It’s almost worth it to hear Forest Whitaker preach.
Based on the 1961 musical-play written by Langston Hughes, Black Nativity stars Whitaker as a Harlem minister who begrudgingly takes in his troubled teen grandson (Jacob Latimore) over the holidays. Whitaker has some great preach-it moments – from now on, I’ll only hear Joshua 24:15 in his voice – but this mostly involves sermonizing of the stultifying kind.
The main problem is the narrative framing device, which has been concocted for the movie. Nearly every non-musical scene involves some sort of obvious lesson being learned as grandfather, grandson and mother (Jennifer Hudson) trudge their way to the inevitable, climactic group hug. What made Hughes’ original work so powerful was the way it brought African-American tradition to bear on a Christmas story that’s usually painted snowy white. But there is little of that cultural richness here. Thanks to its laborious contemporary narrative, this Black Nativity has only slightly more originality than the average Hallmark Christmas special.
It’s almost worth it to hear Forest Whitaker preach.
Unsurprisingly, the movie only comes to life when Whitaker’s minister stages a production of Black Nativity at his church. Embracing the music, imagery and spoken word that defines the source material, writer-director Kasi Lemmons (Eve’s Bayou) breaks free from the treacle to offer some startling recreations of the first Christmas night. (Tyrese Gibson, a bit scruffier than usual, appears as a homeless “innkeeper,” while Mary J. Blige oversees a group dance number as a glam guardian angel.)
Unfortunately, the framing story nudges its way back into the production for the finale, in which the entire church sits in silence and watches as the estranged family learns to embrace. There are smiles all around, but whatever magic had been in the air quickly dissipates.
