Straining to give limp quotation the luster of homage, Kevin Smith's Cop Out pays tribute mostly to the director's rich heritage of self-amusement. His chosen genre -- the '80s buddy cop comedy -- gets a brief run-down in the opening scene, when NYPD detectives Jimmy (Bruce Willis) and Paul (Tracy Morgan) bicker over the interrogation of a suspect. Lobbying for the part of "bad cop," Paul insists that his years of watching cop movies have prepared him for this moment, and launches a performative assault on the detainee that begins with bits from Heat and Training Day, but quickly devolves into a channeling of Harpo from The Color Purple. It's a long and indulgent sequence in Smith's singularly brutish style: strong-arming you with stupidity until you crack. It may also be the last laugh you'll concede.
Paul and Jimmy are of course of the fast-and-loose detective mold: they play by their own rules, they each get one definitive personal problem (Paul can't stop accusing his wife, played by Rashida Jones, of cheating; Jimmy can't afford his daughter's dream wedding), and their unorthodox methods just might work. Suspended for botching a drug bust, the duo set out to take down a Mexican cartel whose leader (played by Guillermo Diaz, of Weeds) has come into possession of Jimmy's cash cow baseball card. "Poh Boy," as he is known, does business in a church and has fashioned a dugout in his basement, where he knocks fastballs into his victims' skulls. We are meant to find both the film's violent clichés and actual, startling violence delightfully referential.
Conventionally speaking a pretty flimsy genre, the best cop comedies were pushed through on the strength of a steamrolling performance (Beverly Hills Cop), unlikely chemistry between the two leads (48 Hrs.) or both (Lethal Weapon). Confusing actual homage with making a self-consciously crappy cop movie that declares itself to be homage, Smith pimps out a shaggy crime story (his first for-hire film, it was written by Robb and Mark Cullen) with an '80s synth score, tracks from Eric B. and Rakim and Poison, and a truly cruddy, cheap-o aesthetic. Lacking the genre-thumping deftness of a film like Hot Fuzz or the appealing kitsch of Dragnet, Cop Out turns its lonely eyes to its two lead performers.
I thought we had all agreed that a little Tracy Morgan goes a long, long way. The irony of Tina Fey finding the perfect dosage on 30 Rock -- stringing him in to do two or three of his toddler-with-a-teleprompter line readings -- is that it has led to him being cast in a leading role. As the idiot savant Paul, Morgan wipes his nose with the back of his hand in moments of confusion or distress and pooches his mouth to denote his inherent lovability. Beyond cloying on the big screen, an inexplicably smitten Smith allows Morgan's flat riffs and endless runs to distend an already shapeless plot. Willis is barely there as the straight man, muttering his lines with a reluctance that seems to have more to do with the script than his character. The dynamic between the two is forced and pre-fab, much like the opening shot of them rolling into the precinct in slo-mo as "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn" blasts.
And it is Brooklyn -- residents will at least find distraction noting subway stops and their favorite Mexican joint -- but even the dedicated location shooting feels canned. Given two vibrant boroughs (Queens also figures) Smith musters none of street-bound energy that can animate even the direst hackwork. As a result the shoddy composition -- lone characters float in the middle of a grotesquely stretched frame; constipated camera work flattens every scene -- comes to the fore. One of the film's small favors is Smith's canny (and genre-typical) use of bit players: Susie Essman, Jason Lee, Kevin Pollack, Adam Brody, and Seann William Scott appear in small, pitch-perfect roles. Unfortunately the relief they provide from the overwhelming tide of self-indulgence and sh*t jokes is all too brief.