“Little Fockers”
Directed by Paul Weitz
Written by John Hamburg and Larry Stuckey
Starring: Robert DeNiro, Ben Stiller, Blythe Danner, Jessica Alba and Owen Wilson
Ten minutes in and already we have a catalog of bodily function jokes, cracks about erectile dysfunction (a running gag) and the sight of Jessica Alba helping to dilate an enormous black man’s anus before slipping in an enema nozzle. Happy holidays from your friends at Universal and Paramount Pictures! (Yes, it took two studios to spit this out.)
Ten years, one sequel and a worldwide box office take of $800 million later finds tyrannical patriarch Jack Byrnes (Robert DeNiro) once again squaring off with his milquetoast son-in-law Greg Focker (Ben Stiller). The two families plan to meet in Chicago to celebrate the fifth birthday of Greg’s children or as grandma Roz calls them, “the two twins.” (As opposed to three twins?) The fetching and talentless Jessica Alba joins the franchise as a drug rep eager to have the cash strapped Jack speak at a convention advertising a new erectile dysfunction pill that‘s safe for heart patients.
Do you think Jack is going to have a heart attack, swallow a couple of Greg’s samples and walk around pitching a tent? The comedic highpoint arrives when Greg has to take the situation in hand and inject adrenaline in Jack’s raging penis. And how’s this for a comedic topper: Just as Greg is about to prick his father-in-law, one of the title characters walks in on them to punctuate the festivities with an adorable Macaulay Culkin-esque scream. Even more daunting were the people around me who actually laughed at this crap.
If I spied Robert DeNiro (he also produced) in the lobby of the Grossmont after exiting his latest toxic landfill, instead of pleading for an autograph he’d be greeted with two words: “Fock You!” How do you go from being the “Greatest Actor of Your Generation” to making funny faces and exchanging “boner” witticisms with Ben Stiller? The answer is easy: threequel money.
That’s what brought them all back—Barbra Streisand, Owen Wilson, Blythe Danner, Dustin Hoffman—and only the latter had the guts to sound off against the weak script. Hoffman balked at reprising his role as Bernie Focker, but was later persuaded by the Universal brass to appear in six scenes. Ironically, Hoffman was also bent out of shape over a change in directors; Jay Roach, auteur of the first two installments, was being replaced by Paul Weitz, the brain behind “Down to Earth” and “Cirque du Freak: The Vampire’s Assistant.” That’s like filling a Slurpee with antifreeze instead of bleach.
If the “Fockers” series came equipped with a pair of incisors they would nip away at the most obvious paradox of all. Forget about his future son-in-law being a male nurse and having the first name “Gay,” there is no way in hell that a narrow-minded, arch Republican like Jack Byrnes would allow his precious daughter to marry a Jewish man. This time the “filmmakers” at least address the issue by slapping a yarmulke on Jack’ss skull and proclaiming him 1/23rd Jewish.
Considering that it was No.1 at the box office, and there is ample room left open at the end for another installment, it’s safe to say that gullible audiences will continue to get “focked” for many years to come.
