| MOVIE
BIASES: While I like Nick Cannon, looks like the continuation
of a bad trend.
MAJOR PLAYERS: Nick Cannon (Drumline), Christina Milian (singer),
Steve Harvey (The Fighting Temptations), and co-writer/director
Troy Beyer (Let’s Talk about Sex).
 Hollywood’s
laziness never ceases to astound me. I remember when this
project was being shopped around for rewrites the summer of
2001 when people still had “Save the Last Dance”
fever, an affliction of primarily white studio execs who believe
they can take a classic (like Romeo & Juliet) or a recent
classic movie (like, say “Can’t Buy Me Love”),
dip it in chocolate, swirl it to a hip hop soundtrack, and
produce ninety minutes of celluloid that is NOT as lightheaded
and empty as a candidate for California’s governor.
But they can’t. Some people hate remakes. I like remakes
when they’re done WELL (Thomas Crown Affair, anyone?).
But when they just typify and magnify Hollywood’s own
cultural/artistic bankruptcy and carelessness, we see that
“Love” DOES cost: two hours of your life that
you can never get back.
Fairly faithful structurally to the 1987 pseudo-classic “Can’t
Buy Me Love,” “Love” follows daydreaming
pool boy Alvin Johnson (Cannon), an engine building nerd with
dreams of a college scholarship he can win through a GM contest.
When super-popular, NBA ballplayer-dating head cheerleader
Paris Morgan (Milian) wrecks her mom’s ride, Alvin’s
to the rescue with an unorthodox proposal: he’ll fix
the $1500 worth of damage if she’ll pretend to be his
girlfriend for two weeks. After Alvin makes his transition
from fool to cool, the success goes to his head, alienating
his close, uncool friends and, in the process, the girl who
brought him there.
 Where
does one begin with such dreck like this? From the Murphy
Lee Snoop-speak song that played at the beginning of the movie,
I should have known I was in trouble. While I like Murphy
Lee and Snoop fine, I just got the feeling that this movie
was going to be dumbed down to the most teenage denominator
– and it failed even at that. Today’s teenage
audiences can be easily lured by age-appropriate subject matter
(like the promise of comedy in this movie’s trailers)
but need to be sated by execution, which this movie lacks.
The script is as abysmally simple and obvious as a paint-by-numbers
kit. I could hear the bubble gum-popping snickers behind me
of this movie’s target audience the entire way through.
Although Beyer shows promise as a director in her second feature
with some unique shot selection, she loses control of the
movie with no sense of nuance, pacing, or direction of her
actors.
 While
we’re on the subject… There’s rarely a realistic
moment played in this movie, probably because we’re
distracted by the obviously over-21 actors playing teenagers
that saturate this movie. They don’t look convincing,
they don’t act convincing. Sure, they don’t have
much to work with considering the predictable, Kraft mac-and-cheesy
script (complete with big, even cheesier dance number), but
they don’t even look like they’re having fun.
We all know how James Bond movies are going to play out, too,
so if I’M not having fun either, then we have a problem.
Christina Milian is pure Central Casting as the delicious,
cocoa-flavored Pop Tart of a cheerleader Paris Morgan, so
fine, she’s always lit as if glowing on screen. Both
Beyer and Milian go to great pains to show that she’s
a hottie with a heart, yet the script’s so simple, we
don’t even care. Not for a second do you believe babyfaced
lady-killer Nick Cannon as a geek, not for lack of trying
but just because he’s such a supremely confident being
that his transition to Cool Alvin, while awkward at times,
is tenfold more believable. Steve Harvey, although amusing
at times, just embarrasses the hell out of us with his horny,
helpful dad, mugging incessantly with those really large teeth.
But I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t
care. To those out there who think I “don’t like
black films,” then this isn’t gonna change your
misguided minds. But I’ll tell you what I don’t
like—crap, in any flavor. Truth is I love black films
and film in general. There is no reason in this day and age
that we have to settle for this type of lazy crap. We have
more choices, more opportunity, and more buying power than
in decades past. If we continue to go see and support these
type of films that are poorly scripted, unoriginal, and nonchalant
with our culture, guess what? Hollywood will continue to make
them. So if you want to consider “Love Don’t Cost
a Thing” as representative of “black film,”
then yeah, I HATE black film. But if you want a better barometer
of black film (and of Nick Cannon’s luminous talent)
– even black teen-oriented film, then I’ll be
curled up on the couch with “Drumline.” And THAT’S
two hours much better spent.
@ REEL
(ONE REEL)
If you can’t sneak in, don’t go in. |
