Brand Recognition and Sequelitis: Coming 2 America

For those who like silliness laced with social satire, Eddie Murphy’s 1988 hit, Coming to America is hard to beat. As everyone knows by now, it tells the tale of a pampered African prince (from the totally imaginary kingdom of Zamunda) who flies off to Queens, NYC, to find a bride who will love him for himself. The satire encompasses jokes about naïve royal expectations as well as a clear-eyed view of life among African-Americans in a jolly but grubby New York slum. Some sequences still tickle my funny bone: I love the John Amos character, a Black American entrepreneur trying to rip off McDonald’s by copying its signature brands and logos for his own McDowell’s burger joint. (His nouveau-riche digs contain, hilariously, copies of famous Impressionist paintings in which the subjects are transformed by African skin tones.) And I chuckle at the moment when Eddie Murphy’s Prince Akeem takes his new American girlfriend home to his squalid Queens flat, hoping to win sympathy for his pathetic immigrant lifestyle, only to discover that best buddy Semmi (Arsenio Hall) has suddenly transformed the place with neon sculptures and a hot tub. Perhaps most hilarious of all are the flashy costumes (by Oscar-nominee Deborah Nadoolman) that project the self-confidently wacky Zamunda spirit.

 The film came out more than 30 years ago, so why the sudden need to produce a sequel? I’m not sure, though Murphy’s career (he’s now 60) is not as bright as it once was. And we can always use a good laugh. Still, the times they are a-changing, and what seemed fresh and funny in 1988 may feel more strained now. This story’s attempt to live up to current sensibilities (e.g. in the recognition that women too deserve empowerment) is little more than a wink and a nod toward the evolving attitudes of 2021. But my chief problem with the film is that—in the way of most sequels—it is basically a recycling of greatest hits for fans of the original.

 In one respect, Coming 2 America doesn’t falter: the outrageous glad rags designed by Ruth  E. Carter (who made history by winning Oscar recognition for her work on Black Panther) evoke the spirit of the original film, but takes the buoyant garishness of Zamunda’s royal court even further into the stratosphere. And I enjoyed seeing once again the great James Earl Jones, who as King Jaffe Joffer is both an autocrat and a benign presence. His death scene, following the most extravagant of all funerals (he wanted to enjoy it while still living) is among my favorite of the movie’s goofy moments.

 Still, Coming 2 America is mostly a rehash of tropes from the previous movie. There’s a twist on those bathing maidens that’s easy to anticipate, and the geezers from the barbershop are back, with the inevitable (not all that funny) Yiddish shtick from a well-disguised Murphy inserted at the end of the credit sequence, just like in the original. Gags we remember from Coming to America are plugged into the current storyline, which tries for variety in that it’s the previously unknown SON of Eddie Murphy who’s now the naïf trying to figure out where his princely heart is taking him. The bizarre circumstances of this son’s conception will surely leave a bad taste in some mouths, but the movie’s not prepared to get serious about anything that might distract from the desired hilarity. Coming 2 America, in other words, falls into the trap of other sequels to hit films: it wants to give the audience the same thing as before, only different.

 

 

 

 

Black Panther Goes Back to the Future

I don’t pretend to be a connoisseur of superhero movies. And, though I worked on the “lost” Roger Corman version of Fantastic Four (and even briefly met the estimable Stan Lee), I  don’t have any special insight into the Marvel Universe. But the cultural conversation aroused by Black Panther—which is now the all-time third-highest-grossing movie at the U.S. box office and is approaching $1.3 billion in ticket sales worldwide—made me eager to see what all the talk is about.

And, yes, Black Panther is well worth talking about. For one thing, it’s a triumph over Hollywood’s usual racial expectations. Here’s an African-American director (Ryan Coogler of Fruitvale Station) given a massive budget to shoot an epic that features an almost all-black cast, none of whom play conventional gangbangers. Women are well represented on screen, not just as love interests but also as brainy scientists and fierce warriors. (If I were being held captive, I’d certainly trust Wakanda’s tough-as-nails all-female military force to spring me.) The movie’s staggering global ticket sales may reflect the pleasure taken by many around the world in seeing people of color kick ass. But Black Panther’s international appeal may also relate to the fact that it’s a truly international production. The imaginary African kingdom of Wakanda may be its chief locale, but an important section of the movie is set in (and shot in) South Korea. The credit roll at the film’s end also mentions locations in Munich and other German cities, as well as Argentina’s spectacular Iguassu Falls and (for interiors) Pinewood Atlanta Studios in Fayetteville, Georgia.

 I’m also struck by the fact that so many of the actors come from afar. The British-born Andy Serkis (on-screen, for once, instead of using his famous motion-capture skills) plays a memorably rollicking bad guy. Many of the film’s African characters are not African American but instead have more unusual pedigrees. In major roles there are Letitia Wright (as the brainy scientist character, from British Guyana), Danai Gurira (the feisty female warrior, who grew up in Zimbabwe), Daniel Kaluuya (the Get Out star, from England), Florence Kusumba (from Germany), and the venerable John Kani (once an important stage presence in the works of Athol Fugard, from South Africa). And, of course, the female lead is the impossibly beautiful Oscar winner, Lupita Nyong’o, who hails from Mexico and Kenya. 

Somewhat like last year’s DC superhero film, Wonder Woman, Black Panther combines storybook exoticism with futuristic derring-do. But the effect here is far more striking because the juxtaposition of African folk art (animal masks and statuary) with a high-tech city of the future is surprisingly seamless. Kudos to the film’s design team for making disparate elements work so well together. It’s also terrific to see a movie that takes African culture seriously. I was charmed by 1988’s Eddie Murphy flick, Coming to America, but that outrageous movie played African royalty for laughs. Here we’re intended to take the fate of Wakanda’s royal family seriously, and we do.

Coming to America traded on the culture clash between regal Africa and inner-city USA. Black Panther too has something to say about daily life in an African-American ghetto, and it’s hardly treated as a joking matter. To give the film even more contemporary resonance, it ends with a plot twist that can well be called anti-Trumpian. Spoiler alert: the rulers of Wakanda, casting off centuries of secrecy, decide to benignly share their advanced technologies with the rest of the world. No more “Wakanda first” isolationism for them! Who can argue with an idealistic ending like that?