Man of the House

Hack squad: Airheads abound on and off camera in Man of the House

By Mike Prevatt

It's astounding how the most sophomoric of movies have the largest amount of "filmmakers" behind them. For Man of the House, a comedy that blends cop and cheerleader clichés, its credits reveal no less than seven producers--including executive producer Tommy Lee Jones, also the star--and five writers. That's a lot of paychecks for a flick with no A-list actors, or one that sidesteps pre-release press screenings so critics can't forewarn moviegoers before opening weekend. Regardless, there's not a lot of confidence behind this puff job, and understandably so.

The first strike is against the story: Texas Ranger Roland Sharp (Jones) is assigned to protect and live with five University of Texas cheerleaders who witness the killing of a man associated with a drug lord who has thus far evaded jail time. Sharp has little patience for the girls' vapidness, but after a while, they wear his stony faãade down and get him to do such things as rollerskate to ABBA and get all gussied up for a date. In the process, he learns how to communicate with young women, something his neglected, college-aged daughter Emma (Shannon Marie Woodward) could surely appreciate.

The entire movie hinges on the absurdity of someone as hard-assed as Jones tending to five airhead college girls, which is played out before they even move in together. Jones is an ideal choice for the role, but he's coasting on his exhausted, expressionless Texan alpha-male shtick that offers zero emotional dynamic by the time things get sentimental. Furthermore, Man of the House is another recent example of WASP-friendly celluloid, where Sharp installs an air conditioner to keep the girls from wearing miniskirts and halter tops, and black Christians are reduced to caricatures in the obligatory church scenes. Actually, the whole film is an exercise in typecasting, which is bound to happen when you employ a squad of Hollywood hacks.