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 Perry’s standards) interventions.
Fans of Janet Jackson, playing a psychologist married to Malik Yoba, the ensemble’s most talented performer, may get some insight into how she worked through her grief after Michael’s death (onscreen, a golf club comes in handy); I chuckled occasionally at the Madea-like outbursts of Tasha Smith’s virago: “Shove that down your fat-ass throat!” What’s not funny: Weird homophobic eruptions, like a flaming queen jumping out of a cake to “It’s Raining Men” as a feuding Jackson says to Yoba, “If you wanna be a bitch, there’s your man.”
