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BIG MOMMAS: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON Irony supplies the sole spark of humor in Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son, as this moribund second sequel has the audacity to feature Martin Lawrence's fat-suit-encased FBI agent decrying the very same noxious stereotypes in which this film wallows. John Whitesell's extraordinarily witless movie operates as a checklist for cultural and racial clichés: Young black men prefer hip-hop dreams to college educations; foreigners are evil; fat people are hilarious; skinny white blondes are bitches; and girls (even artistically talented ones) secretly spend their free time staging lingerie dance parties. Amid these cruddy generalities lies a lame premise: Fed Malcolm (Lawrence) and his 17-year-old wannabe-rapper son, Trent (Brandon T. Jackson), go undercover as overweight women at an all-female Atlanta arts school in order to catch a Russian criminal (Tony Curran). Dutiful Bosom Buddies–style scenarios ensue, with Malcolm being romantically pursued by a hefty security guard (Faizon Love) and Trent attempting to woo a beautiful pianist (Jessica Lucas)—though the narrative's prime objective is milking nonexistent laughs from Lawrence's latex-swaddled sassy-mammy routine. Fatally anorexic in terms of comedy, action, and romance, Big Mommas depressingly corroborates Trent's belief that “there's no rush to greatness.” (Nick Schager)

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