It’s easy to see why Tarantino swears by Friday. Strip away the guns, gangsters, and trunk shots, and you’re left with the true DNA of his early work: people talking. The film drifts along like a hot afternoon, where nothing happens—until suddenly it does. Those conversational one-twos—funny, tense, and oddly poetic—could slide straight into Pulp Fiction or Jackie Brown without missing a beat.
Ice Cube and Chris Tucker carry it beautifully: one perpetually stoned, the other perpetually stressed. Their chemistry feels loose and lived-in, as if you’ve been sitting on that porch with them for years.
It’s not flawless—the story wanders, and a few jokes haven’t aged gracefully—but it has charm, rhythm, and an irresistible sense of place. A stoner comedy that ended up preserving a moment in time.
This is like an episode of Coronation Street if it was set in South Central Los Angeles! It has some funny moments but in the main it's slow, uncinematic, uneven and not as funny or good as your average Cheech and Chong movie....
Watched 30 minutes of this badly acted nothing with my sons. What may possibly be attempts at humour (or depictions of life as it is lived, it’s hard to tell) might possibly suit sub-80 IQs (or maybe sub-75)