Inexplicably, Martin Lawrence returns as the police officer Malcolm Turner, who must bring out his undercover alter ego “Big Momma” when his stepson Trent (Brandon T Jackson) witnesses a murder while following his father on a job. The difference this time is that Trent will be going undercover too, as Big Momma’s great-niece. The pair hide-out in an all-girls’ performing arts school, evading their pursuers along the way. The only thing stranger than the fact that this series has become a trilogy is the lowbrow, dreadful humor crammed into the script. The plot goes nowhere and instead, the film contents itself with vulgar jokes, slapstick and the eventual neat conclusion.
It’s all an openly lame excuse for Lawrence to hop back into the eye-assaulting muumuus of his alter ego Big Momma, a wheezing, overripe hybrid of a Southern dumb-belle and a Julia Child drag impersonator. The trouble is, once the movie drops its cop-drama trappings, it doesn’t do any better as a comedy. Lawrence’s gender-bending jokes are played out, and his slapstick is wooden and slow. It’s understandable: Clowning around underneath that fat suit must be exhausting. Almost as much as watching it.

Chances are you’ve already made up your mind about Justin Bieber. He’s either that annoying child with the lesbian haircut and girly voice (although you can’t deny he has the face of an angel and you secretly don’t totally hate “Baby”). Or he’s the greatest, hottest, most amazing thing to ever happen to humanity and you use the last name Bieber across all your social networks because obviously that will be your real last name someday.
At he end of all 105 minutes, Bieber himself still seems like somewhat of a mystery as most of his story is told through the perspective of his team. Saving it for the sequel, we guess, if this is indeed the forever story Team Bieber hopes it to be.
Never Say Never is also a 3D concert film to delight the shy 13-year-old with braces that lives in all of us. Bieber fever spikes big time when our star pulls a fan from the audience at every show to sing “One Less Lonely Girl.” Still there are tolerance levels to consider. The Bieber croons “baby baby baby baby” more times than Lindsay Lohan pleads “not guilty.” After a while the movie starts to feel like lethal injection by bubblegum.

It is directed by Danish filmmaker Christian E. Christiansen from a script by Sonny Mallhi, the film largely dispenses with such apparently antiquated notions as character development or back story, choosing instead to just sort of dole out information Mad Libs-style as it seems most convenient. That sort of info, which actually might help to lend depth, emotional credibility and logical sense to of all this, is just casually tossed out there and then just as carelessly tossed aside.
“The Roommate’s” early going any deficiencies in Meester’s character are signaled largely by the fact that she has meekly limp hair, in counterpoint to Kelly’s luxuriantly bouncy locks. Meester is the brassy, belligerent Blair Waldorf on TV’s “Gossip Girl” and there she often seems to be performing in a slightly different register than the other actors, as if she alone is in on the joke. (There was also her scene-stealing sass and vinegar turn in the recent “Country Strong.”) Here her performance often has the feeling of a sports car in neutral.

When she punches it for quick changes of tone from manic to wounded or around the bend, she shows how much more she is capable of, as in a seduction scene with Billy Zane as a skeevy design teacher. Kelly, on the other hand, remains either bland — or bland but slightly frightened.

“The Other Woman,” which attracted little attention when it premiered at the 2009 Toronto International Film Festival, has been a hot ticket through IFC’s video-on-demand program and is getting a well-deserved theatrical run beginning today at the IFC Center. One satisfying aspect of movies can be witnessing an actor’s artistic growth.
The Other Woman” is a well-acted movie about people acting badly. There is the angry, younger second wife who snaps at her stepson and urges him to eat ice cream because she doesn’t believe he’s “really” lactose intolerant.There is the bitter, older first wife, who rages at her ex and pitches a fit on the steps of a prep school — in front of her boy — when he fails to earn admission.Then there is the spineless man between them. And the spoiled, moody, openly hostile little progeny.This is Portman’s movie and while she’s good in it, and effortlessly versatile — this is neither the neurotic girl of “Black Swan” nor the guilt-free lover of “No Strings Attached” — the character feels forced. (A third-act revelation, meant to suddenly explain her behavior, is a particularly bald plea for sympathy.)
It’s a good-looking movie (Roos takes particular care with compositions, separating Portman within the frame to emphasize her loneliness). And both actresses are superb. But when all is said and done, it’s just 90 minutes of terrible people behaving terribly.