It’s dubious anybody expected that Think Like a Man would be the hit that it was in 2012. In light of Steve Harvey‘s kinda-sorta self improvement guide titled “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man,” the motion picture emphasized an incredible looking and attractive outfit of on-screen characters and performers in wacky, overdone, clash of-the-genders situations. It summed just about $100 million around the world. It likewise made a superstar out of little, brisk talking comic Kevin Hart.
Two years after the fact, we have Think Like a Man Too, a continuation that shouts “trading in for money once more.” From the half-heartedly shrewd spelling of “As well” in the title to the excessively natural Las Vegas setting to the complete breaks in story for music-feature style recesses, everything about this film resembles apathy.
The one man buckling down, on the grounds that it is his shtick, is Hart. A tad bit of his demonstration goes far; here, his berserk vicinity is extended slender to the point of snapping. In the first film—which, in the same way as this one, was controlled by Tim Story—Hart was an agreeable scene-stealer in little, sporadic dosages. He then happened to re-group with Story in this present winter’s conventional, befuddled pal cop drama “Ride Along” inverse Ice Cube. Presently, in this spin-off, he’s not simply some piece of the gathering, he’s the storyteller and main impetus.
Hart assumes control obligations from Harvey, covering the film with amped-up voiceover that over-clarifies the film’s wacky sentimental shenanigans, which weren’t all that entangled in any case. Generally he does this with tormented, developed b-ball similitudes about the groups being tied (in light of the fact that its the interminable battle of men vs. ladies, tough har) or the magnificence of a shaky, blur away jumper.
As imagined as everything sounds, there is a genuine explanation behind all the characters from the first film to reassemble for part two civility of returning essayists Keith Merryman and David A. Newman: Mama’s kid Michael (Terrence J) and single parent Candace (Regina Hall) are getting hitched. (In spite of the fact that Mama herself, played at the end of the day by a withering Jenifer Lewis, continues attempting to get between them in matter of course form.)
All the wellsprings of pressure that characterized alternate characters—poverty, dread of responsibility, adjusting profession and sentiment have scattered. The men and ladies are all coupled up and blissful. So what’s left to do with them now? Very little, it appears, aside from permit them to wallow in old hat Vegas shenanigans. Media executive Lauren (Taraji P. Henson) hosts arranged a wild lone wolfess gathering for Candace and their buddies: dress architect Mya (Meagan Good), new wife Kristen (Gabrielle Union) and the irregular Sonia (Lala Anthony), who’s tossed into the mixas a reconsideration.
Then, Hart’s enthusiastic Cedric has secured an extravagance suite at Caesars Palace and arranged an insane night for the lucky man and their mates: laid-back cook Dominic (Michael Ealy), women’s man Zeke (Romany Malco) and stoner Jeremy (Jerry Ferrara). Additionally in the interest of personal entertainment are Gary Owen and Wendi Mclendon-Covey as Bennett and Tish, the token, dorky white couple, complete with fanny pack (for him) and sweater sets (for her). Characteristically, they will figure out how to let detached and get their irregularity on in different limits.
At the same time all these people are really insipid, truly; on the other hand, even exquisite, alluring on-screen characters like these can get steamrolled when Hart is around. Furthermore there are such a large number of returning players consolidated with a few new supporting characters that everybody becomes mixed up in the mix (on the off chance that you’ll acquit the coincidental betting play on words). There’s no true plot here; no feeling of account movement. Story moves them from the pool to the blackjack table to the move floor to the strip club and, in the long run, penitentiary.
Points of interest and plot indicates that appear matter in the minute fall by the wayside: the conspicuous, orange Lamborghini Cedric is driving when he pulls up to the lodging’s valet stopping, for instance, or the bash he arranges in the $44,000-a-night suite he can’t manage. He secures a stripper shaft for the room, distributes flyers and everything. Does it even go down? Do arbitrary outsiders appear at the entryway and marvel what was the deal? None of it appears to matter.
The best grouping in the entire film has next to no to do with the ceremony within reach. It’s a full-length music feature for Bell Biv Devoe’s kitschy, infectious, 1990 hit “Toxic substance,” complete with all the expressive subtle elements of the R&b/hip-jump cuts from that time. Clad in hot, sparkly club dresses, the women writhe alluringly on lounge chairs or mug savagely before fish-eye lenses. They appear to be seizing the reins and having fun really surprisingly. They do the ENTIRE tune.
It’s an euphoric takeoff however its likewise a glaring indication of how little else the film brings to the table. What’s more its sufficient to make you wish Michael and Candace had recently eloped.