There's something morbidly fascinating about watching someone who has just died on the silver screen. From James Dean's steely blue gaze in Rebel Without a Cause,"" to Heath Ledger's wicked cackling in ""The Dark Knight,"" movie audiences have almost come to expect iconic performances from tragically fueled, posthumous releases.
Unfortunately, not all actors can bow out with Mozart-like ""Requiems."" Most wind up wasting their last gasp on forgettable duds like Malcolm D. Lee's new film ""Soul Men"" - a stale, crass and stupid buddy comedy starring the late-Bernie Mac and the lately laughable Samuel L. Jackson.
Co-written by Robert Ramsey and Matthew Stone (the one responsible for ""Man of the House,"" not ""South Park""), the film's ""soul,"" if it has one, is a conglomeration of Viagra jokes, bad music and spontaneous shots to the groin.
The plot centers on Floyd Henderson (Mac) and Louis Hinds (Jackson), two former members of a fictitious 1960s trio called the Real Deal whose R&B stardom was cut short when their lead singer, Marcus Hooks (John Legend), traded in his shimmy steps for a solo career. When Hooks dies several decades later, the band's major record label - driven by gluttonous capitalism - asks Henderson and Hinds to reunite one last time for Hooks' televised funeral at The Apollo.
From there, the film launches into an unimpressive spray of genre clichés as the pair of decrepit crooners - both whiling away retirement on the West Coast - agree to make the transatlantic journey in their lime green El Dorado. Their constant scuffles - stemming from Hinds' inability to match Henderson's giddy enthusiasm, as well as their deep-seated rivalry over a certain woman - ensures plenty of geriatric tomfoolery along the way.
In one scene, Hinds meditatively quotes Pablo Picasso, pointing out that ""good artists borrow"" while ""great artists steal."" If that's true, consider ""Soul Men"" a virtuoso's masterpiece.
As far as ripping things off goes, ""Soul Men"" has the stereotypical ""Shaking Off the Rust Scene"" of Hinds and Henderson bombing in a dive bar, as well as a soap opera twist when the duo runs into their former (and recently deceased) lover's daughter, Cleo (Sharon Leal). Could Hinds or Henderson be her father? Can they rescue her from the clutches of her drug-dealing, abusive boyfriend? Is Jackson's Brillo Pad goatee the ugliest in cinematic history? The tension is riveting.
Even the most lackadaisical creative efforts were apparently too demanding for the filmmakers, who shamelessly use James & Bobby Purify's 1966 single ""I'm Your Puppet"" as the Real Deal's supposed ""hit single.""
Leal's singing voice (last heard on ""Dreamgirls"") provides some of the film's rare high points - especially when unaccompanied by her aging co-stars croaking discords - and even the film's horrible script can't keep Mac and Jackson's comedic timing and improvisational skills completely in check.
Some of the films most memorable scenes combine ominous, real foreshadowing with uncomfortable comedy. In one scene Mac's character bumps fists with the great Isaac Hayes who just happened to die the day after Mac. Then, near the end of the film, Mac's character - hiding in a piano-shaped coffin with Hinds - comically chokes his old bandmate's corpse in Homer-Bart Simpson fashion. Seriously.
Unless your idea of entertainment is sadistically watching Mac cap off his career by singing ""Sitting on the Dock of the Bay"" during a prostate exam, receive a ""velveteen rub"" from Jennifer Connelly (read: Stiffler's mom) or swear every dozen words, ""Soul Men"" probably isn't for you. Bernie Mac deserved better. So do we.
Grade: D
