Back in July of this year, in the middle of some potentially
scary medical issues (multiple hospital visits, a lot of dead-ends as to what
the hell was going from doctors, that kind of thing), I only managed to get one review done in that whole month.
Knowing the frank inconsistency in terms of when reviews get posted here and at
what frequency, I still feel like I hideously dropped the ball. Partly because
it showed a certain amount of slackness on my part (hobby or no hobby, I take
this work far too seriously to let a little thing like potential death get in the way of
it, and I am actually serious about that point) and partly because that one
review was on a film that I both hated and could probably write a thorough
review for without even seeing it. Yes, Rough Night is legitimately that bad,
one of the latest instances of the ‘chick flick’ sub-genre digging itself into
a cesspool of hatefulness and misguided intentions.
Well, in a double
saving-throw, I am looking at a film that has a lot of similarities to Rough
Night on the surface (distaff Hangover knock-off) and giving myself a chance to look like somewhat less of a sexist
asshole by showing how that very idea can work… supposedly. This could be just
as bad, or worse, or it could be legitimately decent; only one way to find out.
Keep all grapefruits out of arm’s reach.
The plot: Lifestyle guru Ryan (Regina Hall), when offered
the chance to be the keynote speaker at the annual Essence Music Festival, she
decides to use the opportunity to bring back together her group of friends from
college: The Flossy Posse. She invites Sasha (Queen Latifah), Lisa (Jada
Pinkett Smith) and Dina (Tiffany Haddish) to New Orleans with her for the
festival, but as they try to reconnect with their more free-spirited days, it
seems that unresolved conflicts amongst the Posse could be brought back to the
surface.
Well, I can already tell that this film is going to have at
least one leg up on Rough Night: The cast is fucking fantastic. Hall knocks it
out of the park as the straight-man of the group, holding everything together
while delivering on the film’s most powerful moments. Ryan Pierce gets openly
compared to Beyoncé but, as a testament to black female independence, Bey doesn’t
even compare. Pinkett Smith does really damn well, even considering her place
as the overprotective mother of the main group, and she not only lets loose for
some rather funny moments but also delivers a fair bit of motherly guilt
tripping that is accurate to the point of being slightly unnerving.
Haddish
puts off the usual irritation that comes with being the impulsive firecracker,
and instead makes for a boisterous but incredibly welcome presence. She’s still
just a touch psychotic, but not to a degree where you start wondering why she
even has any friends left to begin with; she’s kooky but it’s the kind of
kookiness you’d want for a wild night out. Latifah manages to offset everyone
else rather nicely, and along with holding her own in the group dynamic, she
also does extremely well at delivering the film’s bigger statements concerning
celebrity culture and the guttersnipes it ends up attracting.
Beyond our leads, we have Larenz Tate as one of the most
down-to-earth love interests I’ve seen in far too long, Luke Cage himself Mike
Colter delivering as the cheating bastard husband without it completely flying
off the handle (this is as far removed from War Room as it gets, and thank the
goddess for that), Mike Epps in a small but memorable role as a liquor
merchant, Kate Walsh as Ryan’s manager adding some wiggerisms to the mix
without it being needlessly hateful, and Deborah Ayorinde as an Instagram
model-turned-homewrecker definitely gets across plastic vanity in just the
right doses. Oh, and there’s a slew of recognisable musicians in the mix too
from Common to Mariah Carey to P. Diddy himself; heavy on the star power here
and the film honestly ends up looking a lot more charged because of it. That
Cirroc money sure goes a long way.
As much as I’d love to rub it in Rough Night’s face just how
it failed in comparison to this, there’s really no point: The two are barely
comparable and it is frankly astounding how well this turns out. For a start,
and it’s more than a little sad that I need to point this out, our four leads
actually come across as close friends. Their chemistry on-screen is incredible
with everyone delivering their own share of verbal punches, leading to some
very naturally-funny conversations between them. Even when it gets to learning
how to ‘grapefruit’ a guy, it still rings true of an actual exchange that two
people would have in the real world. For another, each of the four are given
time for their own subplots to be fleshed out. Sure, Ryan ends up getting most
of the spotlight, but between Dina’s adventurous but still cautious hedonism,
Sasha’s conflicts between her job and her friends, and Lisa needing to get away
from the doldrums of domestic life, everyone here leaves an impression that
they have a reason to be in this story.
And for a third, and by far the most
commendable thing about all of this, they act like real friends. How many times
have characters in a film discovered a terrible truth connected to one of their
friends, only to hold off on telling them anything out of fear of hurting their
feelings? You know, that trite garbage that has consistently led to the most
tedious moments anytime it gets used in films and TV? None of that here. Our
four leads come across like they trust each other enough to handle bad news,
and the information ends up getting shared with the key person only moments
after we discover it ourselves. No forced tension, no drawn-out
misunderstandings that brings everything screeching to a halt; just the
straight dope. Quite frankly, “dope” is the first word that comes to mind in
terms of what I think of this approach.
With the high number of celebrity cameos and the plot basically revolving around
a media circus involving Ryan and her husband, this so easily could descend
into yet another example of name-brand recognition overtaking anything of
narrative merit. Where this gets weird is the fact that this film treats that
whole culture in the least cynical way possible. With the synthetic empire the
Kardashians have built for themselves, the latest in a series of
reality-TV-driven dynasties, celebrity culture and gossip in particular has and
always be in vogue. I personally don’t see the use in the obsessive approaches
tabloids take with the personal lives of famous people; I got enough shit in my
life to worry about without needing to consider who is currently dating who.
Of
course, what people tend to forget when getting swept up in that brand of
journalism is that, behind the gloss, these are still people, not much
different from anyone else. Latifah’s subplot involving her line of work in
gossip reporting ends up showing what such business can do to a person’s
self-worth, and Ryan and Stewart’s attempt to deal with their own issues show
the real tribulations behind the glamour that most opportunistic paparazzos
just love spinning into drama. Even if the effect is slightly dulled thanks to
the appearance of not only Diddy but also his Cirroc drink brand, which shows
up rather prominently throughout the film, this film’s take overall is rather
refreshing and very welcome in these parts.
Self-empowerment fantasies on film have been kicking around
for a long time by this point, bolstered in part by the ‘chick flick’ sub-genre
that I have probably spent way too much time raging against in the past.
However, despite its prevalence, there is a rather inescapable fact concerning
it: The sub-genre is embarrassingly white. Films with predominantly black casts
are still treated as niche
properties, and outside of rare examples like Get Out that catch serious fire
in the market, they don’t tend to get a lot of attention. Nothing says the
antithesis of empowerment than largely being left out of the playing field that
is all about strength of the self.
This is where the realism on display from
our main group really starts to take form into something truly worthy. The
shenanigans the women get into is relatively standard fare for these sorts of
stories about wild nights of carefree debauchery fuelled by all things
fermented, but that might actually be its best selling point. They are more
than capable of outclassing the bigger Hangover rip-offs at their own game, and
end up delivering some strong emotions in the process. Outside of their
bickering, this group clearly loves one another and will always look out for
each other, even if it means delivering less-than-ideal news. This reaches a
peak with Ryan’s character arc, steadily evolving as the film goes on into a
message about the strength of the single black woman and the pride that should
be associated with it. Even with me being as far removed from that stance as it
is possible to get as a pasty-as-fuck white suburban male, Hall’s performance
combined with the build-up it’s given is really hard not to get invested in.
All in all, this is damn good and a possible sign that Hollywood
is starting to learn from its mistakes. The cast is outstanding, the production
is incredibly high-gloss despite the relatively small budget, and the writing
nails pretty much everything that I’ve been itching to see in a purported
‘chick flick’ for a very long time.
It’s funny and incredibly heartfelt, and its statements concerning
self-empowerment and even celebrity culture land on very solid ground,
resulting in a film that is definitely worth getting the gang together to check
out. Hell, for as much as I ended up liking this, I’m willing to bet that it
will strike an even better chord within its target demographic; do not let this one pass you by.
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