One of the most troublesome problems with the transition of a play from stage to screen is that the writer and director of the motion picture attempt to change the play into something that it's not. Kingdom Come, which opens today and stars the somewhat eclectic cast of LL Cool J, Whoopi Goldberg, and Jada Pinkett-Smith, is the perfect example of this phenomenon. The film is based on David Dean Bottrell and Jessie Jones's original play, Dearly Departed, Kingdom Come. Though Bottrell and Jones adapted their work for the screen themselves, director Doug McHenry's attempt to convey its original purpose falls far short.
The movie centers on the Slocombes, a hideously stereotypical southern African-American family, and its ordeal over the funeral of its clan patriarch, Papa Ray Slocombe. Mama Ray Slocombe (Goldberg) is trying to keep her family together almost as desperately as Goldberg tries to show some semblance of her usual acting talent. This isn't easy, however, as her two sons, Ray (LL Cool J) and Junior (Anthony Anderson), are at odds with each other and their wives (Viviva A Fox and Pinkett-Smith, respectively). The calamitous clan is rounded out by Ray's sister, a shrewd stereotype of the devout southern Baptist widow named Auntie Ray (Loretta Devine), and her son (Darius McCrary), who is the epitome of the hip-hop gangsta wannabe.
As the film progresses, the actors are forced to compete with one another for screen space and time, and the end result is that none of the characters are given any depth whatsoever. From Pinkett-Smith's obnoxious shrew of a jealous wife to LL Cool J's melodramatic recovering alcoholic mechanic, they're horrible cardboard cutouts, lacking any sort of perspective or true characterization. Goldberg might have been able to add color to the film if she'd had more than five lines with which to develop Mama Ray, but she quickly fades into the background as the bickering between the other characters grows.
The poor development of the characters, however, is the least of the film's worries. During the course of the movie, the style shifts dramatically from that of the cheap, mass-produced comedy to that of the overdone, pathetic melodrama. Within the first 15 minutes alone, the plot rockets from a somewhat funny slapstick piece to a rather poor attempt at an overemotional tearjerker.
The movie begins with an argument between Auntie Ray and McCrary's young "homie" over radio stations; of course, she would prefer overblown televangelist gospel programs, and he would rather blast generic gangsta rap. In the end, the radio breaks, and "the lord has the knob!" while "Satan has the car keys!"
As the audience settles down, expecting an endurable and mildly entertaining joke-fest similar to the recent string of what professional critics have deemed "modern blaxploitation comedy" (i.e. 2000's Big Momma's House and 1999's Blue Streak), movie watchers are rudely thrust into a sad scene of Ray sitting on a plastic child's swing set in his mechanic's jumpsuit, chugging malt liquor out of a paper bag and recounting the tale of how his wife recently miscarried their unborn baby into a fried chicken bucket.
The arbitrary switching between gag-humor and overcooked melodrama continues throughout the entire film, culminating in the funeral services, during which an obvious but poignant reuniting of the family is dispersed by the preacher's (Cedric the Entertainer, a modern black Baptist version of The Princess Bride's lisping vicar) sudden bout of explosive diarrhea at the pulpit.
All in all, the strange mingling of two extreme and unrelated genres, combined with the poor characterization and minimal acting (even on the part of good actors, such as Goldberg) leaves a bad taste in the mouths of the audience, or at least in the mouths of those who stayed for the entire film.
