Movie Review: Top Five
What We Liked
What We Didn't Like
Prior to Chris Rock’s new film Top Five, my favorite of his scattered (sometimes sadly corny and embarrassing) big screen efforts has been the writer-director’s illuminating documentary Good Hair where he played himself: genial, witty, and inquisitive. Most of his movies underestimate Rock’s range of influences: his stage persona the dominant perception in everyone’s mind. But unless you’re Rodney Dangerfield, seldom does a stage act translate well in features. The wacky inspirations of Louis CK and Rock’s Pootie Tang were tamed by studio fools; CB4 is just a series of bits. When he does settle his rhythms for a good indie role (2 Days in New York, Nurse Betty), Rock is affable but lacks the confidence shown in concert or a club. Finally perfecting the formula, Top Five is Rock’s triple-hat artist’s statement on fame, culture, relationships, New York City, stand-up, hip hop, families, and maturation.
Packing so many dilemmas and loves into one breezy, heartfelt dramatic comedy with hardly any stumbles proves Rock’s evolved writer’s hand; navigating around buddy cameos, realistic romance, raunchy comedy, philosophical drops, idol shout-outs, and all without a patina of narcissism is a feat. Top Five is too crass, broad, and choppy and the romance not organic enough to reach Annie Hall genius, but Rock’s Woody Allen worship comes through in both story structure and the warm framing and tones of cinematographer Manuel Alberto Claro (Melancholia, Nymphomaniac). A debt as well to Richard Linklater for the extended conversation device between fame-spoiled movie star surrogate Andre Allen (Rock) and a challenging New York Times reporter (Rosario Dawson) profiling him during a PR marathon. Rock’s truths aren’t as deep as those in Linklater’s Before series, making room for a couple of Borat-strength scatalogical sequences that will make audiences wince and roar. Funny as the material is, the movie loses some of its hold by dipping into fairly inconsequential gross-outs.
Andre enters as a sobered-up, self-loathing, body-guarded commodity of the Hammy the Bear franchise, promoting a serious passion project on the 1791 Haitian slave rebellion, but all everyone wants is Hammy 4 and gossip: an E! camera follows his gold-digging, talent-free fiancee. Obvious, nearly-shadeless satirical targets (or blatant in Tyler Perry’s case) could have made Top Five another episodic sketch movie if Rock did not keep the silliness at bay in favor of real discussions and interactions between people; even the famous face parade is naturally integrated. The title comes from a hilarious centerpiece riff-off in Allen’s old Brooklyn family apartment as several of the best black comedians today (Leslie Jones and Tracy Morgan among them) bounce off each other, playing dozens and throwing out their top five hip hop/rap artists with a raw energy and relatability that is the essence of great humor.
A generously overstuffed career best, Top Five should be the jump-off for future Rock film projects. I’m sure Martin Lawrence is available for the next Hammy-type offer.
Gregory Fichter
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