New on DVD: I Can Do Bad All by Myself

But sometimes our fear doesn't just visit us in times of need. Too often it can overstay its welcome and linger, half hidden, for a lifetime. We can find ourselves living in fear--too scared to take healthy risks, too cautious to care for someone else. And, after a while, something very strange happens: We assume that if we're not frightened, we must be happy.

If you asked April if she was happy near the beginning of Tyler Perry's I Can Do Bad All by Myself, she'd probably say yes. She might even believe it. She has a house (though it's slowly crumbling from neglect). She has a job (singing at a nightclub). All her bills are paid and her immediate needs taken care of by her lover (who's a married man). That's happiness, right?

If it's not, why does she feel so miserable when change starts knocking on her door?

It begins with the kids--April's 16-year-old niece, Jennifer, and younger nephews, Byron and

 Manny. They arrive on her doorstep out of the blue, after their caretaker grandmother (April's mother) simply disappears.

April's next visitor, a pastor, asks her if she has room in her house for a traveling handyman who just arrived from South America. He could pay for lodging by fixing up the place, the pastor says.

These houseguests are, for April, a disaster. Her lover hates kids, and she's not too fond of them, either. And a handyman? C'mon.

And then, one day not so long after, the pastor knocks on April's door again. He has bad news: Her mother--the children's grandmother--is dead.

April's fear fully wakes. Suddenly, her life is filled with terrifying complications that threaten everything she has. And the fear is telling her that she should--no, she must--shake loose of those children. And the nice handyman, too. Because her life with them is simply too unpredictable--to scary--to embrace.

I'll be frank: Tyler Perry's movies are always a challenge to review. Plugged In often appreciates Perry's messages. But we squirm and fret over the problematic content he laces them with. Perry bluntly deals with sexual issues, isn't above titillating his audience with frank dialogue and revealing clothing, and injects unnecessary coarse language.

I Can Do Bad All by Myself doesn't let us relax a bit. The core sexual issue here--that of child abuse and the attempted rape of a teenage girl--far exceeds, thematically, the romantic sexual tensions we've seen in past Perry projects. And we can't ignore the fact that, if April had her way, Randy would have fried when that radio hit the water.

But the messages of I Can Do Bad All by Myself are as laudable if not more so than any to date. The sexual issues here are not extraneous flotsam, but a core component of the story--one that reminds us how serious and damaging sex crimes can be. And above it all, the film's spirituality soars.

When asked what he wants people to take away from this film, Perry said, "One word, hope. Just hope. Knowing that there is hope, that no matter what situation you are going through, there is hope. ... There is hope in every situation, and God forgives all those situations. It is all about hope."

Not many filmmakers pedal unabashed hope these days--they're more interested in fanning fear. Fewer still pair it with its natural partner, faith. And while this film is not perfect--Perry's never are--it does exactly what he wants it to do.