Sitting in the theater, a $4 Coke pressed against my temple in an effort to stave off brain-swelling, I wondered if at any point, given the sheer number of them involved, any of the Wayans brothers (Keenen directed, Shawn and Marlon star, and all three share writing credit) experienced even a single pang of regret about all that money they were wasting making this relentlessly unfunny dud. It’s doubtful anyone cared because “White Chicks” if nothing else is a model of carelessness — from the nonsensical script to the listless performances and slapdash direction. Trust me, folks, diarrhetic house pets produce better crap than this. “White Chicks” is fit for the Pooper Scooper.
Marcus and Kevin Copeland (Marlon and Shawn) are incompetent FBI agents assigned to baby-sit two wealthy blonde bimbos (ostensibly modeled after the Hilton sisters) who are targets of some half-crocked kidnapping plot. A series of improbable events — damn near everything that happens in this movie is exasperatingly improbable — lands the Copelands in whiteface and drag at a high society shindig in the Hamptons. With the exception of their faux blond locks, the guys look and sound nothing like the rich girls they’re pretending to be, begging a near impossible level of suspension of disbelief that only people being paid to do so (the cast, for instance) might achieve. Is it too much to ask, even in this dumbest of dumb comedies, for a modicum of plausibility? From there, the Wayans roll out the hackneyed reverse-racist humor — white people can’t dance or screw right, and they ain’t very funny — along with stale sex and social class gags that consistently fail to register laughs. Flatulence gets plenty of play too, and there’s even a dance-off, because apparently audiences didn’t suffer enough of those in “Along Came Polly” and “American Wedding.” (Rated PG-13 for crude and sexual humor, language and some drug content.)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on June 25, 2004. Read the original PDF.