When Eddie Griffin gets hold of a joke, like his notion that the geniuses of white culture must have been on cocaine, he drives at it from every angle. His view of the world is based on old Richard Pryor routines as much as it is on his own screwed-up clan, but for every bit that's flatly derivative, there's another that connects. That Griffin serves up some of the most intolerant material since Andrew Dice Clay shouldn't obscure his talent, even if it does tarnish it.


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