Little Man

There are some films that are hardly worth the trouble of watching: once you've got the central concept, you can pretty much run the movie in your head.

Mere words, mere permutations of 26 paltry letters, are an inadequate resource for explaining how fatuous, unfunny, and profoundly un-entertaining it is to watch Marlon Wayans doing a goo-goo-ga fake-baby routine.

It's a concept, not a movie.

I understand the satirical import of the race gags. But 97% of the movie will make you need a shower. Possibly two.

Tedious, snickering jokes about infant breast-feeding and adult-male boob lust? You got 'em, baby.

The Wayanses rely on their usual tired jokes here -- spittakes, white people speaking jive, Marlon grimacing in gastrointestinal distress.

This film ultimately resorts to the tried-and-tested hit to the groin -- not once, but EIGHT times.

It plays like nothing so much as an extended In Living Color stretched to fill 90 minutes, and it feels as thin as it sounds like it should. By the umpteenth variation of mistaking Calvin for a baby the joke has long, long stopped being funny.

In spite of the admirable effort that the Wayans brothers went to in digitally transplanting Marlon Wayans head and facial expressions onto the two-foot-six-inch body of a nine-year-old actor, "Little Man" is a bawdy and violent comedy that rankles more t