With Romney taking on America’s no-good, tax-dodgin’, health-care expectin’ 47%, Mrs Michelle doing the majority of the sweet talking and everyone trying to figure out just what a ‘legitimate rape’ actually is, there’s never been a more perfect time for a slicing satire of the USA’s governmental boxing ring. The Campaign isn’t it, sadly. But who needs game-changing home truths when the dog from The Artist is being punched in the face?
BARBRA STREISAND *does dance*
After Little Fockers it’s gonna take A LOT for us to trust him again.
As a rule, sellout films usually contain a colon and/or a number. We’re looking at you, Speed 2: Cruise Control. Yet, the definition of a ‘sellout’ is tricky, because producers are very good at making shit smell like roses, and before you know it you’re on the set of National Treasure: Book of Secrets. When you see a film and think, ‘what the devil is Globey McOscar doing in this?!’ we’ve got the three reasons behind their decision to sell their soul.
Like watching a rhino bathe in pure, unadulterated Jack Daniels, it’s heartbreaking to see such delicious potential go to waste. Little Fockers attempts to shake the final dregs of comedy from its dried-up franchise, but its brief moments of light only serve to make us long for the days when its actors had material worth their while.