A question was proposed over at the sitcom that is "O Hell Nawl!". Slausin Azz Slaus a.k.a. Senor Beige, was wondering about the new movie "Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins" in the post "Damn you, James Earl Jones!".
He said from the look of the trailer, it looks like coonery at it's top level finest, but would Mr. Earl Jones allow himself to participate in such shenanigans?
To which I say this. Name 2 films James has done since he was the voice of Darth Vader. You do the math.
Which brings me to this email reader Fred Halpern (or maybe Nikki Rocco) sent me:
"Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins got a scathing review. Must read below. The reviewer literally says the film is so bad that she wants to slap the filmmakers, everyone involved with the film, and especially actress Monique in the face!"
From IW: Dayum! Here is the review from Hollywood Bitchslap:
Obnoxious comedian Martin Lawrence plays an obnoxious talk-show host who takes his obnoxious “Survivor”-winner fiancée (Joy Bryant) home to Georgia for his parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, where he suffers many humiliations at the hands of his obnoxious family members. Not to spoil the ending for you, but he ultimately learns a valuable lesson about the importance of family. Yeah, I was surprised, too.
I'll be shocked if this doesn't turn out to be the single worst movie I see in 2008, because right now it's impossible to imagine that anything released in the next 11 months could be more trite and aggressively unfunny than this piece of shit. James Earl Jones and Margaret Avery play the parents, and law enforcement officials should look into whether their real-life families were being held hostage at an undisclosed location to ensure their cooperation -- that's the only reason I can think of why either of them would have agreed to appear in this dreck.
The 50th anniversary reunion setup provides a rich canvas of cliches, onto which Lawrence and director Malcolm D. Lee fling feces like incontinent circus monkeys. Lawrence's girlfriend won't let him eat meat -- so boy, is she mad when she sees his face all covered with barbecue! Lawrence's car-dealer cousin (Cedric the Entertainer) always beat him at everything when they were kids -- so don't you know it, they face off in the annual obstacle course race! And boy-oh-boy, it's high-larious when they're fighting and they end up in the kitchen, sending all of the fried fish flying into the air and covering the women-folk in batter and foodstuffs!!
It's the sort of film that leaves no crotch unkicked, no head unbonked, and no opportunity for insult unsaid. In particular, there's "comedienne" Mo'Nique as a badly dressed, Bible-thumping, man-hungry, utterly abhorrent bitch, who's both the butt of a number of dumb, distasteful fat jokes and the instigator of some of Lawrence's ugliest humiliations. At one point the pair, who play brother and sister, get into a down-and-dirty physical fight, and he punches her in the face -- and I was glad. I'd wanted to punch her in the face myself for at least 40 minutes. In fact, if I ever meet her in person I'm going to slap her and yell, "That's for Roscoe fucking Jenkins!" Everyone involved in the making of this movie deserves to be punched in the cock. Even James Earl Jones.
Let's not forget the comedic possibilities of dogs, either, and the uproarious comedy that comes from canine sex. Early in the film, there's a squirm-inducing scene with Lawrence and Bryant having girl-on-top sex, with Lawrence making a whole lot of those eye-crossed faces that he thinks are funny. Later, it's established that Lawrence's family dog is a "playa" and that they should keep an eye on Bryant's tiny little bitch, Fifi ... and if you can't see where this is going, then you're functionally retarded. What you probably couldn't predict though, is that the payoff involves an unbelievably repellent, extended gag involving Fifi riding the male dog like Bryant was riding Lawrence -- which is not only biologically impossible (I think. I hope.) but shot with the sort of loving attention to detail that's generally reserved for double-penetration porn videos.
To adequately describe how horrifically bad "Roscoe Jenkins" is, I'd have to catalog every single "joke" of the movie's two hours (yes ... it's TWO HOURS LONG) and I can't relive it. I just can't. Honestly, like the survivor of some sort of traumatic personal violation, my first instinct is to just bury the memory and pretend that it never happened. It doesn't take away the scar, but at least I'll be able to get on with my life.
From IW: Alrighty then, tell us how you really feel, haha! Following is the trailer in question Slaus referred to....if anyone goes to see this, PLEASE tell me what you thought. Sucio!
He said from the look of the trailer, it looks like coonery at it's top level finest, but would Mr. Earl Jones allow himself to participate in such shenanigans?
To which I say this. Name 2 films James has done since he was the voice of Darth Vader. You do the math.
Which brings me to this email reader Fred Halpern (or maybe Nikki Rocco) sent me:
"Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins got a scathing review. Must read below. The reviewer literally says the film is so bad that she wants to slap the filmmakers, everyone involved with the film, and especially actress Monique in the face!"
From IW: Dayum! Here is the review from Hollywood Bitchslap:
Obnoxious comedian Martin Lawrence plays an obnoxious talk-show host who takes his obnoxious “Survivor”-winner fiancée (Joy Bryant) home to Georgia for his parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, where he suffers many humiliations at the hands of his obnoxious family members. Not to spoil the ending for you, but he ultimately learns a valuable lesson about the importance of family. Yeah, I was surprised, too.
I'll be shocked if this doesn't turn out to be the single worst movie I see in 2008, because right now it's impossible to imagine that anything released in the next 11 months could be more trite and aggressively unfunny than this piece of shit. James Earl Jones and Margaret Avery play the parents, and law enforcement officials should look into whether their real-life families were being held hostage at an undisclosed location to ensure their cooperation -- that's the only reason I can think of why either of them would have agreed to appear in this dreck.
The 50th anniversary reunion setup provides a rich canvas of cliches, onto which Lawrence and director Malcolm D. Lee fling feces like incontinent circus monkeys. Lawrence's girlfriend won't let him eat meat -- so boy, is she mad when she sees his face all covered with barbecue! Lawrence's car-dealer cousin (Cedric the Entertainer) always beat him at everything when they were kids -- so don't you know it, they face off in the annual obstacle course race! And boy-oh-boy, it's high-larious when they're fighting and they end up in the kitchen, sending all of the fried fish flying into the air and covering the women-folk in batter and foodstuffs!!
It's the sort of film that leaves no crotch unkicked, no head unbonked, and no opportunity for insult unsaid. In particular, there's "comedienne" Mo'Nique as a badly dressed, Bible-thumping, man-hungry, utterly abhorrent bitch, who's both the butt of a number of dumb, distasteful fat jokes and the instigator of some of Lawrence's ugliest humiliations. At one point the pair, who play brother and sister, get into a down-and-dirty physical fight, and he punches her in the face -- and I was glad. I'd wanted to punch her in the face myself for at least 40 minutes. In fact, if I ever meet her in person I'm going to slap her and yell, "That's for Roscoe fucking Jenkins!" Everyone involved in the making of this movie deserves to be punched in the cock. Even James Earl Jones.
Let's not forget the comedic possibilities of dogs, either, and the uproarious comedy that comes from canine sex. Early in the film, there's a squirm-inducing scene with Lawrence and Bryant having girl-on-top sex, with Lawrence making a whole lot of those eye-crossed faces that he thinks are funny. Later, it's established that Lawrence's family dog is a "playa" and that they should keep an eye on Bryant's tiny little bitch, Fifi ... and if you can't see where this is going, then you're functionally retarded. What you probably couldn't predict though, is that the payoff involves an unbelievably repellent, extended gag involving Fifi riding the male dog like Bryant was riding Lawrence -- which is not only biologically impossible (I think. I hope.) but shot with the sort of loving attention to detail that's generally reserved for double-penetration porn videos.
To adequately describe how horrifically bad "Roscoe Jenkins" is, I'd have to catalog every single "joke" of the movie's two hours (yes ... it's TWO HOURS LONG) and I can't relive it. I just can't. Honestly, like the survivor of some sort of traumatic personal violation, my first instinct is to just bury the memory and pretend that it never happened. It doesn't take away the scar, but at least I'll be able to get on with my life.
From IW: Alrighty then, tell us how you really feel, haha! Following is the trailer in question Slaus referred to....if anyone goes to see this, PLEASE tell me what you thought. Sucio!
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