Director Gregory Nava lingers a little longer on the musical biography shelf, slinging more mud than in Selena. There, he was under the watchful eye of the protagonist's survivors. And so here, the messy squabble over the estate of doo-wop pioneer Frankie Lymon -- touched off, it would seem, by Diana Ross's cover version of the title tune two decades after his death -- is just the ticket to set Nava free from his crippling deference. The squabblers are three ex-wives, or alleged ex-wives, whose conflicting stories stray once or twice into Rashomon territory, and they afford ample acting opportunities for Halle Berry and Vivica A. Fox, if not so ample for a prim and proper Lela Rochon. (The presiding judge in the case affords only the skimpiest opportunity for the capable Pamela Reed.) Fox gains a slight edge, perhaps, in her greater willingness to portray the age difference between the present tense and the flashbacks. Larenz Tate is too old to be the doo-wopper at his boy-soprano peak, but he catches up with him later in the valley of drugs. This is old ground -- white devil heroin, white devil record producers -- and gone over at a skim. The old songs and dance steps, and corresponding clothes, hairdos, etc., are enjoyable, but it's the enjoyability of a piggyback ride. The filmmaking is no-sweat. (1998) — Duncan Shepherd
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