Movie review: ‘Little Fockers’
What was so fresh and funny about “Meet the Parents,” with Ben Stiller and Robert De Niro at serious comic odds, has gone so foul in “Little Fockers” that it is incredibly tempting to resort to the implied off-color word play made possible by the Focker name and suggest that this third edition is totally — but I won’t.
Instead I’ll just leave it that the comedy’s gone missing, the puns are tortured (to say nothing of the audience) and the movie’s central question — whether or not Stiller’s Greg Focker has the, ahem, chutzpah to be “the Godfocker” — is but one indication of how low this ship has sunk. The sheer pleasure of the first film in 2000, already dimming by the time we got to “Meet the Fockers” four years later, has officially gone kaput.
There was hope going in that the increasing propensity to wring its one-note gag dry might not be indulged by director Paul Weitz, who has proved to have a sharp but sentimental touch with relationship comedy, notably in collaboration with brother Chris on 2002’s “About a Boy.” Sadly, the sentiment in “Little Fockers” has overwhelmed the sharpness and not to good effect.
With the warring parties having settled into an uneasy but still identifiable detente, it has left the film a flaccid mess, which speaks to the other key story line, a new drug that delivers Viagra-esque benefits to men prone to heart attacks. Since you know an experiment with said drug will have to pop up at some point, be sure to have your cringes ready.
As the name suggests, “Little Fockers,” written by John Hamburg, part of the complicated collective behind the first two, and Larry Stuckey, means there are even more children to go along with the childish games played by De Niro’s Jack Byrnes, the ex- CIA agent who still can’t give up covert operations. The new kids on the block are Focker twins Samantha and Henry ( Daisy Tahan and Colin Baiocchi). They are about to turn 5 and there is a party for Greg and Pam ( Teri Polo) to plan, as well as a double-dose of in-laws in town.
Meanwhile, Jack’s once perfect son-in-law, Dr. Bob ( Thomas McCarthy), has had a marriage dissolving dalliance. To make sure it doesn’t happen to Pam, Nurse Greg is back under Jack’s microscope. Most of the regulars are back too with mama Roz Focker ( Barbra Streisand) now a TV star with her own sex therapy show, her dearly beloved, Dustin Hoffman’s Bernie, is off Flamenco-ing in Spain, Blythe Danner’s Dina is still sweetly suffering Jack’s obsessions, and Owen Wilson’s Kevin is still in love with Pam. That the characters remain so static suggests how little there was to work with in the first place, with Wilson’s quirky sensibility suffering the stagnation the best, which means only that the time passes faster when he shows up.
From the first, the comedy has rested on the sight gags, the sexual innuendo and any conceivable pun that might result. A steady stream of options is provided here by that wonder drug. It also allows the filmmakers to introduce a giddy pretty drug rep named Andi Garcia ( Jessica Alba), responsible for Greg’s primary temptation and a zillion Andi/Andy Garcia “jokes.” Ha, ha, ha.
What little conflict the filmmakers could conjure up is tied to Greg and Jack’s friction over typical middle-class issues: renovating that first house, getting the kids into private school, building the nest egg and keeping the love alive. But the undermining espionage that should make for all the fun is so predictable and excessively over the top it rarely works.
The exception is a terrific turn by Laura Dern as Prudence, the politically over-corrected head of the coveted private school. She brings a kind of arch, unctuous fun to every absurd line she delivers during her very short stay. But as for the rest: I don’t care what they say, misery does not need company, let’s let the “Little Fockers” handle that one by themselves.
‘Little Fockers’
MPAA rating: PG-13 for mature sexual humor throughout, language and some drug content
Running time: 1 hour, 38 minutes
Playing: In general release
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