Big Momma’s House

I’m not sure which is a slower death – cancer or watching this movie, but I will tell you I’m going to begin a nice healthy chain smoking habit ASAP. I’m also not sure what in the name of God’s Green Earth my mother was thinking when she taped this, despite her insisted claim that she thought it was another movie. This was the filler of the lull of my Thanksgiving this year. We finished dinner and were waiting at my grandparents for coffee and dessert when out popped this catastrophe of filmmaking.

The plot’s fairly easy to grasp: bad guy breaks out of jail looking for all the cash he stole from a bank. His old girl friend turned him in and may possibly have the dough (I say ‘may possibly,’ since I never saw the ending. My tolerance for pain was exceeded and I tapped out when the other guests arrived). He’s on a rampage to find her and she took off from the People’s Soviet Republik Kali to suburban Georgia to hide out with her relative Big Momma, who conveniently goes out of town.

Martian Lawrence and some nasally white guy are FBI agents set to cover that base. Lawrence ends up having to disguise himself as Big Momma to get to the truth, whatever the hell that might be.

Perhaps I’ll get called racist or something because of my opinion that such tripe as this could be better used lining the cage of an aged parrot with poor bladder control and a bad case of diarrhea. But regardless of color, race, occupation or zip code I’m truly at a loss as to how any human being could find this movie the least bit entertaining. It rates right up there with something another great Einstein of comedy, Fran Dresher, would come up with. And yes, I did happen to see the Beautician-and-the-Autocratic-Rip-Off-of-Cinderella, I mean Beautician and the Beast. It’s lucky to even rate an obscure reference here, and that not because I only saw it once in high school.

To conclude (something this movie didn’t do fast enough) due to the utter badity of this steaming pile, it doesn’t even make the minimum cut for the use of our rating scale. For, in order to actually rate a zero, it would have to stand on a latter on top of the Himalayas with 10″ heels on. In other words kiddies, I label it:


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Written by

Ray Macula

Ray Macula