In case you're wondering, it stands for black American princesses, alias Georgia waitresses Halle Berry and Natalie Desselle, two uncouth, jive-talkin' hash-slingers who hi-tail it to LA for a dance audition (they fail when their skyscraper hairdos knock other contestants over). Before they can get the next plane home, Berry is propositioned to impersonate the long-lost granddaughter of a dying millionaire (Martin Landau). Naturally, the hirer, the millionaire's grasping nephew (Jonathan Fried), has an ulterior motive, one he's sure the wiggling water-brains will never guess. This is one of those films that has all sorts of promising situations, but needs a different director and a severe script overhaul. Berry, Desselle and Landau act their wigs off in the cause, but Ian Richardson is made to look an idiot rather than a loveable figure, as the millionaire's crusty old butler. And director Robert Townsend paces it poorly: it just doesn't flow like one of those wish-fulfilment stories should. Berry has certainly moved on since this.

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