Made in America

She’s a black intellectual! He’s a scummy car salesman! Together, they unwittingly had a daughter through IVF! Will these whacky two work it out and come together as a modern family? Find out on Made in America!

Coming this fall to CBS!

Ok, not really, but Made in America does play like a variation of My Two Dads or Perfect Strangers loaded up with more, because more is more and there’s never too much of a good thing. Or something along those lines. Any which way you glance at it, Made in America is cheese of the highest order that’s imminently forgettable and a waste of the talents of Whoopi Goldberg and Ted Danson.

Ostensibly a romantic comedy, and also one of misunderstanding and improbable medical situations, Made in America certainly plays with pathos far more than it earns or is potentially comfortable with. Nia Long’s screen time boils down to her prettily staring off with tears staining her face in soft closeup. Ted Danson’s character is clearly flirting with alcoholism, and there’s a scene of him moodily pouring booze down the sink. If you’re wondering if there’s a scene where characters forlornly stare off into the rain, you bet your ass there is.

I mean, this is a movie that introduces us to Goldberg and her haphazard bicycling through town as a means to eventually stick in her an accident that leads to grand revelations in a hospital. It’s all so damn convoluted that it feels less like an organic plot than the machinations involved in crafty whacky scenarios in a sitcom. Hey look, there’s Will Smith doing his Fresh Prince of Bel Air shtick.

This isn’t a particularly good movie, but it’s enjoyable for its warmth and slightness. It’s an amiable way to spend nearly two hours, even if the conceit feels strained by that length. This is the kind of movie that lazy Saturday afternoons scrolling through cable, or I guess Netflix or Amazon Prime nowadays, were engineered for. It asks little of you and gives just enough in return.