'Head of State' proves Chris Rock has head for comedy

By Marshall Fine
The (Westchester, N.Y.) Journal News

HEAD OF STATE (Rated PG-13) Three Stars (Good) A Washington, D.C., alderman is selected to run for president in this comedy that works best when it's at its most outrageous. Starring Chris Rock, Bernie Mac, Lynn Whitfield. Directed by Chris Rock. DreamWorks Pictures, 105 minutes.

For a one-joke movie, "Head of State" does pretty well. It shows just how many variations on a theme you can find and still get laughs. As political satire, it's pretty tame stuff, but "Head of State" still has a laugh-out-loud audacity that's welcome in an otherwise bland movie season.

Rock, who co-wrote and directed, stars as Mays Gilliam, a Washington, D.C., alderman at the end of his tether. A mall is chopping his district up, his girlfriend (Robin Givens in a wicked comic turn) has dumped him and his car has been repossessed.

When the Democratic presidential and vice presidential candidates are killed 10 weeks before the election, the Democrats cast about for a sacrificial lamb to fill the bill against a seemingly unbeatable Republican opponent. His advantages seem unassailable: He's been vice president for eight years, he's a war hero — and he's Sharon Stone's cousin. And his slogan is "God Bless America — and No Place Else!"

Mays comes to the Democrats' attention when he lands on TV for saving a constituent's life. So they play the hero card and tap him to be their fill-in candidate. It comes as a shock to Mays, however; when they ask him if he wants to run for president, he replies, "Of what?"

Initially, he obeys his handlers (Dylan Baker and Lynn Whitfield), who feed him platitudes to mouth, while repeating essentially the same speech from town to town. It's only when he gets to Chicago and encounters his big brother Mitch (Bernie Mac) — who calls him on what a bland campaign he's running — that he decides to be himself.

Overnight, his wardrobe changes from suit and tie to FUBU jogging suits and Kangol hats; his commercials start to look like videos on BET and his campaign bus starts to look like a tour bus for a rap crew. He also starts speaking his mind, in punch line driven speeches that sound like they could have been lifted directly from Rock's stand-up routine (that's a good thing).

Like "Bringing Down the House," over which it towers, "Head of State" is about the big racial and class disconnect in this country: white fear of minorities, underclass resentment of upper-class privilege. Rock is an equal-opportunity needler, as likely to tweak black stereotypes as white.

Sure, he has Mays working as a DJ at a party of rich white Democrats, who get jiggy to Nelly's "Hot in Herre" (until he chants "The roof is on fire," and the crowd flees in panic, fearing a real blaze). But he also takes shots at black foibles on both ends of the class spectrum.

At one point, Mays rejects a campaign contribution from a rich black contributor because the man's company markets malt liquor to children. When the contributor denies the charge, Mays holds up a bottle of the stuff. "It's orange-flavored beer in a bottle with a nipple. It's called Crib Beer. Who do you think is drinking it?"

Rock, making his directorial debut, has some wonderfully outrageous impulses but doesn't give himself over to enough of them. The film has a handful of small visual cut-ins, moments that illustrate a character's thoughts or fantasies in wild ways that instantly energize the film.

The same is true of his use of Mac, playing Mays' bail-bondsman brother (who eventually becomes his running mate). Mac's screen time is electrifying, but there's not nearly enough of it. Give this man a movie of his own.

Still, this movie comes closer to capturing Rock's stand-up persona than anything else he's done so far. "Head of State" isn't perfect, but it's funny and smart enough to be eminently watchable.

Rated PG-13 for profanity, violence, sexuality, partial nudity.