Movie review: Soul Men

by John P. Meyer

If you're a fan of profane comedy, sexed-up ethnic-flavored tomfoolery and/or breakout musical performances by previously non-musically-performing actors, then Soul Men might be worthy of your ticket purchase.

On that last note, Samuel L. Jackson (as Louis Hinds) surprises with his adroitness as a stage crooner with smooth moves who - towards the end of the film - actually kicks some vocalizing ass with his solo lead-in to a group rendition of Isaac Hayes' Do Your Thing. Bernie Mac (as Floyd Henderson) also sings and struts, though to somewhat less ass-kicking effect.

Another reason that some might gravitate to this show is the fact that two of its players - Mr. Mac and Isaac Hayes, who plays himself in the film - both passed away earlier this year (within a day of each other, oddly enough).

Having said this, there's not a lot to recommend Soul Men beyond the episodic blue-tinged comedy set pieces and the more surprising (and surprisingly entertaining) musical numbers. Which is a way of saying that director Malcolm D. Lee's more accomplished filmmaking cousin has little to worry about from the Malcolm D. sector.

The story follows the cross-country, lime-green convertible caddy-driving exploits of Hinds and Henderson as they motor from Los Angeles toward New York's famed Apollo Theater. There, they are scheduled to perform at the wake for their long-ago associate, Marcus Hooks (real-life soul man John Legend). The film's opening delivers a capsule history of the various incarnations of Marcus Hooks and the Real Deal (as Hinds and Henderson are collectively known), then transitions to an accounting of the present circumstances of the duo:

After his music career ended, Louis Hinds turned to bank robbery. He's now a parolee working as a mechanic for the disagreeable, generically Middle Eastern garage owner named Kezian (Ken Davitian) and living in a tenement. Toughened by his prison stint, he now quotes Lao Tzu and practices a life of self-discipline characterized by barrel-bottom scraping expectations.

Conversely, Floyd Henderson has for the past couple of decades operated a successful chain of car washes (specializing in a "rim job") and finds himself spending his retirement in a McMansion on the edge of a golf course. Guess which one of the two is more unhappy? (Wrong.)

Floyd seems to have lost all interest in life - save for the occasional half-hearted tryst with a robust and enthusiastic neighbor lady (played by big-busted ex-pornstar Vanessa del Rio). He's on the point of washing down prescription pills with whiskey when he gets the call from promoter Danny Epstein (Sean Hayes) inviting him to the Big Apple and the aforementioned funeral performance gig. The catch: he has to convince his old partner Louis to join him. Disagreements ensue but are soon resolved.

Once on the road, the duo plays one-nighters in an effort to get their groove back in front of an audience. Their first night's debut (in a Flagstaff motel lounge) is inauspicious, ending when Floyd pops a costume button right into the eye of a biker audience member while Louis has a coughing fit in the midst of a vocal.

Their next evening's gig - in a C & W joint in Amarillo - proves more successful, leading to a dueling blond bimbo session after the evening's last set. (Note to self: refuse any offer of a "velveteen rub.")

By the time they get to Memphis (apologies to Glen), the Real Deal as performers are once again cooking with gas; it's here also that they become acquainted with Cleo (Sharon Leal), the daughter of their mutual former love Odetta (Monyetta Shaw), now deceased. Cleo's boyfriend is a would-be bad ass would-be rapper named Lester (Affion Crockett) who quickly defines himself as the cardboard bad guy of the show.

There's a night in the slammer followed by a jailbreak and a mad dash across the final leg of their journey in the company of whitebread hipster promo assistant Phillip (Adam Herschman, awkward in Afro and pimp threads). The Real Deal arrive at the Apollo as America's Most Wanted, and thus have to get creative about their stage entrance. Bring on the piano-shaped coffin.

Early on I mentioned "profane," in reference to the profligate use of the f-word throughout the script. The n-word is used nearly as frequently, and racial stereotyping emerges as an essential element of the proceedings. While this may be deemed more excusable in a comedy genre piece, it still rings a tad off-key.

Taken as light entertainment, Soul Men makes for a tolerable good time - but it's sad that Bernie and Isaac couldn't have gone out on a higher note.