Chris Rock, as a Hollywood insider kimono-opener, wants to regale us with joyously crass anecdotes about the business' lurid inner workings. In his telling, everyone is a coke-addled fuck-up cheating on their partners, sleeping around for roles and money, and uninterested in art or progressivism. With Misty Green, he's breathlessly eager to spill the tea, only he can't get out of his way. His profane Hollywood satire needs to compete with issue-based digressions about police brutality, mental illness, and racism, making even the slender 100-minute runtime feel crowded. For what it is, though, Misty Green is entertaining with memorably vulgar dialogue, and Rock assembles an A-list cast in walk-on roles to play degenerate assholes. The gravy train is up for the titular Misty Green (Rosalind...
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