agent that’s earned his reputation as what a Russian mobster calls a “master of disguise” by donning a fat suit and curlers to catch crooks. Lawrence reprises his role as Malcolm, an undercover F.B.I. The disconnect from reality that everyone involved in this film exhibited by agreeing to collaborate on it is staggering. It is impossible to overstate this film’s terribleness. Any way you slice it, Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son deserves jeremiads declaring it as the latest in a long line of signs of the ever-looming cultural apocalypse. The fact that we’ve gotten to a third entry in this series at all proves how desperate the films’ producers are to earn a buck (the last two entries grossed $117 million and $70 million, respectively). Don’t panic: That’s just a defense mechanism to help you process the horror of watching Lawrence, dressed in his old-lady fat suit from the last two Big Momma films, try to keep nothing but a drape on while an art teacher insists he take off all his clothes for her life-model class. If you see it, you will be mortified and cover your eyes at least once.
Big mama like father like son movie#
This movie is so bad that you’ll be cowering in your seat while convulsively laughing at everything from its bad KFC jokes (“We was so poor we had to lick other people’s fingers”) to an impromptu musical number involving a rap duet (one of three!) that includes lyrics about a “super-sized badonkadonk.” It’s a true rubber-necker’s delight, a comedy so inconceivably tacky that it will make you question whether or not you’re laughing at the film or with it.Īllow me to assure you in no uncertain terms: This movie is improbably bad. With Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son, Martin Lawrence and director Martin Whitesell have kicked the year in bad studio-produced films off with a colossal bomb.
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