Death at a Funeral (2010)

A long, long time ago (2007) in a land far, far away (England), there was a little farce called Death at a Funeral. It was so obscure (available on Amazon and Netflix) that a handful of American historians (greedy producers) decided to resurrect it and bring it to our own shores in the form of a mirthless ensemble comedy starring every working African-American actor not currently starring in a Tyler Perry movie.

The plot is transplanted from the English country house of a wealthy, proper British family to the Pasadena home of an upper middle class African American family, but is otherwise unchanged. When dear old dad dies, his eldest son, Aaron (Chris Rock), is left to prepare the funeral and deliver the eulogy while his philandering younger brother, Ryan (Martin Lawrence), prances around soliciting compliments for his success as a published writer. Most of the doting comes from their own mother (Loretta Devine), whose grief at the loss of her husband is only surpassed by her resentment that Aaron’s wife, Michelle (Regina Hall), won’t hurry up and give her grandbabies.

There’s also crotchety Uncle Russell (Danny Glover), whose many ailments include explosive diarrhea, and family friend Norman (Tracy Morgan) who is inexplicably responsible for him, in spite of the fact that they hate each other. Cousins Jeff (Columbus Short) and Elaine (Zoe Saldana) arrive with her boyfriend, Oscar (James Marsden), who’s accidentally been dosed with a powerful hallucinogenic drug he believed was Valium. And finally, there are the two random white dudes: Elaine’s ex-boyfriend, Derek (Luke Wilson), and a little guy in a black leather jacket who nobody seems to know (Peter Dinklage). Dead dad, as we later learn, knew him very well, indeed. Hilarity ensues.

Or at least, that’s what screenwriter Dean Craig assumes should ensue. But Death at a Funeral is a film with absolutely no surprises (certainly not for anyone whose seen the too-detailed trailer) and very few laughs. As much as it pained me to watch the normally foul-mouthed, envelope-pushing Rock play the straight man to the never-funny Lawrence, it hurt me even more to listen to the flat dialogue fly out of their collective mouths. When Columbus Short delivered the ludicrous line, “I’m gonna check if he’s breathing cuz that’s what people do when they’re alive,” complete with pauses for laughter (which never came), I really wanted to call the poor man’s agent. This is what he gets after delivering fine performances in Stomp the Yard and Cadillac Records? That’s just not right.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t also call out Craig’s supreme laziness in re-using the exact same script. Aside from an R. Kelly one-liner here and a Louis Armstrong crack there, the film hasn’t been modified to suit its new occupants at all. It’s like handing in the same paper to two different professors. Sure, it’s not technically plagiarism, but it’s still cheating.

The original film was funny, in large part because of the uptight British delivery, which is obviously lacking here. Awkward situations without well-written dialogue and great comic timing only result in an uncomfortable movie. I couldn’t stop squirming when the scatology joke teased in the trailer results in a gooey mess all over Morgan’s hands and face. Eww.

Director Neil LaBute is fast asleep at the wheel here. The pacing of the film is clunky, disconnected, and episodic. That’s difficult to do in a movie that’s set over the course of a few hours in the same location. There’s also the case of his too-large ensemble. LaBute appears to have been so overwhelmed by them all that he simply threw in the towel. Instead, he leaves each actor to perform his/her own movie. Saldana reprises her role in Guess Who; Devine is one George Michael tune shy of an episode of Eli Stone; and Wilson’s character is so pointless that he might as well be doing one of those AT&T commercials.

Only Dinklage, who has been re-cast from his role in the original film, and Marsden seem to get it right. As the main slapstick man in the film, Marsden steals the show with his mad-eyed insanity and perfect Cheshire cat grins. With his plastic face and limber limbs, he’s like a better-looking Jim Carrey.

But not even Carrey himself could rescue this piece of comic detritus. It’s sad, because I can almost see the thought bubble over Chris Rock’s head when he fell in love with the original Death at a Funeral and decided to remake it just three years later. It reads something like: “Can you imagine how this would have gone down at a Black funeral?” Yes, I can. And this sloppy, unfunny mess is not what I have in mind.

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