Printable Biography of Sheryl Underwood

The Barbershop movies featuring Ice Cube and company certainly did wonders for the resurgence of recent ethnic comedies. So there's no real surprise that this film franchise would create a movie spin-off in the form of director Billie Woodruf's (Honey) scissors-and-sass spectacle Beauty Shop. Woodruf's hair-caring hoot is the obvious feminine version of its boisterous blueprint Barbershop equipped with flippant and free-spirited characterizations. As a crackling cultural feminine empowerment piece, Beauty Shop is about as well-rounded as an unshaped Afro hairdo.

Although the aforementioned Barbershop movies won't be mistaken for a robust socio-political satire, at least it had its wayward wit in tact without seeming labored. However, Beauty Shop tries in vain to come off as a sassy vehicle for Queen Latifah by engaging the same type of ribald racial high jinks. The only difference is that Woodruf's facial farce is an insulting dud that wastes the talents of Latifah in a strained Afro-centric laugher. For the most part, Beauty Shop is a beleaguered copycat that is an awkward and sketchy commentary for exhibiting black womanhood at its funkiest.

Latifah's acerbic hairdresser and single mother Gina was introduced to audiences in Barbershop 2: Back in Business as a neighboring worker near Ice Cube's shop in a Chicagoan black community. Well, this time Gina decides to move to Atlanta in the educational interest of her daughter Vanessa (Paige Hurt), a promising pianist loaded with musical talent. Gina stays at the comfortable residence of her mother-in-law (Della Reese) and self-absorbed half-sister Darnelle (The Cosby Show's Keshia Knight-Pulliam).

The self-assured Gina has always been as opinionated and she is independent. Tired of working at a snobby uptown salon being monitored by a controlling and prissy Jorge (Kevin Bacon), Gina dares to strike out on her own and become a businesswoman. Since Jorge has done a despicable job taking credit for all of her hair stylist creativity, Gina can now apply her special professional skills in her very own establishment. But first, she must qualify for a loan to open up her desired shop. As unseemly as it appears, Gina does secure a bank loan and soon eyes an old shack that she hopes to transform into her anticipated beauty shop.

It's not long before the determined Gina gets her treasured workplace in order. And much like the colorful gang that cut hair at Ice Cube's place in Barbershop, Gina assembles her group of eccentric employees to perform makeovers for the customers. On board for the fun and frolic in reference to "ghettoized" gossiping are the following: a Maya Angelou poetic-spouting Josephine (Alfre Woodard), an ostracized but sweet-minded white hayseed named Lynn (Alicia Silverstone), chatty Chanel (Golden Brooks), sharp-tongued Ida (Sherri Shepard), and the sole male token among the bunch in the person of good-looking ex-con James (Byron Wilson).

Conveniently available to complete the serviceable needs of Gina's personalized agenda is handsome handyman Joe (Djimon Hounsou) who resides upstairs from the shop. Joe's an electrician that benefits the shop's operation and a capable musician that can inspire prodigy Vanessa. More importantly, he's the muscular Romeo that makes for the ideal love interest for Gina. And what would a zany beauty shop of nail-trimming working stiffs be if they weren't complimented with equally offbeat patrons? Among the paying visitors are an uptight society trophy wife (Andie MacDowell) and an arrogant blonde named Joanne (Mena Suvari) who thinks she's the cat's meow. Plus, beauty shop fixtures Catfish Rita (Sheryl Underwood) and teen tormentor Willie (L'il JJ) stick around to add to the kooky chaos.

Screenwriters Kate Lanier and Norman Vance, Jr. deliver a corrosive comedy that is as refreshing as a 19th-century coiffure. The in-joke about various black women able to foster their irreverent quirks as a sensible Latifah looks on as a resourceful ringleader had some merit where we could eavesdrop and soak up the off-kilter banter. But Beauty Shop offers no crafty insight other than to highlight baseless racial barbs and other snippets between shampoo rinses. The caricatures--both black and white--are woefully embarrassing and show no depth in their wacky skins. Even borrowing a bit from the film The Warriors (where we see a radio DJ's moving lips up close as she commentates) seems kind of misplaced and tiring. Almost everyone feels the need to mug for the camera and shows no restraint for the humor to take its natural toll.