Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son
Irony supplies the sole spark of humor in Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son. This moribund second sequel has the audacity to feature Martin Lawrence’s fat-suit-encased FBI agent decrying the very same noxious stereotypes in which this film wallows.
John Whitesell’s extraordinarily witless movie operates as a checklist for cultural and racial clichés: Young black men prefer hip-hop dreams to college educations; foreigners are evil; fat people are hilarious; skinny white blondes are bitches; and girls (even artistically talented ones) secretly spend their free time staging lingerie dance parties.
Amid these cruddy generalities lies a lame premise: Fed Malcolm (Lawrence) and his 17-year-old wannabe-rapper son, Trent (Brandon T. Jackson), go undercover as overweight women at an all-female Atlanta arts school in order to catch a Russian criminal (Tony Curran). Dutiful Bosom Buddies–style scenarios ensue, with Malcolm being romantically pursued by a hefty security guard (Faizon Love) and Trent attempting to woo a beautiful pianist (Jessica Lucas), though the narrative’s prime objective is milking nonexistent laughs from Lawrence’s latex-swaddled sassy-mammy routine.
Fatally anorexic in terms of comedy, action and romance, Big Mommas depressingly corroborates Trent’s belief that “there’s no rush to greatness.”