Imagine for a second that you’re Alex de Large in that scene from “A Clockwork Orange” and you are strapped down to a chair. Your eyes are being held open with skinny metal clamps and a nurse tends to them every few seconds with moisture drops so your eyes don’t crust up. Ahead of you is a large movie screen overflowing with images you simply can’t ignore, no matter how bad you want to, since you can’t close your eyes. Now, on top of that, imagine both of your ear sockets being raped with what could very well be the worst soundtrack in all of cinematic history (aside from one classic NWA track).
This is how I felt watching Don Michael Paul’s “Who’s Your Caddy?” starring Outkast’s Big Boi, Faizon Love, and child-porn extraordinaire Jeffrey Jones. Instead of metal clamps, my eyes were held open by my duty, my obligation as a film critic to observe the piece and write a critical examination for my fellow readers. Having done exactly that, I can say without hesitation that de Large had it easy.
Big Boi plays C-Note, a rap magnate (what a surprise), who attempts to join an uppity white conservative country club in South Carolina. Cummings, the club President (played by Jones), isn’t all that up for a rapper (or anyone outside of the white community) and his entourage to taint this club’s infamous reputation. He denies them instantaneously but thanks to a loophole in the club’s rules and regulations, he is required to give them a four-week probationary period, which should be a long enough period for him to kick them out due to some rule breaking.
His entourage attempts to provide the “comic relief” and consists only of stereotypes that would make fans of the old UPN channel fill with glee. There is Big Large (Faizon Love of “Friday” fame), the large obnoxious black man who does nothing but drink, fart and f**k. There is Lady G (Sherri Shepherd), the full-figured angry and loud black woman who appears to be C’s lawyer, assistant, account, and all around rabble-rouser. Kidd Clean (Wrestling’s Chase Tatum) is the group’s dim-witted white bodyguard, while Dread (Finesse Mitchell) plays the gang’s pimp-looking pot smoker.
The stereotypes don’t stop there either. At one point of the picture, C-Note leaves an evening party to head over to his mom’s house. We as an audience can figure it to be about 10 or 11 in the evening. What is she in the middle of preparing upon his arrival? Fried chicken and glorious corn on the cob. Watermelon was probably omitted from this scene because it was out of season or something. The screenwriters never make it clear what type of profession his mother is involved in, or whether her schedule involves a lot of late night dinners but of all the things she is cooking on the night her son shows up unexpectedly, it’s fried chicken? It would also be easier to swallow had someone other than a white dude co-wrote and directed it.
So when Cummings can’t seem to nail them on any sort of rule violation, he challenges the crew of Killah Ink Records (that’s their label) to a game of golf. Whichever team wins gets to stay at the club and the loser has to leave.
The sport of golf has seen its fair share of vulgar comedies over the last 30 years or so. Amongst some of these titles, many consider the original “Caddyshack” to be the “Citizen Kane” of the group, while many consider Adam Sandler’s idiotic “Happy Gilmore” to be along the same caliber. To continue onward with these types of comparisons, let us call the completely dreadful “Caddyshack II” the “Glitter” of golf cinema, leaving “Who’s Your Caddy” to be its “From Justin to Kelly.”