B.A.P.S.

B.A.P.S.

“B.A.P.S.” is one of those films that are so terrible you have to wonder why anyone would want to make it. This is a huge mistake as far as director Robert Townsend and actors Halle Berry and Martin Landau were concerned; I hope they get over it soon.

The title stands for “Black American Princesses”; but its two heroines are more like tacky Cinderellas. Berry and Natalie Desselle play vulgar, garish homegirls from Decatur, Ga., whose fake nails are eight inches long, whose gold teeth glisten in the light, whose hairpieces reach such heights they pass beyond satire into cruelty.

There is a thin line between satire and offensiveness, and this one crosses it. These two working class black women have been portrayed with snobbery and contempt. The actresses do not convincingly inhabit their caricatures. The result is a hurtful stereotype because the comedy does not work to redeem it.

By now we should feel some fondness for them from the filmmakers any humor could only be based on love but no: Not until the later scenes of the movie when they receive a magic Hollywood makeover do they even lose their gold teeth. We are invited to laugh at these girls, not with them; but that’s academic because nobody in the theater laughed at all except unbelievingly.

The plot: Berry plays Nisi, a waitress, who hears about a contest on MTV to choose a dancer for Heavy D’s music video and national tour. She shares this news with her friend Mickey (Desselle), a hairdresser; it fits right into their plans for marrying rich guys and living on easy street. So they take leave of their shiftless boyfriends and fly west to L.A., wearing hairstyles so extreme that nobody behind them on the airplane can see the in flight movie.

Funny? No; it might have been funny if we saw reaction shots of businessmen sitting behind them asking to change their seats, but not when the reaction shots are of annoyed white businessmen asking to change their seats.

In L.A., they are spotted at the audition by a mysterious figure who makes them an attractive offer: Room and board in a Bel Air mansion and $10,000. What’s the catch? He represents Mr. Blakemore (Landau), a dying millionaire, who has only experienced true love once in his life, many years ago with Lily, his family’s black maid. Nisi will pose as Lily’s granddaughter and cheer up the old guy during his last days on earth.

Of course there’s more to it than that; it’s all a scam. But for some inexplicable reason Mr. Blakemore takes to these women from the moment he lays eyes on them. (Nisi, dressed in pink latex and high heels, looks like a hooker; Mickey looks like her coach.) The plot later provides details that would have made it highly unlikely that Mr. Blakemore could have been fooled for one second by the story; but never mind, because this movie can’t even remember its own setup from scene to scene.

However failed the movie may be as comedy, Landau should have been told it was meant to be a comedy. He is affable and dignified as Mr. Blakemore, which is completely inappropriate; his deathbed scene is awkwardly earnest you almost fear he expects us to be moved. Not in this film. We aren’t entirely sure what’s wrong with him, which also isn’t surprising because just before his terrible deathbed scene his health seems fine enough for him to join the women in a crazy all night disco party. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Martin Landau disco. Or maybe you have. In any case, he is miscast and misdirected and appears to labor under the delusion that his role should be taken seriously.

Another important character is Manley (Ian Richardson), Blakemore’s butler, who at first turns up his nose at the women but predictably grows fond of them. The message of this movie, I suppose, is that if only two homegirls would don blond wigs, rid themselves of gold teeth and country vocabularies and be nice to rich old white guys they could find wealth and happiness. It gets even better: At one point the boyfriends from Georgia are flown out to L.A., where they vow to get their acts together and Plan For Their Futures during a scene that comes far too late in the film for us to believe or care.

The movie was written by actress Troy Beyer, who has a small role as an attorney. What on Earth does she think she’s doing? I have no idea what she might have been thinking while writing “Let’s Get Bizzee.” The movie doesn’t work but could it ever work? My hunch is African Americans will take offense at this picture; whites will feel ashamed of it. “Let’s Get Bizzee” will unite us all right in a state of numbing tedium.

Watch B.A.P.S. For Free On Gomovies.