Mr. Church

Because a great number of the movies he has starred in have been lackadaisical and uninspired, it’s sadly easy to forget what a formidable actor Eddie Murphy is. With Mr. Church, Murphy doesn’t play multiple roles as he did in Bowfinger or Coming to America, nor does he change his ethnicities and accents as he has done in The Nutty Professor.

Instead, it’s a delight to watch Murphy simply playing a single character, albeit one who has several intriguing facets. As Henry Church, Murphy plays a fellow who is employed to be a cook but has an astonishingly wide number of skills that make his day job seem troublingly small.

Hired at the dawn of the 1970s, he makes remarkably sophisticated meals for the newly single Marie (Natascha McElhone) and her daughter Charlotte (played as a child by Natalie Coughlin and a teenager by Britt Robertson). Actually, Marie and Charlotte’s father split acrimoniously, but in a last fit of decency before he died, he hired Mr. Church to save Marie some hassle in the kitchen.

Charlotte would rather have Apple Jacks than Mr. Church’s more eclectic and flavorful cuisine, but he’s not there to simply prepare meals. While she hasn’t bothered to tell Charlotte, Marie has breast cancer and may not be around much longer.

As time wears on, Charlotte learns two things about Mr. Church. First, he is steadfastly loyal to her and her mom. Second, once he leaves for the day, they know nothing about him. There are no family or friends in his life, and it’s odd that such a wellread, capable man (he can draw, play piano and garden) has devoted so much of himself to helping Charlotte and Marie.

Director Bruce Beresford can’t help but repeat some of the same themes he explored in Driving Miss Daisy, and echoes from that film aren’t all that welcome here. It’s as if the fussy, unreceptive Miss Daisy were simply changed from a senior citizen to a child. There are lots of sequences showing off how radiant Marie looks, but they seem more like a ’70s fashion show than an attempt to prepare the audience for her eventual health problems.

Fortunately, like Morgan Freeman in the previous movie, Murphy projects a dignity that prevents his character from feeling like a fantasy. Murphy also handles the scenes where Mr. Church isn’t auditioning for sainthood with equal finesse. When Charlotte witnesses the parts of his life he’d like to keep private, Murphy is appropriately scary and oddly sympathetic.

Beresford gets solid work from the supporting cast, particularly from McElhone and Robertson, and screenwriter Susan McMartin deserves a lot of credit for coming up with material that gives Murphy a chance to show off his underused dramatic chops.

Her story line itself seems underdeveloped, though. Mr. Church is drenched in an annoying voice-over that really doesn’t explain much and simply gives viewers the already obvious sense that Charlotte has much to learn. McMartin wisely avoids overexplaining Mr. Church’s enigmatic life, but his mystery is a lot more intriguing than Charlotte’s immaturity.

In the end, Murphy’s haute cuisine performance seems like a side order to a plate of Apple Jacks.