Oh, the pain.
OK, kids, so imagine willingly selling your soul for little more than a cheap, forgettable laugh. Now envision if that one, cut-rate transmission of amusement were to be lost for all eternity somewhere along the way — leaving your endeavor at joviality completely meaningless.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is but one way of describing Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son: “completely meaningless.”
Note how I said “one way of describing.” There are many other ways, as well — such as “dreadful,” “appalling,” “awful,” “NSFW,” and “Oh, the pain.” Oh, wait, I’m repeating myself, aren’t I? But then, it’s not like the folks behind Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son weren’t repeating themselves.
For the record, I also prefer to define such travestying tripe as being like a really bad episode of Bosom Buddies mashed with the worst High School Musical entry — only of much shoddier quality. All one has to do now is throw in Ke$ha song onto the soundtrack, add some crappy musical numbers, and you could have a serious contender for "Most Unbearable Urban Comedy of the Year."
Guess what? They did just that. And more.
While the first two Big Momma’s House flicks were rather unremarkable at best (read: bad), but Martin Lawrence has definitely hit rock bottom here (read: really bad). But, when one considers that Martin’s career hasn’t been on the ascending side of the hill lately — and that there is some serious competition goin’ in the “stupid comedies about black men dressing up as big black women” genre, too (oh, and thanks for that, Tyler Perry) — you can see why this third entry was produced.
Once again, Martin assumes the dual role of FBI agent Malcolm Turner and, whilst in a fat suit, Big Momma (he also co-produces). This time ‘round, though, Lawrence allows a great deal of the embarrassment fitted into this feature to be taken by his younger co-star, Brandon T. Jackson: a mid-twenties actor who plays the part of Turner’s 17-year-old stepson, Trent. Throughout this feature-length experiment in Virtual Embarrassment Technology, our leads go undercover at a girl’s art college in an attempt to retrieve the movie’s effortless effort at a plot before some big bad Russian villain dude with a poor accent named Chirkoff (er, why didn’t they just call him “Wankov” and have done with?).