When “Grown Ups” star and co-writer Adam Sandler repeatedly slapped Rob Schneider in the face with a dehydrated banana, I was jealous of Schneider, who suffered less than I did getting slapped upside the head by this rotting fruit of a comedy.
Those two, plus David Spade, Kevin James and Chris Rock, play former schoolboy basketball buddies who gather for the funeral of their coach and follow up with a reunion/vacation with their families at a New England lakeside cabin.
Each character is tagged with a slender basis for slapstick: Schneider is a New Age vegan who likes older women (“This must be your mom?” “She’s my wife!”), James suffers from a urinary malaise that reflects the way feeble jokes dribble over the script, Spade is supposedly a lady-killer, Rock is a househusband, and Sandler wants his adolescent boys to put down their cellphones and reconnect with nature.
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The bizarre pratfalls (Schneider’s foot gets an arrow shot through it, yet no one takes him to the hospital; James swings on a rope until he crashes into a tree, yet laughs it off) and boring running gags (an overprotective mom breastfeeds her 4-year-old son, a mother-in-law has an ugly bunion and farts) don’t even belong in a movie. They’re of the caliber you’d expect to find only in the places where broad comedy goes to make sweaty, desperate pleas for lowbrow laffs, like the sitcoms found on obscure cable channels and CBS.
How desperate is “Grown Ups”? At one point it pauses and all but begs for applause as the guys proudly hoist an American flag. I momentarily wished for a Canadian birth certificate. The movie couldn’t be more pathetic if it hired clowns to dash through the audience tossing handfuls of candy and gum.
Sandler, who wears T-shirts providing shout-outs to New England’s most mediocre schools (UNH, UConn, Harvard), forgot to even give himself a real character. At the outset he’s a ferocious showbiz super-agent, but minutes later he’s a generic mellow, caring dad. A few hours in the cabin, and the dull major conflicts are resolved — Sandler’s tech-obsessed kids learn to skip stones, and even his designer-label-clad wife (Salma Hayek) changes into ordinary jeans and a tourist T-shirt. So the movie throws in a dull grudge match between the five friends and the guys who once played on a rival basketball team.
Schneider’s quiff of a toupee flaps in the breeze, James yuks it up (twice!) with a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket on his head, Spade strolls bare-butted, Steve Buscemi shows up for no reason except to get thrown through a wall. Guys ogle hot girls, guys pee in pools and we learn that we should make the most of existence — “before life’s final buzzer.” The only mercy on offer is that, despite several scenes spent in the water, James keeps his shirt on.
Sandler (whose much sharper early comedies were unjustly maligned by critics) can be an interesting writer and actor, but whenever he gets spooked by the reception of grown-up work like last year’s “Funny People,” he becomes Hollywood’s real-life Billy Madison — skulking off to the least challenging path. In response, I was aching for a real-life “Click,” so I could fast-forward through the nullity and get on with my life.