Lisa Kudrow inherits a hip-hop label, decides to reform a gangsta rapper who isn’t particularly gangsta, and somehow this costs $20 million. We break down the resulting 80-minute collection of sketches that desperately wants to be satire but mostly just sits there making mild jokes about purses, “power in my pants,” and putting it in the butt.

Featuring: a Roman candle exploding out of Damon Wayans’ crotch, three sycophant friends, a dad who casually wishes his daughter had been a son, zero actual conflict, and the single least authentic gangsta rap catalog ever committed to film. Ashton picked it and stands by the laughs. Justin nearly put it in his top ten hates for the season. Chris Rock once said he’d have preferred an envelope of anthrax to the script. We understand the impulse.

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