Norbit reviewed by Sam Osborn
Norbit plays the same as any other multi-role vehicle that Eddie Murphy hauls into theatres every few years. Its general mediocrity is its charm; never asking anything of us as long as we don't ask much from it. Occasionally the movie will surprise us, mounting a particularly outlandish feat of slapstick antics or maybe opening the throttle on its villain to hurl repulsive hilarity at the sad protagonist. But mostly Norbit isn't more than a happy distraction. We give Mr. Murphy ten dollars and he'll dress up in silly costumes and play silly characters for ninety minutes. It's a fine deal; one that isn't especially satisfying, but not especially offensive either.
The set-up is simple enough: awkward, skinny Norbit (Eddie Murphy) loves his childhood sweetheart Kate (Thandie Newton), but is tied by the wedding band to the mountainously large revulsion-cum-wife Rasputia (also played by Murphy). The set-up, however, gets muddied by impatient screen writing, throwing in a complicated con-game to trip up the characters when it's least necessary. This involves Cuba Gooding Jr. as Kate's two-faced fiancée and Rasputia's head-busting brothers led by Terry Crews.
Simple, high-concept premises work when they're kept to their own quaint devices. Norbit doesn't need a half-baked struggle to gain ownership of an orphanage. Such contrivances are included because of the screenwriters' distrust in their principle characters. The thinking follows that if a screenwriter makes more characters and complicates the plot further than absolute necessity, the complexity will translate into quality. But they forget that beauty is often simple, and that Norbit, Kate, and Rasputia are all entertaining and dimensional enough to fill the frame themselves.
But Murphy of course is there to entertain us throughout. And he certainly gives it his all. Norbit's servile goodness is awkwardly lovable, and his wife, Rasputia, succeeds in becoming the most repugnant object since vomit. And as in any comedy, extreme versions of stereotypes work best when there's a sad truth behind them. We've seen lesser versions of Norbits and Rasputias in every one of our neighborhoods. And Director Brian Robbins plays on this truthfulness by making Norbit's town a place of sunny neutrality. There's no title or season to it; just sun, green grass, the town and the suburbs. We laugh at Rasputia because it's mean to laugh at the real-life versions of her walking their dogs past our mailboxes. And when it comes to slapstick, she works like a tube of lit dynamite. When she barrels into a picnic table, it explodes into a shower of splinters. At one point she plows through the mailman. He returns several scenes later with a broken arm, a concussion and a bruised stomach. In Iraq, Rasputia would be called a weapon of mass destruction.
She's a villain that's fun to hate and Thandie Newton is an easy figure to love. Norbit delights as the bumbling fulcrum that pivots the two back and forth. The film works fine this way, despite its thick contrivances, and succeeds in its own blandly outrageous decency.
Sam Osborn
Norbit plays the same as any other multi-role vehicle that Eddie Murphy hauls into theatres every few years. Its general mediocrity is its charm; never asking anything of us as long as we don't ask much from it. Occasionally the movie will surprise us, mounting a particularly outlandish feat of slapstick antics or maybe opening the throttle on its villain to hurl repulsive hilarity at the sad protagonist. But mostly Norbit isn't more than a happy distraction. We give Mr. Murphy ten dollars and he'll dress up in silly costumes and play silly characters for ninety minutes. It's a fine deal; one that isn't especially satisfying, but not especially offensive either.
The set-up is simple enough: awkward, skinny Norbit (Eddie Murphy) loves his childhood sweetheart Kate (Thandie Newton), but is tied by the wedding band to the mountainously large revulsion-cum-wife Rasputia (also played by Murphy). The set-up, however, gets muddied by impatient screen writing, throwing in a complicated con-game to trip up the characters when it's least necessary. This involves Cuba Gooding Jr. as Kate's two-faced fiancée and Rasputia's head-busting brothers led by Terry Crews.
Simple, high-concept premises work when they're kept to their own quaint devices. Norbit doesn't need a half-baked struggle to gain ownership of an orphanage. Such contrivances are included because of the screenwriters' distrust in their principle characters. The thinking follows that if a screenwriter makes more characters and complicates the plot further than absolute necessity, the complexity will translate into quality. But they forget that beauty is often simple, and that Norbit, Kate, and Rasputia are all entertaining and dimensional enough to fill the frame themselves.
But Murphy of course is there to entertain us throughout. And he certainly gives it his all. Norbit's servile goodness is awkwardly lovable, and his wife, Rasputia, succeeds in becoming the most repugnant object since vomit. And as in any comedy, extreme versions of stereotypes work best when there's a sad truth behind them. We've seen lesser versions of Norbits and Rasputias in every one of our neighborhoods. And Director Brian Robbins plays on this truthfulness by making Norbit's town a place of sunny neutrality. There's no title or season to it; just sun, green grass, the town and the suburbs. We laugh at Rasputia because it's mean to laugh at the real-life versions of her walking their dogs past our mailboxes. And when it comes to slapstick, she works like a tube of lit dynamite. When she barrels into a picnic table, it explodes into a shower of splinters. At one point she plows through the mailman. He returns several scenes later with a broken arm, a concussion and a bruised stomach. In Iraq, Rasputia would be called a weapon of mass destruction.
She's a villain that's fun to hate and Thandie Newton is an easy figure to love. Norbit delights as the bumbling fulcrum that pivots the two back and forth. The film works fine this way, despite its thick contrivances, and succeeds in its own blandly outrageous decency.
Sam Osborn