Mediocre "Soul Men" isn't worthy of Bernie Mac

James Dean in "Rebel Without a Cause." Spencer Tracy in "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner." Heath Ledger in "The Dark Knight."

All of these iconic performances first appeared in theaters shortly after the actors had died, transforming their work into unintended obituaries. It became almost impossible to separate the actors from their mortality, or to see what they'd accomplished without acknowledging that this really was the end of a career.

"Soul Men," starring the late Bernie Mac and featuring the late Isaac Hayes, may not fall into that classic category, but their recent deaths do alter what was clearly intended to be throwaway entertainment. While it's a shamelessly mediocre movie, it's not mediocre in the usual ways.

Mac was 50 when he died Aug. 9 of pneumonia. Hayes, who plays himself in the movie, was 65 when he died of a stroke one day later. Whenever they're on screen, it's hard to ignore the fact that Hollywood never knew quite what to do with either of them.

It's been nearly four decades since Hayes won an Oscar for writing the "Shaft" theme; his music career has always overshadowed his acting. Mac made his film debut in 1992 and spent years playing small roles in "Friday," "Booty Call," "Ocean's Eleven" and its sequels; rarely did he get a part as large as the one he plays in "Soul Men."

In the new movie, Mac is cast as Louis Hinds, a one-time backup singer who has been feuding with Floyd Henderson (Samuel L. Jackson), a singing partner who hasn't spoken to Hinds in a couple of decades. They're reunited for an Apollo Theater memorial concert for their former boss, Marcus Hooks (John Legend), who has suddenly died of a heart attack.

Their odd-couple relationship erupts again when they travel cross-country to the concert, bickering all the way. When this starts to pall, the writers desperately introduce a familiar bag of tricks. The boys trash a hotel room, they shoot up a phone booth, they get arrested, and they beat each other up over a paternity question.

Mac and Jackson salvage what they can, singing and dancing to "I'm Your Puppet" — an infectious song that brings back the period in which they tried to strike out on their own. The musical episodes are by far the strongest in the film; the standout is a witty prologue featuring Henderson, Hinds and Hooks in their youth.

At the other end, during the closing credits, the movie briefly redeems itself with recordings of Mac's stand-up act, including his feeling about mortality: "I just cherish every doggone moment."

John Hartl: johnhartl@yahoo.com