POSSIBLE signs of the apocalypse: a rain of fire, return of the Messiah, my enjoy ing a Martin Law rence comedy.
Bouncing off the subterranean floor of my expectations, “Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins” turns out to be formulaic and broad but also skillfully paced and big-hearted, with a sharp cast of comics that makes the most of a sunny script.
Lawrence, almost unrecognizable in man’s clothing but no fat suit, is “R.J. Stevens,” a TV star with a hot TV fiancée (Joy Bryant) who won “Survivor.” His idea of a great gift for his parents: a plasma TV, a 50-inch flat-screen symbol of his own shallowness. R.J. – real name Roscoe Jenkins – hasn’t seen his rural Georgia family in years.
Bringing along his stuck-up hottie, Roscoe nervously returns to the “chitlins and cornbread” of small-town life for his parents’ 50th anniversary. Soon he’s being manhandled by his cop brother (Michael Clarke Duncan), scammed by his hip-hop brother (Mike Epps) and punished with the smell of barbecued ribs forbidden by his Hollywood diet. “They done sissified you off the pig!” someone says. His fiancée’s bottle of Bordeaux winds up in the fruit punch.
There is plenty of slapstick – a disturbing love scene between mismatched dogs, a fistfight between Roscoe and his jumbo-size sister (Mo’Nique) – but director Malcolm D. Lee never takes his eye off character. That makes the physical comedy funnier and sets up some warm family moments.
Lawrence steps back to play the straight man. Roscoe frets over an unfinished rivalry with his better-liked cousin Clyde (Cedric the Entertainer), now a rich car dealer, who used to whup Roscoe in every sport and also stole his girl – a dazzler Clyde brings to the reunion.
Roscoe’s fiancée isn’t used to being the second-hottest girl around. “This isn’t ‘Survivor,’ ” Roscoe pleads. “Oh, yes it is,” she responds. She’s right: There’s even an obstacle course, a family tradition.
Lee (Spike’s cousin), who also wrote the script, adroitly juggles running gags and a dozen conflicts. Roscoe has a different beef with every relative and a Big Mac of one with his dad (a frowning and majestic James Earl Jones, who wields parental guilt like a Jedi mind trick).
“Roscoe Jenkins” is easily the best Martin Lawrence comedy I’ve seen, less gooey than the similar Tyler Perry movie “Madea’s Family Reunion” and better, even, than most of cousin Spike’s overwrought and obvious message movies. It leaves us with a sweet ending and a useful moral, supplied by Mo’Nique: “It ain’t right to throw hot bricks on a man when you’ve got a disagreement.”
WELCOME HOME, ROSCOE JENKINS
Tasty piece of cornbread.
Running time: 114 minutes. Rated PG-13 (raunchy humor, profanity, sexual situations). At the E-Walk, the 84th Street, the 34th Street, others.