Two pothead slackers running their own “investigative journalism” agency team up with a journalist to take down a prominent political figure and all hell breaks loose. Written by Clif Lord and Tommay Sowards and directed by Lord, the film jumps into the two leads’ investigations without much explanation and just goes for it with the two of them filming everything they do for “behind the scenes” with both of their point of views going back and forth. The way this is written into the story works and so does most of the story, it’s just not all that interesting.
Is it possible McFarlane must have handed the reins over to someone competent? Is it entirely possible McFarlane had someone with comic knowledge to guide him in to what it a superior sequel to an abysmal first film? “Ted 2” is surprisingly good. Much better than the first, and I say that as someone who genuinely dislikes McFarlane’s cheap excuse for comedy. Sure, “Ted 2” is still very much a McFarlane film with his personal stamps all over it, but it also manages a competent story and interesting characters. Hell I even cared about Ted this time around. I had rock bottom expectations for “Ted 2,” especially considering I loathe almost everything Seth McFarlane puts his hands on.
The original “Harold and Kumar” became one of my favorite comedies of all time after an attempt at giving it a fair chance while on cable television one night. Since then it’s been a constant favorite, and on a replay whenever boredom strikes. Even though it was a prime example of product placement, the stoner classic is utterly hilarious and serves as a testament to the talents of John Cho and Kal Penn. “Guantamo Bay,” though, inadvertently serves as an argument against sequels to any and all films. If some director had attempted to mimic the success of “Harold and Kumar” with less comedic punch, and much more forced social overtones, “Guantanamo Bay” would be pointed at, almost immediately. Because frankly, the only thing offensive about this sequel is that every race joke is horribly unfunny, while so blatantly setting up part three, that it’s almost insulting.
Rob Schneider, David Spade, I want you to get down on all fours and thank the stars you know Adam Sandler. Thank Sandler. Build an altar to him and thank him for helping your mere shreds you call careers. Where would you be without that douche bag? Nowhere and you know it. How else can you explain your cameos in “Grandma’s Boy,” an otherwise glorified custom made vehicle for all of Sandler’s pals? “Grandma’s Boy” is a vain film. Vain in the assumption that through endless sex jokes, and weed induced sight gags, that it’s making a commentary about ageism. Really, it’s nothing but a veil thrown over it to add a thin sense of non-existent intelligence.