In recent years, Tyler Perry’s Madea films have been a cash cow centered on a man in drag and painfully obvious stereotypes and outcomes that center on perfunctory narratives and abject cliché. At the same time, they appeal to a rather large audience inasmuch as each film – on its opening weekend – has drawn at least $25million. And, their life time grosses span anywhere from $53million (Madea’s Big Happy Family) to $90million (Madea Goes to Jail).
The appeal itself is somewhat of a mystery. Each subsequent film is a play on its predecessor, and with each film, Madea becomes more of a superhero and less of a human. I suppose there’s something sweet about a raucous elderly woman saving the day with knowledge and experience, but this hardly outweighs the obnoxious sanctimony of the storylines.
Admittedly, comedy will trump drama at the box office because no one expects the comedy to be taken seriously. (This is certainly a problem with the concepts and executions of many recent comedies, but that’s a discussion for another time.) So the snippets of humor – albeit predictable – and the generic story arcs are satiating to those looking to fill a few hours on a Friday night.
With the recent release of Alex Cross — which judging by its opening weekend draw, most of you were unaware of its existence – Tyler Perry confirms two things: Tyler Perry in drag is much more appealing to his audience than him in a goatee, and you just can’t replace Morgan Freeman.
The opening weekend box office (a little over $11 million) might also signal our disinterest in detectives hunting serial killers, but I think this is tertiary. First, Madea and her dilapidated ilk cater to a certain demographic: those who don’t want to think about their comedy but want to laugh when something is loud, shiny, or when someone else on screen laughs. Detective thrillers, for the most part, try to intrigue their audience with mystery, drama, and surprises. Admittedly, many films not named Alex Cross have failed to fulfill these agendas (Taking Lives, The Double, etc.). However, none of these films tried to transpose an actor best known for his portrayal of a sexagenarian grandmother in place of a man whose voice and visage has been cast as God.
In a sense, I mock Perry’s foray into drama (I don’t consider Why Did I Get Married, or lazily titled Why Did I Get Married Too as dramas; nor do I count his television series House of Payne or Meet the Browns). But I also think his presence dilutes the earnestness brought to the screen by Freeman in Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls. Admittedly, those films were not canonical gems, but Freeman’s mustache bespeaks sage wisdom while Perry’s is simply a mask to fool anyone who links his name to the wealth of underdeveloped, overly manufactured films in his filmography.
