The Best Man: Final Chapters review: Nostalgic appeal is the best part of this series

More than 23 years after helping to usher in a new era of Black cinema, The Best Man cast reunites (supposedly) one last time for another sequel set to debut in time for the holidays. Peacock’s new eight-part limited series brings together a bevy of actors from the original, who have by now become Black cultural touchstones, including Taye Diggs, Morris Chestnut, Sanaa Lathan, Nia Long, Regina Hall, Harold Perrineau, Terrence Howard, and Melissa De Sousa. They offer a kind of wish fulfillment for longtime fans of the franchise while proving the limits of attempting to bring classic characters into the present.

Created by Malcolm D. Lee, who wrote and directed the first two Best Man movies, and Dayna Lynne North, The Final Chapters picks up a couple of years after the events of Holiday, which ended with the revelation that Quentin Spivey (Howard), a hotel chain heir and smooth-talking Lothario, is finally getting married. The miniseries finds the gorgeous gaggle of educated, affluent college friends—except for Mia (Monica Calhoun), who died in Holiday—struggling with different challenges as they approach middle age. While there are still petty disagreements and damaging secrets that threaten to unravel relationships, the characters deal with aging, pondering career changes and life purposes, raising unruly teenagers, taking care of elderly parents, and looking for ways to cement and continue their legacies.

The Final Chapters has an unusual structure that awkwardly tries to bridge the gap between film and television. While the first two episodes are dedicated to Quentin’s wedding in 2015 (likely a version of the third film that Lee wrote but never made), the rest take place in 2022, with a few later chapters having events in 2023 and 2024. The first couple of installments maintain the broad and uproarious comedy and compelling interpersonal dynamics of the first two movies; the mix of heart and humor is still enough to pull at the coldest of heartstrings, even if the story occasionally veers into soapy and melodramatic territory that threatens to undermine the emotional weight of more genuine moments.

Let’s quickly revisit how the pilot, fittingly titled “Paradise,” catches up with the core ensemble: Having lost his wife, recently retired football star Lance Sullivan (Chestnut) drowns his sorrows and seeks refuge in sex with strangers. Author Harper Stewart (Diggs), who is still married to Lathan’s Robyn, struggles to write something more “meaningful” that appeals to a broader demographic. He is given the opportunity to turn his first book—the semi-autobiographical novel based on his group of friends that caused all the drama in the first film—into a movie. Still, he is wise enough to seek out everyone’s blessing first.

Julian/“Murch” (Perrineau) and Candace (Hall) Murchison have founded charter schools that have led to philanthropic awards. Jordan Armstrong (Long) is a successful TV newsroom executive struggling to find the right work-life balance. And it’s fair to say that Shelby (De Sousa), the star of The Real Housewives of Westchester, hasn’t taken too kindly to the news of Quentin’s impending nuptials to international icon Xiomara Amani (Nicole Ari Parker at her most campy), who has somehow convinced the notorious womanizer to give up alcohol and marijuana for meditation.

While the next six episodes offer unprecedented insight into their day-to-day lives, the opening of the third—also one of the season’s shortest—speeds through seven years’ worth of material, changing tones so quickly that viewers might get whiplash and feel like a chunk of the story is missing. The show suffers from using a heavy-handed flash-forward that relies on glossy, fake magazine covers and different world events (Trump’s inauguration, and the COVID-19 pandemic) to anchor the story. Weaving more exposition into the dialogue would’ve helped. Instead, the episodes set in the present don’t immediately find their footing, and the conversations feel a little stilted to the point that one might think the characters haven’t seen each other for years when the rest of the episode seems to prove they’ve been in constant contact.

When Lee first set out to write and direct The Best Man in the late ’90s, it was clear that he wanted to write a dramedy from the perspective of a young Black man. But with the addition of North and more female voices in the writing process, The Final Chapters attempts to breathe new life into the franchise by giving equal time to the women who had largely functioned in support of their male counterparts in the past, and the four remaining actresses—Lathan, Long, Hall, and De Sousa—all rise to the challenge, even if the writing does not always match their talents. De Sousa’s Shelby makes one of the most notable transformations, as she sheds part of the catty persona to reveal a more maternal and domestic side as time progresses. However, Hall, who made her film debut in The Best Man and has since grown into a seasoned actress, feels underserved, with Candace being given a storyline as a graduate student that feels largely disconnected from any other main characters.

At least the writers have wisely chosen to saddle the series with contemporary concerns, including the Black Lives Matter movement, the effects of institutional racism and unconscious bias, and the evolution of Black masculinity and femininity. In fact, Lance has a new development in his personal life that will test his faith and is representative of the show’s well-intentioned attempts to ground itself in the present. Chestnut throws all of himself into one of the darker storylines of the miniseries. The Final Chapters combines these new elements with iconic imagery from the franchise—boys-only poker games, lavish parties, and individual confrontations that seem to spiral out of control in front of everyone—making the limited series feel like a cozy check-in with familiar characters.

The strength of this ensemble has always stemmed from the real-life history that the main actors have with each other after decades of sharing the screen together. (For example, Lathan and Diggs have co-starred in multiple rom-coms, including Brown Sugar and The Wood.) This nostalgic appeal will likely be enough to sustain longtime fans of the franchise. But at this stage of their lives, the characters are largely set in their ways, and any growth feels subtle and hard-earned. For example, Harper, who is always striving for more, often at the detriment of his personal relationships—seems to have ignored many of the lessons he learned in the first two movies, but the (often frustrating) mistakes he makes still feel true to his character. All in all, The Final Chapters is a fitting enough sendoff for a group of characters who are each given the opportunity to write the next chapter of their story.