Sparkle

In the last role of her abbreviated life and career, Whitney Houston plays the family matriarch in Sparkle, portraying a woman quite contrary to the one that her tattered legacy left for fans. As the strict, churchgoing mother of three grown girls in 1968 Detroit, Houston is assured, confident and clear-headed, showing off the natural charisma that marked the majority of her illustrious musical career. No sputtering diction, no sweaty, shaky vocals. Just a crisp shadow of the older woman she could have been.
That’s the unexpected emotional draw of Sparkle, with Houston a strong supporting player as the rigid Mama Emma. The leads are Emma’s daughters (Jordin Sparks, Tika Sumpter, Carmen Ejogo), a singing trio of varying education and ambition, trying to make it as a headline act in a pop music world that, at the time, was equally embracing both Aretha Franklin and Cream. Sparkle—named after Sparks’ character—may look like a Motown music drama from a distance, but that’s a melodic mirage. Director Salim Akil’s (Jumping the Broom) film is really a standard tale of family discord, with music as a springboard.
That works well for Sparks, who occasionally oversells her part but nails it when belting one out, and it fits Houston like a glove. In the film’s first meaty conflict, oldest sibling Sister brings home a brash, rich comedian (Mike Epps) for Sunday dinner. Rudeness surfaces; insults fly. As Emma, Houston reprimands her daughter for calling out mom’s past indiscretions, her drinking, her “lying in her own vomit.” Akil may be trying to jerk tears from the scene’s dissolving relationship, but the real heartbreak exists in the awful and poignant irony of Houston’s dialogue (written by Akil’s wife, TV creator and screenwriter Mara Brock Akil.)