"Diary of a Mad Black Woman"

Will Tyler Perry's religion-infused comedy spawn a completely new genre: Churchotainment?

By Stephanie Zacharek

Feb 25, 2005 | "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" is a movie whose existence, and whose significance in our social and political culture, you can't ignore. It's also the sort of movie that's so bad, you just wish it would go away.

"Diary" was written by Tyler Perry, the enormously successful playwright -- you could almost call him a playwright-entrepreneur -- who attracts a large African-American audience with his plays about relationships and emotional growth layered with broad religious overtones. In "Diary," Kimberly Elise plays Helen, who for 19 years has been a good, dutiful wife to rich, successful lawyer Charles (Steve Harris). But he treats her cruelly, and even throws her out of the home they share so he can install his mistress and two illegitimate kids.

Helen flees to the house of her grandmother, Madea (Perry himself, in "Nutty Professor"-style drag), a gun-totin', tough-talkin' granny nobody dares to mess with. Helen rebuilds her life, exacts revenge on her husband and, ultimately, learns the importance of forgiveness. There's also a lively church scene in which the lame walk, and an ex-junkie shows up, cleaned up and wearing a pretty dress, to sing the praises of the Almighty in the aisles.

This is the first movie made from original Perry material, and it's clearly meant to be a crowd-pleasing, uplifting dramatic entertainment. Perry doesn't have any delusions of artistry, and potentially, at least, that's refreshing. But any points he earns for lack of pretense are immediately gobbled up by his lack of subtlety.

Everything in "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" is exaggerated for the audience's pleasure, resulting only in its exhaustion. "Get the hell outta my car," Charles barks at Helen, dropping her off at their lavish home after the two have attended a swanky dinner in his honor, during which he's been the very picture of an angelic husband. Later, when he kicks her out of the house, clothes and all (having already moved the brand-new wardrobe of his mistress into his wife's huge walk-in closets), he snarls, "Now be a lady and leave quietly." These are all cues for the audience -- and there's no doubt "Diary" is aimed chiefly at women -- to boo and hiss and acknowledge that, damn, this is one really bad guy. We need only one or two of these cues, but Perry lays them on thick.

Then the sermonizing begins. When Helen, who has been cut off from her family for years, on Charles' orders, runs into her shivering, twitching junkie cousin, she asks Madea, "What happened to her?" The answer, intoned with great gravity: "Life." And it takes Helen forever to recognize that she's not to blame for the failure of her marriage. Long past the point where guilt would be an issue (and past the point where the audience expects it to be an issue), she's still reciting embroidered samplerisms like "I always thought that if I did the best I could, God would bless my marriage."

Next Page: God surely deserves a much better movie than this one

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