2007’s The Perfect Holiday from director Lance Rivera flopped badly on release, making it a perfect example of the unpredictable behaviour of fickle movie-going audiences - there’s no way this is any worse than Madea… It’s standard cookie-cutter romantic comedy fluff, the sort of thing that seems to be perfectly acceptable on the Hallmark channel but draws the ire of critics when launched on the big screen. It’s predictable and inoffensive, so thank goodness Rivera had the smarts to assemble a killer cast to help polish a turd of a script.
Gabrielle Union is adorable as struggling single mom Nancy, bruised by her divorce from improbably named superstar rapper J-Jizzy (Charlie Murphy) and just looking for a man who’ll do her right. Morris Chestnut is hapless, down-on-his-luck songwriter Benjamin who’s skint, but has a heart of gold etc. The ‘meet cute’ between these two is inspired - Benjamin takes a side-gig as a department store Santa and abuses the Santa ‘code of secrecy’ when Nancy’s adorable daughter confides that all she wants this year is for her mom to be happy. Noting that Nancy is vulnerable and cute, Benjamin takes a pop. His actions are dubious but forgivable as the film is at pains to make us aware he’s a standup guy. Romance blossoms, lies are spun, things spiral out of control. Benjamin keeps his real job a secret, while Nancy keeps her famous ex’s identity under wraps.
Complications arise when - wouldn’t you know it? - Benjamin snags a songwriting job on J-Jizzy’s upcoming Christmas album (nice touch) and so the web of lies starts to unravel with predictable romcom results.
Mystifyingly, the film has a magic, fairytale element with Terence Howard and Queen Latifah cast as a pair of warring guardian angels pulling the strings. The two stars are given very little to do, leaving me confused as to why they’re even in the film. It’s odd but, hey - everyone wants to do a Christmas film, right?
Much better served by the script is Charlie Murphy (brother of Eddie) as supreme scene-stealer J-Jizzy, riffing on the overblown celebrity antics of rappers like Puff Daddy, Kanye West etc. He’s a monstrous, despicable fame-hungry creation, caring more about bling and album sales than his own children but, crucially, he’s hilarious. J-Jizzy injects the treacly, often mundane proceedings with some much-needed cartoon gangsta edge and humour. Only concerned with appearing wholesome for the cameras if it’ll help him sell more records, Jizzy’s “I love the ho ho hos” antics are a much-needed antidote to the barrage of romcom cliches.
It’s all told with good cheer, even if the mounting plot contrivances become too much to handle. The writers sure must have been glad to have those helpful guardian angels on their side. Still, I definitely don’t think this deserves to be anywhere near any festive ‘worst ever’ lists and I’d happily watch ‘J-Jizzy: The Movie’.
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