RATING =  (1½)
FiyaballsMovie Review
However, as I watched Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman, I couldn't help but notice that Mr. Perry's cooning skills flicker in and out like Shonuff's glow after B-Leroy crushed his fist. Sometimes the movie had moments of fine coonery, but mostly it was just ignorant as hell, lacking any real wit and subtlety. And when you miss your mark a few times during a coon fest, the whole performance turns into a mess. What about the movie? Oh, the movie's some bullshit, but most people with sense knew that going in. It's as spotty as a leopard mauling Morgan Freeman, and sometimes just as hard to watch. The tone of the film is never properly established, taking us from emotional peaks to valleys at warp speed the entire time. It's hard to connect with any of the characters when you're asked to empathize with the brutal heartbreak of one scene, then laugh at unrefined coonery a few seconds later. The amount of talent wasted in this film is incredible. There's beautiful rising star, Kimberly Elise as the mad black woman, who is unceremoniously dumped by her rich lawyer husband, played by the formidably talented Steve Harris...you know, that big bald nigga on The Practice. Hollywood legend Cicely Tyson once again shows her infinite range, this time playing a dignified little old black lady who just happens to be the mad black woman's mother. Then, there's Mr. Perry, playing several roles here, the most notable being the mad black woman's heat-holding grandmother, Madea. I'll admit, the initial sight of seeing Madea waving her gun around, threatening to bust on people, was some good cooning. I liked it...the first seven times. But, after a while, it lost its edge. There's nothing worse than anticipating a punch line. Nothing. It's painful. And I've been kicked in the testicles a few times, so I think I'm qualified to make that judgment. Oh, and I'll spare you my beef with the non-stop Christian proselytizing this film offers up as character development. All I know is that shit offended me. For Christ's sake, I came to see a movie, not church! If there's one thing I do appreciate about this film, it's that there's no sign of Morris Chestnut. GOOD! Shemar Moore may be wack, but he ain't wacker than Morris Chestnut's smiling unfunny ass. I also took great pleasure in listening to sistahs in the audience react so glowingly to Mr. Moore's sappy declarations of love. Why? Because most sistahs only recognize a good man when he's a character in a shitty movie, a shitty play, their favorite daytime soap or a shitty book written by a homosexual. "All you have to do is wake up in the morning and I'll take it from there." Nigga, please. In the end, it doesn't matter what I think of this movie. I know that. Fat, lonely and mad black woman are going to go see this, no matter what any reviewers say. Hell, it was #1 its opening weekend. Obviously, there are a lotta fat, lonely and mad black woman out there. And they love them some cooning. Who am I to judge? I love cooning, too. However, I love cooning when it's done right. There IS a difference.
|
FIYA NBA Ranks: #9 |
||||||
There
are some things in the world that will forever walk a very fine
line between "too much" and "just right."
Some examples of these things are mayonnaise (too much and just
the sight of all that gunk makes you sick, but when it's just
right...GODDAMN! That's a good turkey sandwich!), color coordination
(picture any black guy from Montgomery County, MD), things said
to get in a woman's pants (one compliment too many and you're
a "nice guy"...and no man wants to be that) and my personal
favorite, cooning.