A likable cast and interior-décor porn worthy of Martha Stewart Living are the highlights of “The Best Man Holiday,” but the mix of raunchy sex comedy and Christian faith doesn’t quite come off.
Fourteen years after “The Best Man” showcased such then-young actors as Taye Diggs, Morris Chestnut and Terrence Howard, the former college friends they play reunite for a Christmas weekend at a suburban mansion owned by Chestnut’s character, a star running back about to break a record for the New York Giants.
The first half of the movie sets up several thin dramas: Writer Harper (Diggs) is having trouble getting published as bills pile up, but he’s afraid to ask his former best buddy Lance (Chestnut) to hire him to ghostwrite a memoir while Harper’s wife, Robyn (Sanaa Lathan), prepares to deliver their child, who is endangered by being in a breach position.
Meanwhile, private school administrator Julian (Harold Perrineau) frets about his stripper wife Candy’s (Regina Hall) sexual past as revealed in a YouTube video, and his slutty ex, Shelby (Melissa De Sousa), is now a reality-show star and loose cannon. Harper’s ex, Jordan (Nia Long), brings along a new, white boyfriend. And skirt-chasing party boy Quentin (Howard) hangs around texting out pictures of his own junk.
Writer-director Malcolm D. Lee (cousin of Spike) retains his customary light touch and good nature, but there’s no getting around the problem that his jokes are trite and weak. If a kid’s name is August, Lee has someone approach to say, “You must be July.”
The director loves to stage awkward double-takes and “No, no, you’ve got the wrong idea” moments, as when two people in a friendly embrace are surprised by a third party walking into the room at exactly the wrong instant. When really stretching for a laugh, Lee has everyone sit around talking about porn or sends Howard wandering around the house without his pants. “The Big Chill” this is not, and Lee doesn’t quite know where to go with the mild quandaries the characters face. After much leering and joking, for instance, it turns out that Julian’s suspicions about his wife’s past are absolutely correct, but everyone shrugs it off. A similar resolution awaits the problem of whether Harper will write Lance’s autobiography.
Yet in the second half, Lee conjures up some genuine emotion as things turn more serious, and the ever-reliable Chestnut shines. His Lance, at first grouchy, is revealed to be a man with a solid foundation who shrugs at his prospects of breaking the all-time NFL rushing record on Christmas. Instead, when asked what’s important in life, he says, “God. Family. Football. In that order.” The bond between him and his wife, Mia (Monica Calhoun), and their children gives the film its heart, and you could do worse than watch their adorable girls sing “O Holy Night” by the piano.
For all of its appealing actors, the film’s true stars are those gorgeous sets — lush, immaculate, sparkling and vast. Seeing this movie is like moving into Williams-Sonoma for two hours. If only the script were as tasteful.