Where the original succeeded as an honest attempt to explore real adult problems within a fairly taut structure, the sequel stretches out its interminable 121 minutes the amount of time it usually takes the impresario to release a new film with endless reaction shots before the distended plot is resolved by shamefully lazy (even by Perrys standards) interventions.
Fans of Janet Jackson, playing a psychologist married to Malik Yoba, the ensembles most talented performer, may get some insight into how she worked through her grief after Michaels death (onscreen, a golf club comes in handy); I chuckled occasionally at the Madea-like outbursts of Tasha Smiths virago: Shove that down your fat-ass throat! Whats not funny: Weird homophobic eruptions, like a flaming queen jumping out of a cake to Its Raining Men as a feuding Jackson says to Yoba, If you wanna be a bitch, theres your man.