Review Copyright Rose Cooper, 2002

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Martin Lawrence is one of those "nigga"-ing comics who really get on my nerve, because behind all that bluster lies a raw brilliance that can't be denied, but it's lost in so much hype that one wonders if it can ever be found again. I know it's not his fault that neither he nor his fellow new jack Black comics are not worthy to carry Richard Pryor's Comedy Jockstrap, but I keep keeping hope alive that one day, there will be someone who can pick up where Richard started and Eddie left off (after he got caught up in his own hype). For a brief, shining moment during this concert, it looked like Marrrr'in might've been The One, but alas, no. THE STORY (WARNING: **spoilers contained below**) Martin Lawrence Live: Runteldat, the followup to Lawrence's You So Crazy comedy concert, is billed as Lawrence's answer to the "E! Hollywood Story"-type tabloid stories that many stars of his stature are subjected to when they do dirt in their lives. Instead of being victimized by such rumormongers (which Lawrence depicts in a pre-concert film - complete with bad actors playing the role of "reporters"), Lawrence vows to dish his own dirt his damn self. He begins the concert by promising to tell "the real story" behind the period in his life when he was arrested for some rather strange behavior on a Ventura freeway, arrested again for assault, and finally, hospitalized for heatstroke during the release of Big Momma's House. Promises, promises... THE UPSHOT [S'cuse me for a second while I get Fo' Real Doe. Can you handle the truth?] Just about any Black comic can fill his or her routine with liberal doses of "niggabitchmuthafucka"-punctuation, and get unassuming Black folks to howl with delight; the last few seasons of HBO's Def Comedy Jam and most of BET's ComicView, was proof positive of that. But talented, truly talented, comedians take it a step beyond, by using even the bluest language, combined with their sometimes bitter life experiences, as a tool, not a crutch; as a chisel, not a sledgehammer; as a mirror, not a shield. Redd Foxx did it; Richard Pryor perfected it; and for awhile there, Eddie Murphy looked like he would be the new standard-bearer. And believe it or not, as much as I've hated many of his movie performances, and despised his Big Loud Negro act in the TV show named after him, I've often thought that Martin Lawrence is capable of going that step beyond. He's certainly been genuinely funny before. But not, for the most part, in this, his "comeback" comedy concert film. Despite the overblown, overindulgent, self-important combination of his "how you like me now?" antics and his declaration that he, not the media, will tell his story, the majority of this concert was spent on everything but The Truth About Martin. Whether from Lawrence himself or other lesser-known comedians before him, this part of his routine had a very been there/done that feel to it. Except that this was Martin Lawrence, Movie Star, there was no real reason this concert couldn't have been shown on HBO instead of having been released as a feature film. But there was a point in this concert that he almost made a believer of me: the few minutes near the end where he took a left turn and got raw, exposing the pain of the situations he alluded to in his pre-concert film clips, all while the audience (on both sides of the screen) roared. As funny as those moments were, it was hard for me to actually laugh, seeing the palpable signs of the pain he must have been going through at the time. Lawrence blew that powerful feeling, though, by falling right back into the same old "now you see me, now you don't" routine, covering up his old wounds behind a mask of meaningless profanity that, at the ripe old age of 36, just makes him look childish now. Or maybe it's just me, feeling too old to understand wasted potential again. Either way, Marrrr'in just ain't my bag. Not the Martin who keeps hiding behind the mask, anyway. A PERSONAL ASIDE TO ML Regarding your love note to us critics: on the one hand, I can diggit. That old saying that "Those who can't, teach", needs an addendum: "...and those who don't, criticize." I realize that it's terribly easy to take potshots at someone from afar just because they're living the lifestyles of the sick and shameless; like you said, you're only human. A multi-million-dollar-making, delusional-about-your-ultimate-importance human, if this concert film is any indication; but human, nonetheless. As for this critic, I'd have to strain to be able to care less about your antics offstage, except where they affect your performance onstage. Can you dig that? So, Boo, here's a thought: you don't like critics? Then stop putting your stuff out there to be criticized. Until then, fuck you very much too, snookums. Kisses! BAMMER'S BOTTOM LINE The man sweated up a storm, but save for the portion of the program where he let his guard down, and exposed his insides for all to see, this standup routine was an exercise in futility and stale, lame jokes. "Runteldat"? I would, but besides "Marrrr'in's a bit full of himself", there's not much new to tell. [And by the way, sweetcheeks, what you said about us mean ol' critics? Right back atcha, babe.] MARTIN LAWRENCE LIVE: RUNTELDAT:   back to top And that's the way I see it. Rose "Bams" Cooper 3BlackChicks Review™ Copyright Rose Cooper, 2002 EMAIL: bams@3blackchicks.com    ICQ: 7760005 http://www.3blackchicks.com/