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The terrifying conclusion unearthed by the scientists was that UCWPAB (Upper Class White People Acting Black) levels, previously thought to be at normal thresholds, had dropped dramatically in the course of a year. Our nation's theater screens failed to show even one black comedian teaching urban slang and rap lyrics to rich WASPs at a dinner gala to hilarious results. Second act film montages did not illustrate one instance of a well-bred white antagonist mugging in horror at his private school-educated son showing off break dancing moves taught to him by the black protagonist. Unless something was done to counteract the trend, comedy involving white people mimicking black stereotypes in a humorous manner faced extinction within the year. Hollywood's top screenwriters and producers were brought in as America called for a DEFCON 1 level alert. In 2003, with UCWPAB-sanctioned features Bringing Down the House and Head of State released nationwide, the crisis is finally, thankfully, safely behind us. And yet many Americans don't appreciate how close our country came to never seeing these freedoms again. Consequently, when watching the trailer for Chris Rock's fish-out-water comedy Head of State, pause for a moment to truly absorb how the rich white dowager tells Rock his party was "off tha hizzle-fashizzle," and appreciate the efforts of the many brave men and women who ensured your right to see old women speaking like urban gangstas was left unmolested. When you see Head of State's crusty rich whites erupt in shock and pandemonium when told by a DJ-ing Rock that "The roof is on fire!" remember that all rich white people are this ignorant and stupid; that all black men are funny, harmlessly offensive and unable to speak multi-syllabic English; and offer a silent prayer of thanks to Hollywood for reminding us of this contrast whenever possible. Head of State's trailer starts with a premise sure to get side-splitting chuckles, as a voiceover informs us of the tragic and premature deaths of two men in a plane crash. We soon learn that the pair were to run as presidential and vice-presidential hopefuls in the upcoming election. Left without its running mates, the ------ Party (Republican? Democrat? It's never stated) is forced to pick a new candidate.
A record scratch noise follows the line of dialogue. It turns out that the ------ Party has voted to "just pick some guy" after all. That guy they just picked? Chris Rock. The premise given here — that a political party would simply choose, on a whim, a crass, under-educated simpleton with no knowledge of politics or economics, put a suit on him, and somehow get him into the White House — would seem like the least likely scenario on Earth, if it wasn't for the fact that's it's already happened several times by now. Rock's character begins his presidential campaign as a puppet, reading lines off a prompter and smiling when told to. It is soon revealed that the ------ Party has picked Rock because they want him to lose, and the plot thickens, or at least coagulates. (Doesn't it cost millions of dollars to launch a presidential campaign? Isn't there a simpler way to lose an election? Why not just not run? I didn't win the last election either, and it didn't cost me a dime.) The evil ------ Party's plans are soon undone, however, as another record scratch noise cues up on the soundtrack. In the middle of a debate, Rock suddenly rips off his tie, picks up a mic and becomes... well, Chris Rock — hashing out his stand-up act to the frenzied adulation of the crowd. Having seen Chris Rock's stand-up, I can vouch for the fact that it's infinitely amusing; however, since when does giving witty observations about life's foibles mean you're competent enough to lead the Free World? Nevertheless, Rock's "Bitches Be Crazy/What Up With White Kids?" platform energizes the populace and frustrates the bad guys, and everybody involved goes through the motions towards the film's predictable conclusion. It's a sad premonition of the by-the-numbers nature of Head of State that I found myself looking at my watch during the trailer. In a just world, I wouldn't be doing that until at least fifty minutes into the actual film, when Rock's character probably uncovers the bad guy's conspiracy; is probably confronted with an ugly choice ("Play ball with us, protagonist, or it's over for you and your family and your pretty love interest/co-worker!"); probably throws the campaign in a highly moral and patriotic way that exposes the bad guys, and probably comes out on top, even though he probably also loses his presidential bid. Then I probably look at my watch several more times, am probably halfway out of the theater with my coat on by the time the credits roll, and probably go home cursing the untimely demise of my twelve dollars.
I gladly await the moment when stars of Rock's caliber figure out how much they're actually bringing to the creative table in pieces of crap like Head of State, roll up the script, shove it so far up the Hollywood executive's ass he'll cough staples, and then simply walk off and make their own films somewhere else. Or, to put it another way, when Rock and Martin and Mac and Levy decide to actually produce quality, labor-of-love comedies for small financial returns but an enduring comedic legacy, instead of putting their names on bad films that ask for little involvement on their parts and earn them millions and millions of Hollywood dollars. Or, to put it still another way, never. Until then… RATING:
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In
2001, our nation faced one of the greatest challenges it has ever
known. Top scientists working independently across the country had identified
a crisis of horrific proportions that, if left unaddressed, would soon
escalate to hysteria. Something had to be done. And quickly. 
"We
can't just pick some… guy," protests one of the party
members during a brainstorming session following the deaths, presumably
in response to another party member's suggestion that they "just
pick some guy." As soon as I heard this line of dialogue, I braced
myself for the record scratch noise that would inevitably follow it.
Coupled
with Bringing Down the House, Head of State seems to confirm
the frightening notion that Hollywood can take any talent at all — genuinely
funny people like Rock, Steve Martin, Eugene Levy, Bernie Mac — and
put them in just about the saddest, shit-awfullest movies ever made.
Head of State's trailer admittedly has some genuine laughs in
it. But one gets the feeling that the jokes in evidence are there in
spite of the film itself, like the stars involved had to push back like
mad to actually throw a few good jokes in. In other words, both films
seem to be carried completely by the talent and charisma of their comic
actors, whose excellent delivery of the horrible dialogue given to them
will elevate both films to "Okay, I guess" status, instead of the
"Here is proof that God has abandoned Earth to Satan" status both
deserve. 
