Directed by Judd Apatow
(United States, 2015)
You’d never know from watching this dull, lumbering, unsurprising and by-the-book comedy that it stars and is written by one of the most fearless and funny comedians to come down the pike in a long time, or directed by someone who’s helmed a lot more daring and funny work.
Instead, it has all the wit, insight and transgression of a Sunday School lesson taught by a cynical millennial to a room full of bored sexting teenagers, somehow managing to lecture with a straight face, ahem, about the dangers of premarital sex, drinking and smoking marijuana. Do any of this movie’s moral pretensions make sense to you at all? Well, they don’t to me. Maybe this is what passes for irony these days.
Still, I laughed a couple times, although I can’t remember exactly when, grinned some more and felt the time passing oh-so-slowly. 32 more minutes? REALLY? I mostly ignored the “unexpected death” gimmick and the resulting, I’m-a-real-actor crying jag.
John Cena is the funniest thing in this movie, one which flaunts its twice-removed gay pride every once in a while but whose only gay character is a closeted, narcissistic muscle queen who could probably cum looking at his triceps flexing. We were supposed to anyway.
10 years from now, when she finally gets roasted, someone will joke, Amy Schumer, ground up by the Hollywood celebrity machine in record time before she, or we, even had a chance to explore her genius. But it won’t be funny at all, but maybe funnier that Trainwreck.
Read some risky writing.
Postscript: On the other hand, dumb PC shit like this makes me feel less suspicious about the fact that the most visible black folks in this movie are millionaire basketball players and cheerleaders. Amy’s social circle is otherwise really really white, which is a given in most of her sketches.