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The Tampa Tribune

Published: February 7, 2008

WELCOME HOME ROSCOE JENKINS

What will be the worst Martin Lawrence movie of the year? The competition is always fierce and it's still early, but we may have a winner in "Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins." A groundbreaking achievement in blandness, the film has nothing other than a few ethnic references to distinguish it from the next lazy family comedy starring Steve Martin.

Lawrence plays R.J. Stevens, a popular television relationship counselor who returns to his Southern home for his parents' 50th anniversary, reconnecting his upscale celebrity with his down-home relations. The reactions of James Earl Jones, Cedric the Entertainer, Mo'Nique and the rest of the clan range from reserved to openly hostile. They think that he's grown too big for his britches, with his finicky, high-maintenance fiancee, Bianca (Joy Bryant, "Antwone Fisher"), and his big-city ways. Let the groin-whacking commence!

Written and directed by Malcolm D. Lee (Spike Lee's cousin), the film teeters between neo-minstrel humor and sappy sentimentality. Lee was much funnier with his spy spoof "Undercover Brother" and more likable with the skate-dancing toss-off "Roll Bounce"; here he flailingly attempts to grapple with questions of racial identity. Roscoe has abandoned the family name for a presumably more media-friendly one, he shows up for the party in hideous plaid golf pants that scream WASP and his relatives accidentally-on-purpose mispronounce his girlfriend's name "Blanca."

Will R.J. be able to stick to Bianca's string-bean cuisine diet, or will he throw her over for his salt-of-the-earth ex-girlfriend (Nicole Ari Parker) and heaping plates of fried chicken? If you can't predict the answer, how are you reading this newspaper?

PG-13 (crude and sexual content, profanity and drug references); 114 minutes

Colin Covert,

Minneapolis Star Tribune

VINCE VAUGHN'S WILD WEST COMEDY SHOW

The idea behind "Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Show" is at least logistically ambitious: take four comedians, put them on a bus, and have them do a show a night for a whole month, starting in L.A. and finishing in Chicago. And get a film crew to tag along.

Vaughn, with his retro Rat Pack vibe, hosts the gigs, and guest notables - country warbler Dwight Yoakam, "Swingers" cast-mate Jon Favreau - pop up here and there. And the comedians? Ahh, therein lies the flaw in the "Wedding Crashers" star's plan.

Ahmed Ahmed, an Egyptian-born California comic who riffs on ethnic stereotypes, seems like a nice guy, and his jokes about profiling have a sardonic sting (when airline reservationists see his name, they tell him to arrive at check-in "a month and a half early"). But his post-9/11 jabs are limited, at best.

John Caparulo, from Cleveland, wears T-shirts and baseball caps and deploys the F-word so often that his act would be half as long if he cleaned it up. His mom, interviewed when the tour hits Ohio, says that "Cap" would have been in a cult, or a felon, if he hadn't found stand-up. Good for him, I guess.

Bret Ernst is the alpha male dude, talking about dating and sex, and offering lacerating self-critiques following shows where he thinks he's flopped. And Sebastian Maniscalco, from the Chicago suburbs, serves up the kind of observational comedy (shopping, dating) that Jerry Seinfeld does in his sleep. But minus Seinfeld's precision and deadpan charm.

And so, with unplanned detours in the wake of Hurricane Katrina (yes, this movie has been sitting on a shelf for a long time), and motel room gabbing with the guys, "Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Show" trucks on. Intermittent moments of mild amusement ensue.

R (profanity, adult themes); 100 minutes

Steven Rea,

The Philadelphia Inquirer

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