The most avuncular of the Original Kings of Comedy, Steve Harvey flaunted his defiant old-school slow-jam tastes and mildly blue material, emerging as a middle-class, middle-aged rejoinder to the Def Comedy Jam posse—a suburban Elks Lodge toastmaster with a few Redd Foxx albums stashed in the closet. Part stand-up concert, part pep rally for the idea of wealth as a display of divine favor, Don’t Trip . . . amounts to a revival meeting with Harvey as both the pastor and the object of worship. Filmed before 16,000 fans—almost all of whom get their own reaction shot—at Bishop T.D. Jakes’ MegaFest Godapalooza in Atlanta, Harvey tells the congregation that money makes Michael Jackson misunderstood and holds up his own sparkling threads as proof that Jesus cares. Despite more audience cutaways than the State of the Union Address, the movie’s largely a you-had-to-be-there affair–except when the star does an uncanny imitation of a double-wide churchgoer scooting through a narrow pew.