I trudged through the snow to see this?!
At least the popcorn was tasty.
No seasoned moviegoer expects much of Little Fockers; hell, no seasoned moviegoer goes to see Little Fockers, excepting idiotic blog projects. There is a remarkable pointlessness to such an exercise, a 6-years-late sequel that thus seems on a par with Rush Hour 3 and The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. Add to that no more story left to tell – Ben Stiller’s neurotic Gaylord “Greg” Focker officially became a part of Robert De Niro’s Byrne family in Meet the Fockers – and we have a very, very unappetizing proposition.
Oh!, and add to that a change in directors…as though the prospects weren’t bleak enough already. Farewell Jay Roach, electing his mediocre comedy-directing talents were better needed by Dinner for Schmucks, that true artistic visionary he. Welcome Peter Weir – wait, no, that’s not right. Weir does good movies, like Picnic At Hanging Rock and Witness and Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. No, no, no, I actually check the IMDb, and find Little Fockers focked forth from the PowerBook of Paul Weitz, whose sense of comedic brilliance is on full display in American Pie – Oh dear God!
All that bespeaks of scant faith in this dubious project, but the 6 year gap is really the result of the former Fockers’ ridiculously unwieldy cast, and the need to get them all back together again even while pointlessly adding a few new big names to the Focker roster as an added sequel incentive. And with the demanding schedules of mostly-retired elder actors at hand, they still couldn’t fashion a way to wisely use Dustin Hoffman or Barbara Steisand. The once-titular Fockers (that is, Gaylord’s loving parents and namers) recede into token appearances, easily not a part of the plot whatsoever. Hell, Hoffman hadn’t even intended to appear in this shit at all, until his inner hack got the better of him (eh, that or the promise he’d get to grope Jessica Alba onscreen – we’ll get to that).
Rather than wait for a more artful portion of this write-up, I’ll just recount the whole of this duo’s function…now!
Streisand’s Rosalyn Focker now has a syndicated daytime talk show called, if memory from like an hour ago serves, “Fock Sex Focker” or “Genital Chat With Rosalyn” or “Meet the Fockers” or “Rosalyn Focker’s Talk Show” or “Some Damn Thing” or whatever. Then she gets to show up for a single scene to share the screen with other actors, and to grope Owen Wilson onscreen – we’ll get to that.
Hoffman’s, ummm…Oh, right, he’s called Bernie! Bernie Focker is doing the flamenco in Spain! Well, that has just about nothing to do with anything! Then he appears in the U.S. long enough to grope Jessica Alba – I know I keep going back to that, but you gotta find something of value in such dreck.
That leaves mostly Stiller and De Niro to do a cheap replay of their conflict from the “original” (that is, a remake of the actual original) Meet the Parents. That is to say, De Niro’s Jack Byrnes suspects Stiller’s Greg is unworthy of being an in-law, investigates him using his Awesome CIA Powers, and Greg does stupid shit on a regular basis to unintentionally fuel Jack’s suspicions. And for all this to have any bearing, you gotta attribute a mighty pile of character arc-related plot amnesia.
You gotta also have a great big reason for Greg to once again wish to prove himself to Jack. Let’s see, first he needed to impress Jack so he could propose to his daughter (Teri Polo’s Pam, as bland a blonde plot motivator as ever). Second he needed to impress Jack so he could marry the pre-proposed Polo plot person. And now, he needs to impress Jack so…that he can impress Jack. Er, before Jack dies. (By the way, I desperately wanted this movie to end with at least one tombstone…I was sorely disappointed.)
There’s a bit more to it than that. Jack is concerned with his legacy, and wishes to unofficially anoint his successor as King of the Family or whatever. This has no relation to anything, so Greg’s obsession with earning the jacked-up title is just arbitrary. Oh, but the title does have a name: “Godfocker,” because did you really think something lazily christened Little Fockers could cease picking at that pestilent last name? And as an example of the film’s reduced comedic sensibility (that’s reduced even from Meet the Fockers), this title allows for a remarkably witless, movie-long pastiche on The Godfather. Because suddenly this comic franchise is in the pop culture referencing game, at least in regards to the classics of the ‘70s. (Also picked on: The French Connection and Jaws.)
With nothing riding on the story, which resolves itself like the last two anyway, we’re left with…the same jokes as before, not even explained unless you retain an encyclopedic, blogger-level familiarity with the former flicks. The exposition is equally awkward and presupposing, actually making this family comedy as complex as a Saw sequel. Though the movie does have a reduced sense of the vulgar, at least compared to Meet the Fockers…though we still get a reasonable amount of caca and weewee jokes. (The one joke that did make me titter postulates that a whoopee cushion “makes farts.” This is the level of wit we’re again dealing with.)
And to rag upon a series-wide issue: Frankly, Jack is right to hate Greg. Greg is a little wiener, a sub-Woody Allen nebbish with zero self-confidence or backbone. Consider, the Stiller-shaped dickface is incapable of functioning normally around Jack, so obsessed is he with appearing like someone he is not. You know, the urn-bursting, shit-smearing, cat-attacking antics are forgivable, but the endless, endless toadying is not. (Of course, Jack is a psychopath, and equally undeserving of our respect, so it’s just a geek show now, with “Three’s Company” plotting.)
But I’m forgetting some other characters (as is the film), in my rapt focus upon the comedy duo of De Niro and Whatsisname – and no, I don’t mean the unusable Blythe Danner, who is at least a very attractive 67-year-old. Let’s start with the “little” Fockers the title so insists we take an interest in. These are Greg’s (and Pam’s) 5-year-old twins, Henry and Samantha Focker (Colin Baiocchi – sounds like a potato dish – and Daisy Tahan – sounds like a human)…Actually, there’s not much to say about these two, for what are the chances of casting two 5-year-olds with the star power of Dustin Hoffman and Barbara Streisand? They’re mostly here as plot motivators, for their fifth birthday party is the event which gets the various characters back together for one more film (a random birthday party is a poor substitute for a wedding, as far as premises go). That’s because the “Godfocker” thing alone is a lame hook for a movie.
About them…Samantha is…well, she’s smart. That’s all there is to her, since as a non-Barbara Streisand female in this franchise, the filmmakers have 0 interest in her.
Of Henry, he’s, uh, kinda dumb. Actually, maybe he’s retarded – you know, literally. Kinda a little Ben Stiller, actually. Also, he’s a chance for the movie to go the David Cronenberg route and expose the lad to as many awful body horror moments as they can think of: Henry pukes on his father, his father bleeds on him, he sees his father stab his grandfather in the erect penis with a syringe (I’ll get to that one – maybe), he falls down and breaks a bone when all else fails. About the years of therapy Henry will no doubt endure as an adult, they offer zero comment.
One other central notion the brats can contribute to (what, another thread?): Greg wants to get ‘em in school, specifically into the Early Humans School. Though it sounds like a touchy feely place like the Milford Academy, apparently the EHS is “the Harvard of kindergartens.” Hence the exact, specific, don’t-you-dare-do-anything-else choice of Jack Byrnes. And also a chance for Greg to horribly embarrass himself in a new setting, for what is this series but a chance for Ben Stiller’s character to horribly embarrass himself time and again? (And for the real Robert De Niro to do likewise – What would Travis Bickle say?)
The EHS is also a chance to put, like, a thirteenth name in the marquee: Laura “Blue Velvet” Dern as…you know, I ain’t lookin’ her character’s name up, though the Internet affords so much possibility. She offers little, but, well, female, Meet the Parents franchise, you know the drill. Useless.
Another marquee name, with a character serving no purpose: Harvey Keitel. Justifying this bit of casting no one is excited about, Greg is having a new house remodeled for the family, because his current palatial 4,000sf apartment is just too plebian. (Relatability!) Keitel is the contractor, and on screen for less time than Judi Dench in Shakespeare in Love. Hmm, maybe he’ll win an Oscar!...Nah! Really, the whole Keitel/contractor subplot is just the chance for one scene, one scene where De Niro fights with him verbally. Back in the ‘70s or ‘80s, that would’ve meant something! But now, it all climaxes in a punch line (or sorts) where Greg dumps sand all over Jack – and with Mr. Jinx momentarily gone, hence the lack of a urination/shitting joke. That whole dumping (of sand) could’ve been avoided, had simply Jack, or Greg, or Keitel’s worthless character (Randy) used the bare minimum of common sense or communication. But had anyone here those skills, there’d be no movie.
One other reason (for the house remodel, not for Keitel): It serves as the stage for Jessica Alba-related groping, by Hoffman as well as Stiller, taking a break from his home life of groping Christine Taylor.
Oh right, I promised something about Jessica Alba, didn’t I? Well, for once they have a female character doing something worthwhile, if by “worthwhile” you mean “have a nice body and strip down to her underwear.” So, yes, worthwhile. Too bad about the acting skills, at least this time you don’t have to see her with Dane Cook (Stiller’s still there, sadly).
Alba “plays” Andi Garcia (yes, they lean on the obvious joke, and feature this very webpage), a drug rep seeking the sponsorship of Greg Focker the nurse – Yes, Greg Focker is still a nurse, some 6 in-movie years later, because that’s easier for the writers and less creative. Okay, so Alba (er, Andi – sigh) specifically peddles an erection pill called – I’m gonna get this wrong – Sproingo™ or Erect-U-Long™ or Boners ‘R’ We™ or Not Viagra™ or something. This would’ve been rejected in 2000’s Meet the Parents as being out-of-date. But not in 2010!
And yeah, it’s another subplot, another plot hook, another unrelated-to-anything-else bit of nonsense, because this movie ain’t the most immaculately constructed machine ever devised.
How is it that every comedy of this sort has a ridiculously hot-looking gal falling for a schlub like Stiller? And I mean “rape the male on a crowded bus” attracted to him. And the only justification is that Greg gives a mean enema – to someone who is not Alba. Making her insane.
Alright, so Alba is here to fuel Jack’s latest source of doubt – because things’d go smoothly otherwise. Short story: Jack thinks Greg is having an affair with the “Sexiest Woman in the World” (2007). Yeah right! All this is because Greg, in his monumental idiocy, is unwilling to tell Jack “I have accepted a lucrative one-time sponsor contract,” and is thus more content to let his father-in-law believe he is shtupping and whorenicating on the side. It’s farce, alright, of the sort where a single sentence could unravel 97 minutes of story! I don’t wanna expend any more effort dismantling the inadequacy of this plotline, because every time the brain thinks up a problem, Jessica Alba starts getting a little more naked. Damn the PG-13 rating!
Oh, and Jessica Alba is the reason (indirectly) for Robert De Niro’s raging hard-on, which has graced every commercial I’ve seen (online) for the movie. So that justifies that, and I hope to never again have to blog about Robert’s De Niro.
What else? Well, I don’t have notes to go off of for this one, so I guess it’s time to –
No, wait, Owen Wilson! You forgot about Owen Wilson! It is a Ben Stiller joint, after all.
How could I? Okay, so there’s Owen Wilson here for a third time as Kevin Rawley, Pam’s former fiancée from presumably like 1999 or earlier. I’m flabbergasted by the ways in which the filmmakers continue to justify bringing this guy back, since his central joke was rendered moot when Greg married Pam (along with most of the rest of the series). But Wilson’s there anyway, appearing suddenly in scene after scene like a beloved scene stealer in a sitcom. They don’t even try this time, man! For somehow Greg’s hated rival Kevin is also Greg’s best friend, and is host to the kids’ birthday party. (The party’s original site is presently a muddy ditch with a barely-clothed Jessica Alba in it – unsuitable for children.)
That’s where we leave Alba for good, her plot entirely unresolved at this stage – joining the illustrious ranks of all plotlines other than that deathless “Godfocker” thing. Then Greg and Jack punch each other, Greg does some nursing, heartfelt strings on the soundtrack cue me in on what emotion I’m supposed to be feeling, things end, I’m out!
Then I sneak in to watch a tiny bit of Season of the Witch. It is not good either.
Little Fockers is an underachieving bit of crap, being the sequel to the “highest grossing live action comedy of all time (in the United States).” But this thing’s gross is way down, meaning whatever Bush was putting in our water in 2004 is mostly gone now. Hell, there’s a bit of hope for moviegoers today, as (astoundingly, and wonderfully) a Coen Brother movie has outperformed a soulless blockbuster comedy – and True Grit is funnier than Little Fockers too, no matter True Grit is not a comedy, for that is the skill of the Coens, and I think I’m getting sidetracked by memories of a good movie. (Go see True Grit.)
Yup, Little Fockers doesn’t try. It’s not as gross or puerile as Meet the Fockers, nor as, dare I say, well constructed as Meet the Parents. It doesn’t even try for “heartfelt,” content to just sort of splat against the tarp screen in a dark and empty room. (I’m not even sure what that means.) I would surely like to say this is the end of this franchise once and for all. May the next one, should it happen, secure an R-rating, and get Jessica Alba back!
And get some tombstones, too, and maybe a maniac in a hockey mask, or something.
(I apologize for some of the non sequiturs above.)
Related posts:
• No. 2 Meet the Parents (2000)
• No. 3 Meet the Fockers (2004)
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