Eddie Murphy probably hasn’t made a decent movie since the 90s (I never saw Dreamgirls) and some of his more recent ones have been so bad they almost felt spiteful. We’ll soon see if he can turn it around with awards bait, as he takes over for Samuel L. Jackson in the title role of Cook, a drama from Driving Miss Daisy director Bruce Beresford. Written by Californication writer Susan McMartin, Cook is based on the true story of McMartin’s stepfather’s personal cook, who touched her life and sh*t.
“It’s a great screenplay,” [Producer Mark] Canton told Empire when we had cause to speak to him recently. “It’s a small story – a true story – of a family and a guy who comes into their lives. You have to come up with either really great big franchise driven movies or little character driven movies. Those are the two businesses to be in. I’m in both. You don’t like to be caught in the middle.”
“Everyone now wants to do what Matt McConaughey did, so we’re financing these movies when we think they’re put together the right way. This will be Eddie Murphy like you’ve never seen him. Of that I can assure you.”
So does that mean fagg*ts can look at Eddie Murphy’s ass now? Time will tell.
Here’s a bit about the cook, Herman, from Susan McMartin’s blog:
Herman saw me.
He saw me when it felt like no else did. He taught me to cook and to enjoy old movies. Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly, Bette Davis.
He always had a softcover book in his hand, a cigarette in his lips and jazz playing on the radio.
He played piano, painted, even sewed outfits for my dolls and stuffed animals.
I would sit in the kitchen with him and he talked to me like I was an equal. And when I fought with my mom when she drank, and raged at my stepfather when he behaved inappropriately… there was Herman. Looking at me. Understanding me. And always telling me,
You’re something special, my dear.
He eventually moved out to cook for people who could actually pay him. But on his days off he’d come home to us. To sleep. To read. To play piano. To cook. We were his family.
Sounds a lot like my imaginary butler, Charlie. While my parents and teachers were constantly telling me I was special and teaching me the value of self-confidence, every morning Charlie would look me right in the eyes and say “Kid, you ain’t sh*t.” Charlie is the reason I blog.