As the credits roll, Martin Lawrence turns to the camera and utters the most chilling phrase you'll hear all year.
"Keep a lookout. You never know when Big Momma might be back."
As if we could stop her. This is that peculiar Hollywood institution - the critic proof comedy that no-one you will ever meet admits to liking.
This time out, Lawrence retrieves the fat suit from under the bed to smuggle himself as a housekeeper into the dysfunctional family of an internet baddie.
He's got to put up with the control freak mother and the weird kids, including the Brillo pad-eating infant who has a penchant for throwing himself off high furniture.
At the same time his heavily-pregnant wife Nia Long is on the warpath when she discovers he's not - as he claimed - attending a conference in Phoenix.
This flat farrago of limp gags is so lame that if it were a horse someone would shoot it. With a howitzer.
Anywhere else Martin Lawrence can be amusing. However, Richard Pryor dead is funnier than the Bad Boys star alive in this shabby sequel.
It's just that it never rises above the barely competent with the only high point a dig at Bo Derek's 10 when Big Momma lumbers along a beach in cornrowed plaits.
It seems that, like cellulite, you can't get rid of her.
Tim Evans
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