There is an astonishing moment in this endlessly vile and lousy movie.
The four girls in question, back in their motel room after a night of low shenanigans in which they have shown to the world that the female of the species can be just as accomplished at ugly, drunken behaviour as the male (it is SO de rigueur), get down on their knees, clasp their hands before them, bow their heads and thank Jesus for the swell time they’ve just had. At first I thought it was meant to be a joke, but it wasn’t. They were dead serious. Americans and the god thing – are they absurd or what? The act of praising the lord seemed even more bizarre when, at breakfast the next morning, the loud one of them (they are all stereotypes) cuts a hole in a grapefruit, sticks a banana through it and commences to give an exhibition of how fellatio should be executed, with juice splattering all over her face – classy humour, huh?
Go, you feminists! Ryan, Sasha, Lisa and Dina (Regina Hall, Queen Latifah, Jada Pinkett Smith and Tiffany Haddish) are best buddies from college days who have not seen each other in yonks. They get back together to attend a Festival of Black Women in New Orleans, at which there is a lot of over-amplified awful music performed, to the delight of the throng of revellers. There is a through-line concerning the relationship between Ryan and her unfaithful football-hero partner (Mike Colter), and one or two fissures that need to be sealed over, but it is all run-of-the-mill squealing and swearing and ‘aren’t we great cos we’re bad’ juvenilia.
There is a nice piece of warped camera work when the girls get off their faces on absinthe (not a drink to be messed with), but the scene in which not one but two of them pee onto the street below while being hoisted between balconies is cringeworthy in its dire attempt to shock.