Monarch Home Video // 2002 // 95 Minutes // Rated PG-13
Reviewed by Judge Bill Gibron // July 25th, 2003
(This movie exists) for (no) real (reason)
For anyone wondering where Florida Evans and her overstuffed daughter Thelma ended up, seems they were judicially mandated to move in with Venus Flytrap so that he could supervise the teenage ghetto diva while she pitches her Harlem tinged hissy fits. In reality, high-powered entertainment lawyer (read: self-righteous hard ass) Mac Somethingorother tries to help his motherly housekeeper (read: soon to be dead plot point) Hardy Terminaldisease with managing her out of control be-beaded niece (read: Brandy wannabe), the silly CeCe Aggravatrix. At first, our forced family are picking each other's spleens like starving hyenas. But as time passes, our wayward wild child learns to appreciate certain aspects of affluence, like shopping sprees and working toilets. Back in "da 'hood," CeCe's delinquent homies are in a quandary. Her beat-less poet boyfriend Blaze only wants the best for his spoiled shorty, but isn't sure that crib-crashing bashes at Mac's Club Cream are the answer. Miss Thang herself has some hard lessons to learn about life, love, and hair weaves. And it seems that faux Daddy Mac may need some "new skoolin'" to check his fledgling cradle robbing. Eventually malignancy shows up to sacrifice an ancillary character in the name of forward story momentum and interpersonal healing. An all the remaining ersatz relatives discover that emotions and motives aside, it's poverty and anonymity that truly sucks. For Real!
For about five minutes, For Real actually starts to work as a movie. Sure, it's a tad formulaic and pat with its characters, but when we are introduced to Tim Reid's Mac and watch him skillfully manhandle an egomaniacal rap star, deflating him the several notches he deserves, we start to sympathize and root for him. And then we meet Hardy, Mac's devoted mother figure of a maid who seems to have a kind word, a quick wit, and an open heart for the walking wounded attorney. Their first few scenes together are subtle and sweet. Even when Mac's faux French art gallery owner girlfriend, Glynis, calls, we forgive the pushy prima donna as merely being part of our hero's high lifestyle. But the modicum of goodwill that has developed and the interest we have in the story being told is all flushed down the drain the minute the whining phat brat CeCe shows up, project wannabe gang of thug lugnuts in tow, and starts to Jerry Springer up the scenery with her irritating b.a.p. crap. Certainly it's a substantial stretch of the imagination for us to buy into Mac's sterile life of wealth, Hardy's Aunt Jemima merriment, and the borderline Basque Valley gal Glynis. But accepting this braided Ho Derek and her posse of pathetic slang bangers would require Plasticman's mental elongating powers. It's not that Tamara Curry doesn't try to imbue her CeCe with a sense of underprivileged urban rage. She just assumes that the best way to demonstrate it is through non-stop "talk to the hand" whining. Add a boring boo named Blaze, a barely committing nursery crimes faux poet laureate, and a tired ersatz Timbaland who looks as musical as Gordon Elliott competing for her limited affections, and For Real leaves grounded reality and skyrockets into the realm of cosmic unbelievability.
Once it starts careening out of control, this musical mutilation just can't smash on the brakes and halt the horrible happenings. Eventually, the entire movie collapses into a mean-spirited mess. Starting from the farfetched orders of a deserves-to-be-disbarred judge to the unholy sexual sleaze fantasy sequence involving the fifty year old Mac and the only eighteen CeCe, and this supposed romantic comedy shape-shifts into the polar opposite of such chick flick fare. What we end up with is a hate filled horror show powered by confused tonal shifts and mixed messages. All attempts by director Tim Reid and screenwriter Shirley Pierce to avoid convention and cliché leave the film rudderless, floundering until it becomes downright disturbing. The aforementioned scene of Reid and Curry gettin' all damp and workin' it on a Nautilus machine makes the Kevin Spacey autoeroticism in American Beauty seem unashamedly saccharine by comparison. It's like, one day Mac is all angry at his court appointed charge, the next he is imagining licking the salty sweat from her lateral deltoids. Another less abhorrent example of the movie's misguidance is how the whole CeCe's talent storyline is handled. She mood swings from thrilled to goofy to self-righteous before running back to her stanza sensitive boyfriend in hopes he can somehow sonnet the strife away. Then she wants her career back. Then when the time comes to showcase her fledgling larynx, she makes a U-turn at Intangible Avenue and Plotpoint Drive and goes on a four-minute search for a barely mentioned, long lost biological father. From the poorly timed arrival of terminal cancer to an anti-climactic obviously lip synced eulogy dirge, For Real wants to be an exploration of true emotions mixed with a little cross culture chiding. Instead, it is all illusory ill will.
For Real is presented by Monarch Home Entertainment in a full screen compressed image that is far from pristine or perfect. Several night scenes confirm the poor mastering as the skies are filled with artificial gray pixel cells. The Dolby Digital Stereo is also unimpressive, which is odd for a film hoping to feed off the vibe and energy of the half-baked hip-hop strewn throughout the storyline. Bonus content is thankfully short and surface. The Behind the Scenes featurette is six minutes of self-congratulation. "The Music of For Real" featurette is an ad for the less than impressive soundtrack album. "The Women of For Real" is a video magazine layout for Tamara et.al. that plays like some manner of prudish Playboy product. About the only redeeming aspect of this DVD is the final thirty seconds of the three-minute Blooper real, when "Hardy"/actress Kweli Leapart stops a scene, mid line, to admit she just "floated an air biscuit." Her "mouse on a motorcycle" moment provides the sole semi-second of humor, intentional or otherwise, in this overall odiferous offering of unoriginal offal. Perhaps if Tim Reid was given a chance, as director and star, to confess all in a telling, insightful commentary, there would be a reason to sit through this misguided jumble for any actual length of time. But as it stands, this is one unentertaining and ultimately unappetizing urban ulcer. The press material for For Real insists on calling it a "My Fair Lady from the 'Hood." Guess the tagline "a putrid Pygmalion" was already copyrighted.
Review content copyright © 2003 Bill Gibron; Site layout and review format copyright © 1998 - 2012 HipClick Designs LLC
Scales of Justice
Judgment: 33
Perp Profile
Studio: Monarch Home Video
Video Formats:
* Full Frame
Audio Formats:
* Dolby Digital 2.0 Stereo (English)
Subtitles:
* None
Running Time: 95 Minutes
Release Year: 2002
MPAA Rating: Rated PG-13
Distinguishing Marks
* Behind the Scenes Featurette
* The Music of For Real Featurette
* The Women of For Real Featurette
* Bloopers
* Trailer
Accomplices
* IMDb
http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0314080/combined
* Official Site
http://forrealthemovie.com/