It’s a thick swim through the cloying muck of this flick. Perhaps the ladies will warm up to the sweetness of the Queen’s matronly warmth.

I’d wanted to see the movie for some time now and was given the book as a gift. The book itself was pretty good but was so descriptive it ruined the movie for me. I finished the book on Sunday and decided to rent instead of buying the movie on Wednesday. I was excited to see the movie but was instantly disappoint. It deviated from the book a little which was fine but the story seemed to go so fast; trying to fit as much into an hour and a half as possible. I’m a fan of all of the actresses d absolutely loved the acting of Sophie Okonedo, who played the part of sister May. All in all the movie was both over and under-acted.

I don’t know if I would have liked the movie had I not read the book. There were heartwarming moments and I shed a tear or two but all in all I’m glad I didn’t purchase the movie. I actually could have waited until it aired o cable.

Unrepentant judgmentalist that I am, I resisted all entreaties to watch this movie even though for one reason or another most of the leading performers are artists I follow. I’m not unfamiliar with the appellation chauvinist either, so I have few qualms admitting I would ogle Alicia Keys even if she couldn’t sing and Sophie Okenedo is the only reason my copy of Aeon Flux hasn’t become a coaster. Jennifer Hudson isn’t much of an actress yet but it’s hard to deny she has the voice of a Homeric siren and Queen Latifah when she reverts to Dana Owens is a pure jazz songstress.

I was curious to see how Tristan Wilds comported himself in a role so radically diverse from his inner city survivalist of The Wire, however I rail against what I interpret to be celluloid chick lit, particularly when it encompasses a whitewashed revision of 60′s era civil rights, infused with the sentimentality of paternalistic traditionalism.

Let’s not allow the laminated veneer of strength of character applied to Queen Latifah’s matriarchal role subvert the underlying message of residual ante-bellum conventionalism. In fact, it is not difficult to attribute the same assimilative characteristic each of the black females by the conclusion of the movie. Jennifer Hudson is spirited, resistant to overt oppression yet she is obeisant to a 14 year old white child. Keys character is intended to convey the burgeoning concepts of black identity and outward expressiveness of self-worth, right up to the point she is won over by this sweet little urchin seeking only the pure love and affection of others. Okenedo is a virtual empath who absorbs the pain of all who come into her sphere.

I am also expected to believe in the post-Till era not one of these women, including his mother or for that matter, the stereotypical liberal white attorney, has any inclination to counsel a young black man of the perils of even the perception of infatuation with a young nubile blond-haired white girl in South Carolina. Mammy or mammies, if you will, is one thing but the historical record also indicates black women who were inadvertently relegated to that status also had the presence to warn their progeny of the dangers associated with rebellious reactions to white privilege, and assuredly would not turn a blind eye.

If I find any merit in this film, it is the contrast to vaudevillian screenplays typified by the bulk of Tyler Perry’s superficial big screen farces. However, in the context of realism, it isn’t any more accurate.