Big Momma’s House 2 (review)

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This is the kind of movie that reduces film critics to tears of frustration. Its idiocy is boundless, its senselessness without end, its unendurability beyond description, but trying to find a place to begin explaining why this is a sure and certain sign of the decline of American civilization is impossible — that doom is embodied in the film’s very existence, is woven into the warp and weft of the entire endeavor. Where does one even start to explain how a movie in which no one notices that the new nanny is Martin Lawrence (Bad Boys II) in an unconvincing fat suit and in obvious drag may well be an unintentional metaphor of the willful cluelessness of the American people to atrocities happening around them? How does one attempt to elucidate how the absence of a sense of absurdity in the face of so much that is clearly deliberately meant to be absurd is an unintended indictment of American culture and character? Perhaps that it’s a freakin’ sequel says all that needs to be said.

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