Like most self-identified ethnic humour, "black" comedy as it stands today depends much more on the personality of the comic than the actual jokes. The best performers can read the stock market listings and you’ll still laugh because of their charm or empathy. Each comedian in this Big Black Comedy Show wants to take you in and be your friend, but only one or two have the chops to bring it off. And the rest have not compensated by creating better material.

This is not a "supergroup" show in the manner of The Original Kings of Comedy or Blue Collar Comedy Tour; it's more like an episode of BET's Comic View, featuring up-and-coming comics with one or two better-known acts. Nothing wrong with that, but I’m not sure this undercard is justified by the main event, especially when the host and biggest name, Mo’Nique, isn't all that funny. She lets her plus-sized personality do the talking, and though she has a few good lines (her crack-addicted sister trying to sell her a pair of socks), she is supposed to be the glue that holds the show together.

In terms of energy and laughs, Ralphie May, a fixture of the Last Comic Standing series, cleans up. He is the only white performer, but he has learned every nuance of black comedy. His delivery is natural enough not to seem like he's copping someone else's style or pandering to the audience, earning his props by poking fun at his wannabe persona and southern roots. ("I’m my own cousin.") How long did he practice that fast-food order in ghettospeak that even Snoop Dogg would find excessive?

Vince Morris throws off the balance a little with his rage against ignorance and materialism in the black community. It’s a legitimate tactic; in fact, it's a welcome change from the repetitive sex and stank-ass jokes, but he picked the wrong venue to get preachy about trash culture and stereotypes, since the other comics in the video are kind of, well, all about those things. If you have a problem with the word "nigga" or hearing it three hundred times in 90 minutes, you’d best get gone. Rod Man scores some points with his anxious monotone delivery, and lead-off batter Sexy Marlo ("straight outta Compton," she reminds us) is hilariously abrasive…but not hilarious in general.

Before the show and in between in each segment, Rodney Perry conducts backstage or street interviews with each of the performers. These days, skits and goofs break up many a comedy film, and some are inspired (Rodney Dangerfield did some of the best, back in the day). Here, they don’t make much sense, since they’re about a minute long—too short to have substance and not funny enough to be considered comedy bits. Do I really need to see Vince Morris’ suit before he puts it on?