Not gonna lie, this had me in the first half. In its first hour, Tina Mabry's "The Supremes at Earl's All-You-Can-Eat" is a bubbly, melodramatic story about the multi-decade friendship shared by three Black women. Based on Edward Kelsey Moore's same-titled novel, the comedy zigs—despite its name, it's not actually about the musical group—and zags through these characters' personal ups and downs. In some ways, its tonal shifts, light and airy, mirrors the tone seen in Black 1990s films like "Soul Food" and "The Best Man," where the overriding love shared by the characters help them overcome seemingly insurmountable personal challenges. And, for a time, Mabry's film is a wonderful addition to that canon.
The non-linear story begins with a tired Odette Henry (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor) sitting underneath a tree. She recounts how her pregnant mother, worried about baby Odette's arrival, sought help from a witch, who recommended that she sit atop a sycamore tree. There, Odette was born. Ever since then, she has been fearless. Through her eyes, we leap to 1968: Odette (Kyanna Simone plays her in her younger years) has dreams of becoming a nurse while her best friend Clarice (Abigail Achiri), a talented pianist, seems destined for a recording career. The pair befriend and save Barbara Jean (Tati Gabrielle) from her abusive stepfather following the death of her alcoholic mother, finding her a home with Earl (Tony Winters) and his wife at their family-owned diner.
These early scenes are among the film's strongest, fashioning a believable bond between these seemingly disparate people that makes the nickname many attach to them, "The Supremes," apt. However, as we transition into their adulthoods and later years, the film unravels so quickly that it's difficult to pinpoint exactly where this initially enjoyable film flew off the rails.
The early scenes, set in the late 1960s, certainly have flair. The period costumes are colorful and varied, leaning toward bright yellows and oranges. There is also some steaminess. Barbara Jean, for instance, falls for Chick Carlson (Ryan Paynter)—a white busboy working for Earl, who is also a survivor of physical abuse. Within the racist milieu, Chick's brother is a crazed, violent bigot; Chick and Barbara Jean's love creates an intriguing bit of tension that the film, confusingly, lets fall away.
Rather than tell a simple story of uncommon friendship, the film overreaches. When we flash forward to the present day, all of the women are working through deep hurts. Earl, their father figure, has passed away, leaving his superstitious widow (Donna Biscoe) and his level-headed son in charge. Barbara Jean (Sanaa Lathan) is on an alcoholic spiral after watching her present husband, Lester (Vondie Curtis-Hall), suddenly pass away. Clarice (Uzo Aduba) gave up on her dream of being a pianist, and now it seems like her husband Richmond (Russell Hornsby) might be cheating on her. Odette has a delightful, healthy marriage with James (Mekhi Phifer). But her life is upended with a sudden diagnosis of non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Somehow, that only scratches the surface of all the plot's varied surprises.
In the film's final half hour, the script seemingly throws another movie's worth of sharp turns and unlikely leaps: divorces, murders, and tragic deaths that are juxtaposed by a taste for melodrama and an appetite for mordant humor. In fact, I'm still not entirely sure what I watched. I'm not sure any of the cast knows either. Despite their best efforts, their commitment goes for naught as their characters—in a film that clearly wants to be a kind of soap opera—make the most absurd decisions. Ellis-Taylor, who is riding an exceptional hot streak, mostly holds it together, but even her incredible talents can't keep some scenes from devolving. Lathan is equally helpless as her character's most outlandish beats startlingly become afterthoughts.
Between the eye-catching period details and the warmth of the performances, you want to wrap your arms around "The Supremes at Earl's All-You-Can-Eat." But this is a film that seems intent on pushing you away through its ludicrous plotting. There is a touching story here about Black women with high hopes running into life's crushing realities lurking somewhere in the middle of this tangled, knotty work that essentially suffocates itself. But Mabry's good intentions aren't enough to save what feels like an insignificant work compared to its high ideals.
