Okay, let's rewind the tape to 1997. You’re scanning the New Releases wall at Blockbuster, maybe Hollywood Video if you were lucky, and there it is. A title so blunt, so unapologetically direct, it practically jumps off the shelf: Booty Call. Forget subtlety; this movie announced its intentions loud and proud, promising a night of raunchy misadventures fueled by the comedic energy of two rising stars. And boy, did it deliver a certain kind of 90s comedic chaos that feels both dated and strangely refreshing today.
### A Simple Premise, Maximum Escalation
The setup is classic sitcom territory stretched into a feature film: Bunz (Jamie Foxx, years before Oscar gold but already flashing that undeniable charisma) and Rushon (Tommy Davidson, bringing his signature physical comedy honed on In Living Color) are on a double date. Rushon is finally trying to get serious with his girlfriend Nikki (Vivica A. Fox, radiating confidence), while Bunz is matched with Nikki's opinionated friend Lysterine (Tamala Jones, holding her own perfectly against the comedic onslaught). Things are heating up, the mood is right, but there's one crucial hurdle: protection. What follows isn't just a quick trip to the corner store; it's an increasingly absurd, late-night odyssey through the urban landscape in search of condoms, leading to run-ins with trigger-happy convenience store clerks, overzealous K-9 units, and some truly memorable pharmacy shenanigans.
Directed by the late Jeff Pollack, who also gave us the gritty basketball drama Above the Rim (1994) and produced The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Booty Call moves with a brisk, almost frantic energy. Pollack knew how to capture urban environments and clearly understood the comedic timing needed to make this kind of farce work. The plot is wafer-thin, essentially an episodic series of comedic set pieces, but that’s not really the point. The journey is the destination here, and the laughs come from the escalating absurdity of the situations our heroes find themselves in.
### Foxx & Davidson: A Live Wire Duo
The absolute engine of this film is the pairing of Jamie Foxx and Tommy Davidson. Fresh off their In Living Color fame, their chemistry is palpable. Foxx, as the smooth-talking, perpetually horny Bunz, is a whirlwind of one-liners and exaggerated reactions. Davidson, as the slightly more grounded (but still easily flustered) Rushon, is his perfect foil, adept at the kind of rubber-faced physical comedy that was his trademark. Their interplay feels spontaneous, like two friends riffing off each other, which elevates the sometimes-thin material. A fun retro fact: the script, co-written by Takashi Bufford (who also penned the much more serious crime drama Set It Off the previous year) and J. Stanford Parker, feels tailored to their specific comedic strengths.
Vivica A. Fox, coming off her role in the massive blockbuster Independence Day (1996), brings class and a necessary counterpoint to the guys' antics. Tamala Jones is equally strong as Lysterine, giving as good as she gets and refusing to be just a background player. Their characters might have motivations centered around the guys, but they possess agency and wit, preventing the film from becoming entirely one-sided.
### 90s Raunch and That Pharmacy Scene
Let's be honest: Booty Call is crude. It leans heavily into sexual humor, stereotypes, and situations that might make some viewers cringe today. Yet, viewed through the lens of mid-90s R-rated comedy, it felt somewhat boundary-pushing. The very title was provocative for a mainstream studio release! There’s an underlying (and surprisingly frank, for its time) message about safe sex buried beneath the gags, even if the execution is pure farce.
And you can't talk about Booty Call without mentioning that pharmacy scene. The excruciatingly detailed miming of sexual acts to a non-English-speaking pharmacist is a masterclass in awkward, escalating physical comedy from Foxx and Davidson. It’s the kind of sequence that burned itself into the memory of anyone who rented this tape back in the day. Similarly memorable, if perhaps for different reasons, is the encounter with Kujo – I mean, Roshumba – the intimidating Rottweiler with very specific… tastes. It’s broad, it’s silly, and it’s pure 90s.
The film wasn't a critical darling upon release – many reviewers found the humor too lowbrow – but it found its audience, pulling in a respectable $20 million domestically against a lean $7 million budget. Its real success, however, came later, achieving genuine cult status through endless replays on cable and becoming a fixture on video store shelves. It captured a specific moment in comedy, before the Apatow era brought more heart (and length) to the R-rated scene.
### The Verdict
Booty Call is undeniably a product of its time. The fashion screams 1997, the humor is unfiltered 90s raunch, and the premise is simple to the point of being threadbare. But powered by the infectious energy of Jamie Foxx and Tommy Davidson, and peppered with genuinely funny set pieces, it remains a standout artifact from the VHS era of comedy. It’s not sophisticated, it’s not subtle, but it is often hilarious if you’re in the right frame of mind. It’s the kind of movie you’d excitedly tell your friends about the day after renting it, recounting the most outrageous scenes with a grin.
Rating: 6.5/10
Why this score? While the plot is thin and the humor hasn't all aged gracefully, the electric chemistry between Foxx and Davidson, several genuinely laugh-out-loud sequences (especially the pharmacy), and its status as a defining piece of 90s urban comedy give it significant nostalgic value and rewatchability for fans of the era. It succeeds perfectly at what it sets out to do, even if that goal is unapologetically lowbrow fun.
Final Thought: It's a time capsule of 90s comedy – sometimes awkward, often loud, but undeniably memorable, like finding that well-worn tape you played until it nearly wore out. Pure, unadulterated VHS-era fun.