Noteworthy
as the lone venture into film production and screenwriting for legendary Motown
singer-songwriter William “Smokey” Robinson, Big Time is an amateurish but mostly pleasant blaxploitation comedy
that benefits greatly from a funky soundtrack composed by, naturally, the
estimable Mr. Robinson. The picture also has three appealing actors in leading
roles. Christopher Joy gives an amusing turn as a low-rent hustler who gets
into trouble by messing with the Mob’s money. Roger E. Mosley is entertaining as a crook with a pimptastic wardrobe, who may or may not be as
tough as he seems. And leading lady Jayne Kennedy, playing an insurance
investigator who goes undercover to entrap Joy’s character,
is so breathtaking that it doesn’t matter if her performance is merely adequate—after
all, the description “merely adequate” could just as easily apply to Big Time itself, so why not enjoy the
sights and sounds that make Big Time
bearable?
Eddie Jones (Joy) is a con artist specializing in fake accidents (think
neck braces and frivolous lawsuits). A string of bad decisions have left him in
debt to J.J. (Mosely), who threatens violence if Eddie doesn’t make good. In a
typical scene, J.J., who has his initials inscribed on vanity plates and on
custom-made gold teeth, compels Eddie to leap from a moving car even though
Eddie’s wearing only a towel. Desperate to pay his debts, Eddie enlists his buddy Harold (Tobar
Mayo) for help running schemes. Eddie also woos Shana
(Kennedy) following a meet-cute during an accident, though he’s too dim to recognize
her hidden agenda. Eventually, Eddie stumbles onto a crime scene and steals a
suitcase full of cash. This upsets mobsters, who are portrayed as a bunch of
fat Italians sitting around a table covered with pizzas.
Once the FBI enters
the storyline, things get confusing fast, so during a good 30 minutes of Big Time, it’s difficult to track who’s
doing what to whom and why. Also distracting: The way Shana’s partner delivers
most of his lines in a bad Humphrey Bogart impersonation. Presumably influenced
by the anarchic vibe of Sidney Poitier/Bill Cosby comedies from the
mid-’70s, Big Time is blaxploitation
without degradation, which counts for something. The language is gentle, the
racial portrayals aren’t especially vulgar, the violence is tame, and Kennedy
maintains her dignity by never wearing less than a bikini. So even though Big Time is dopey, it’s an amiable romp
set to a slick Motown groove, and every third or fourth attempt at a joke
nearly connects.
Big Time: FUNKY
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