Confessions Of A Call Girl. The title is supposed to scream intrigue, danger, and lots of nasty sex. Unforunately, the Tamala Jones vehicle would be better served on the late-night schedule of the Showtime network.
Rich man's wife leads a double life as a call girl for eccentric rich men. At the same time, she (Tamala Jones, of course) works through getting rid of what she considers an addiction by consulting with a psychologist (Lynn Whitfield). Meanwhile a stalker threatens to bring her undercover life as a freak to the forefront and possibly endanger the life she has with her husband (Bookem Woodbine).
I would think it would be hard to screw up a plot like this, yet it is done so easily in the movie, mainly because the characters seem to not gel well and some get more screen time than others. The scenes in which Whitfield's character and Jones' character work out how to get rid of the latter's sexual addiction to rich men feel a bit on the forced side. It's clear that Whitfield did not feel comfortable taking a script like this and probably wishes Martin Lawrence had a sequel in mind for their one-time on-screen pairing. Jones' on the other hand seems to reach into a camp-like state with her dual behaviors. All that's missing is the manic laughter from Skeletor of the He-Man cartoon.
Bookem Woodbine plays the husband of Jones' character. Why is beyond me. He's not a bad actor, but he deserves far better roles than this. You don't even get a sense of who he is beyond the fact that he's a hothead.
The various sexual encounters are brief, but like in Motives, they feel badly staged. I still have a memory of Golden Brooks "bouncing" on Shemar Moore in the infamous car scene. Perhaps the best of the bunch is a lesbian scene in what appears to be a library.
This is the second movie that I have seen aside from 4 Life where at least one actor from The Wire has appeared. In this case Chad Coleman (who plays Cutty on the series) who appears as one of the more crazier clients who wishes for her to engage in a threesome. We never see it of course.
How dare they?
Confessions Of A Call Girl confesses nothing except that black folks need to get it together in Hollywood. You need a check, cool, but collect enough of them to make some films that are different. And no, a stupid golf picture doesn't count.