Top Five

In his stand-up act, Chris Rock is funny, not because he works blue (they all do that) but because he often makes pointed observations that are as unflinchingly honest as they are vulgar. Buried in his wisecracks are troubling observations that would be infuriating or depressing if they weren't so damn funny.

Whether he's wondering about how the supremely talented Michael Jackson came to such a sorry state or decrying why stores in black neighborhoods sell different merchandise from those in other parts of town, Rock has the ability to make a listener's heart and ribs ache at the same time. That may be why one of his stand-up specials was called Bring the Pain.

But the movies have only fitfully offered the guilt-inducing and clear-eyed delights of hearing him perform alone on a stage with only a microphone to defend him against a hostile crowd. Then again, nobody pays to hear painful truths delivered in Grown Ups or the Madagascar movies.

With Top Five, Rock has finally found a vehicle that actually delivers the jolt of his unfiltered live act. Rock isn't stretching too hard, playing a comedian much like himself. Nonetheless, by taking viewers into his active mind without assuming they'll run off when he gets personal, he finally offers viewers the joy that used to require a two-drink minimum.

Rock's alter ego is comic Andre Allen, a comedian whose fame seems almost as crushing as his former drinking habit. He's on a seemingly endless press tour for a new passion project he has made about the Haitian slave uprising. His fans and the press seem less interested in watching him play the leader of the uprising in subtitled French than in begging him to start playing a funny cop named Hammy.

Perhaps Allen is reluctant because he'll have to don a bear suit again for that particular role.

Having heard the same questions ad nauseam, he's eager to get some rest before he marries a reality TV star (Gabrielle Union). That's not going to happen, because his handlers have set him up with a reporter (Rosario Dawson) from The New York Times. A fellow recovering alcoholic, she uses the fact that he's stuck in the limo with her to talk about what really drives him, even if the stress might lead him to start drinking again.

As with Charlie Chaplin's Limelight and Woody Allen's Stardust Memories, Top Five has a writer-director-star wondering if he still wants to get laughs or if he still can. Rock wisely acknowledges his debt to the previous comics. Note Andre's surname and prepare for what may be the most jaw-dropping performance of Chaplin's tune "Smile" ever recorded.

Where Rock makes Top Five his own is by facing scary questions that don't have quick, definitive answers. Can addicts perform as well sober, now that their former inspiration will kill them? As a culture, are we so far gone that we'll shell out cash to watch a guy in a bear suit fire machine guns? Or are we any smarter for rewarding stars who might be discussing weighty or important subjects but doing so badly?

It's impossible to keep a straight face as Allen unconvincingly leads other "slaves" to kill their masters. All of these renegades look as if they're leaving The Gap instead of bondage.

Rock, who actually had some decent dramatic roles in New Jack City and Nurse Betty, knows that viewers probably wouldn't pay a dime to see him in an August Wilson play. He knows his limitations, so like Allen he surrounds himself with a terrific supporting cast and gives them plenty of juicy, if brief moments. Dawson consistently keeps the director from upstaging her, and Top Five manages to give Jerry Seinfeld and Adam Sandler their best roles in years, even if they are only playing themselves.

Listening to a celebrity whine about his torments is usually as tedious as it is wasteful, but Rock's angst is often as universal as it is funny.

MovieStyle on 12/19/2014