If you’re looking for chuckles galore, you might not have to venture to the muthafuckin’ flicks. As Eddie Murphy is back, in Dolemite Is My Name, which is now on Netflix. Directed by Craig Brewer, who you might recall from Hustle and Flow, this is a perfect fit for Murphy, as resurfacing former mega-stars go.
The film opens with Murphy plugging “Buggy Ride” to his record store’s DJ Snoop Dogg. But he only plays the hits, and so begins Rudy Ray Moore’s riotous and relentless slog. Taking creative motivation from the captivatingly madcap stories of a vagabond, Moore dives into a spiral of comedy words as if struck with a goddamn magic wand.
So brash, uproarious and larger than life is the character of Rudy Ray Moore, you’d be forgiven for saying that they just don’t write characters like this any more. His ass was as real as they come, a never-say-die roller who was aware of his age. But exuded such confidence at the club, showing off his obscene comedy on stage.
He gathered a band of followers along the way with his infectious personality, and the film portrays his ludicrously dazzling journey as though fame was a formality. Moore begins in the picture pushing folk to hear his comedy, while working the record store, using music, singing, the crowd-swelling stand up, but he wanted oh so much more.
Then seeing Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau entertaining without all the cocksuckers and tits, this further inspires Moore to get himself on the big screen to show off his skits. There’s even room for a certain sensitivity amidst the raucous flare and blaxploitation themes, “I ain’t no Billy Dee Williams” as he cups his potbelly when faced with actual sex scenes.
Dolemite Is My Name is thriving with humor that is both colorful and frisky, the sharp, funny screenplay is written by Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski. Basing a lot of their shit on real people, the modern biopic is nothing new to these guys, as they also wrote The People vs. Larry Flynt, Man on the Moon, Ed Wood and Big Eyes.
The fitting language might be crude, but damn those costumes are fine as hell. Ruth E. Carter looking for another Oscar, with a first a potential for Murphy as well. Wesley Snipes in support is inch perfect too, with Da’Vine Joy Randolph giving off some real sass. In fact the terrific use of so many familiar faces makes for a cunningly stellar cast.
With Keegan-Michael Key, Craig Robinson, Tituss Burgess, even Chris Rock pops up later on, weighing in where needed, in a biopic that is quite often a paint-by-numbers one. Of course it is the charismatic Eddie Murphy who gets the grandest showcase, a commanding performance from the man who even reminds us of that classic flashy smile across his face.
We thought he was back with Dreamgirls, and then the folly of being the Oscar host no more. His ginormous presence here tells us “A man slams a door in my face, I just find another door.” So is this the movie to put Eddie Murphy back in business, instead of an onlooker, that box-office-munching, gag-soup-eatin’, born insecure, barnyard motherfucker.
Whether the whole gallivanting fracas dips or dives there’s no need to bitch and moan. This adventurous execution of proper comedy might have you laughing all the way to San Antone. As Snipes’ camp director D’Urville casually declares when that sex scene really shook, “I don’t know if it was tender, I don’t know if it was sexy, but it was funny as fuck.”
Dolemite Is My Name does not bullshit its audience, generally its one helluva show. Perhaps a little goddamn long at two hours, though Murphy’s energy is hardly slow. No stranger to the big comedy tent, I wanna let you know that Eddie Murphy is his name, and crackin’ us up in this made-for-him comeback is his muthafuckin’ game.
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