I think the problem here was that a) the author of the book was involved with the screenplay and b) the director/c0-screenwriter was in awe of the material/author. If ever something needed more distance from the material, this was it. Someone suggested that, unlike the book, they didn't need a narrator. This was the fatal flaw. Without the audience understanding that this was the son's retelling of the family story, his parents just came across os self-involved narcissists. The film was so desperate to capture a charming effervescent mood that everything was leaden. When the story turned dark, it was hard to know how to react. The performances were OK, if rather forced. I wanted to escape the cinema after 20 minutes.
Review of Waiting for Bojangles
