2017’s Girls Trip,
directed by Malcolm D. Lee.
Starring Regina Hall, Queen Latifa, Jada Pinkett Smith,
Tiffany Haddish, Larenz Tate, Mike Colter, Kate Walsh, Kofi Siriboe, Lara Grice,
Larenz Tate, and Deborah Ayorinde.
What is it about?
Old girlfriends Ryan (Regina Hall), Sasha (Queen Latifa),
Lisa (Jada Pinkett Smith), and Dina (Tiffany Haddish) have grown apart since
their glory days as members of their gang, the “flossy posse”. With Ryan off to
New Orleans to be a key note speaker at a conference, she reunites with her
outgoing friends for a girl’s weekend. Will New Orleans be the same after the
girls hit the town, especially with Ryan’s husband and business partner (Mike
Colter) caught cheating on her?
Why is it worth seeing?
Girls Trip isn’t
worth seeing. It covers up its crummy deficiencies in writing and originality,
with crass gross out humour and blatant racism. It plays like a ladies’ version
of The Hangover- if the depraved
fraternity inspired behaviour had no consequences, or Bridesmaids- if it featured few characters worth caring about.
There’s a market out there for Girls Trip. It’s exclusively for people who enjoy white people
being used as props for jokes. From the manager who is asked to not use terms
from urban dictionary, to the baffled stewardess who is just trying to do her
job, to the potential client who thinks the girl’s unprofessional and rowdy
antics are unorthodox but definitely worth giving large sums of money to- I’m
sure a healthy dose of white guilt will make this all acceptable. While I’m not
a fan of racism- I never really got on board with reverse racism either. Filled
to the brim with “acceptable because I am black myself” racial epithets and
lazy slurs, Girls Trip does little to
connect a plenty segregated world.
Trip is also a vehicle
for gross out humour. There’s plenty of it, from the fire hydrant pressure urine
showers propelled from the empowered protagonists onto innocent passerbys
below, to the blowjob demonstrations, and fruit assisted sex. When the crassness
index starts to get a little low, there’s always a spontaneous twerking
competition and bar fight combo to grease those pipes interlocking this feces
factory, as well as an absinthe sequence.
After the racism and grossness are absolved, there’s really
not much of believable dramatic substance going on here. Regina Hall’s issues
with her cheating husband/business partner are wearing, and the girls’
dynamics, from Tiffany Haddish’s verbal diarrhea, Pinkett-Smith’s 4 foot
grandmotherly nagging, Latifah’s sassy denial of her unsuccessful life, and
Hall’s unconvincingly successful leader of the group, are predictable and uninspiring.
Accompanied by dreadful low rent music, this is one trip that feels like it
lasts forever.
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