Genre: drama, romance

Honey

Directed by Bille Woodruff

Written by Alonzo Brown

and Kim Watson

Starring Jessica Alba, Mekhi Phifer and David Moscow

Classification: PG

Rating: **

Honey is a saccharine movie about hip-hop, and that's whack. Or is it wack? Or maybe just wac? Anyway, you see my problem. For an outsider looking in -- and a pasty, middle-aged male is about as outside this culture as a body can get -- the world of hip-hop seems charged with an enviable energy, vital in its dance and its language and its sheer adaptability. So I want a picture focused on that world to invite me in, to allow me the privilege of experiencing the energy from the inside looking out. The last thing I want is this: Yet another instance of black culture diluting itself by imitating a white model. Hell, Honey is hip-hop by way of Andy Hardy.

Superficially -- and that's the watchword here -- it's a hoofer-musical in the Flashdance mode. Down with the girlz n' the hood, our titled sweetie hawks records by day and slings drinks by night, but that just pays the rent until her dream checks in: Yep, Honey aspires to be a dancer, and a choreographer too, 'cause she's sure got all the hip-hop moves. Or so the script contends. Of course, that contention leaves the flick with the usual casting dilemma: Do you go for a professional actor who can't dance or a professional dancer who can't act? Well, perhaps in the name of fair play, the great minds here have come up with a novel solution in the form of Jessica Alba -- she can do neither. Lovely to gaze upon, though, as befits someone who, depending on your interests, is best known to date as either the babelicious robot in Dark Angel or the L'Oréal cosmetic girl.

Not that her amateur status really matters, since the plot spends all of its time spinning on the axis of cliched predictability. Like the big-break moment: Michael the famous music video director (are there any other kind?) spots Honey on the club dance floor, then offers her a leg up on the ladder to stardom. Like the ladder to stardom: Clambering to dizzying heights, damned if she doesn't start neglecting the best friend who helped her at the bottom. Like the good guy who sets her straight: A sensitive barber and all-round hunk (Mekhi Phifer), he'd rather be happy than rich. And like the big-breakup moment: Buzzing around with more than business on his mind, Michael (David Moscow) wants a little honey from Honey, and she ain't putting out.

Oh, this being Andy Hardy territory, don't forget the cute-kid quotient. A pair of street urchins (L'il Romeo and Zachary Isaiah Williams) just wanna hip-hop, but their dope-dealing older brother is leading them astray, prompting Honey to wonder: Since stardom isn't what it's cracked up to be, why don't I return to my humble roots and open a dance studio, the better to give poor black chill'un a healthy alternative to a lifestyle of Cadillacs and crime?

Hmm, but how to raise the funds? How about a benefit show, but, gee, where to hold it? Enter the classic Mickey Rooney moment: Hey, kids, let's put on the show right here in the barn! Okay, I lied -- it's not a barn but a church, 'cause we're in New York City. Sorry, I lied again -- it's not really New York but Toronto, 'cause that stellar burgh is a consummate thespian wise in the ways of disguise (not to mention cheap in the matter of budget).

Speaking of stellar, and of famous music video auteurs, Bille Woodruff is the man at the helm, boasting this claim to fame: He's directed the MTV work of such luminaries as Britney Spears and The Backstreet Boys. Let's just say that his handling of the dance sequences here -- all those parts where gums stop flapping and booties start shaking -- is right up to Britney's exacting standards. In short, overproduced and underwhelming.

What a waste of a great visual subject and a strong cultural theme. Once, during a recent April in Paris, I saw a group of French teenagers -- male, female, black, white -- gathered on a bridge over the Seine, collectively engaged in their own ritualized and adapted version of hip-hop, performed to a North African beat. They weren't looking for money, or even attention, but had simply given themselves over to the sheer joy of the dance's stop-and-start movements, so urban in their mechanics and yet so pastoral in their flow. The tableau seem remarkable: Hip-hop exulting in its power even an ocean away from its roots. Smothered in white sugar, Honey is just a sour echo of that sweet sight.