Tyler Perry makes movies for a hundred reasons, and a love of cinema doesnt even make the top 99. He uses a camera pretty much as a recording device, as if afraid some of that fancy mise-en-scene might taint his message or screw up the stage material he has road-tested so thoroughly. But at his best when his vaudevillian shamelessness as performer and promoter collides with his messianic bent for melodrama the artlessness of his movies serves an emotional directness as hard to laugh off as the glare of your minister. Either you buy the premise here essentially The Big Chillin, with four couples airing out their marriages over a snowy weekend in the Rockies or you sit your ass in that chair and listen up anyway while Mr. Perry teaches you something. As the groups sharp-tongued truth teller (basically the Madea role), Tasha Smith gets the harshest lines and the biggest laughs. R&B diva Jill Scott, as a self-deprecating doormat, earns whoops and hollers from her Cinderella makeover. No, theres not a microbe of subtlety, except in Malik Yobas performance as a quietly grieving parent, but the writer-director-producer-star would rather save your soul and your marriage than engage your aesthetics. Thats probably why every other line was greeted at my screening with a chorus of stern Mm-hmms and Exactlys. — Jim Ridley