Review: Little Fockers

Normally, I find that reading online production gossip does a disservice to the art of filmmaking because it inevitably biases the viewer to feel a certain way about a project before they see it. As such, I try to avoid these stories, which are plastered all over blogs like Deadline Hollywood and the Wrap, in order to allow myself the purest viewing experiences possible. But sometimes, the buzz surrounding a particular shoot is so widely reported that not even the most discerning movie-site surfer can avoid it. Such was the case with Little Fockers, which first made headlines when Universal nearly fired its director, the respected Paul Weitz, because they were allegedly unhappy with the picture. Then, the studio surprisingly hired actor Dustin Hoffman to film several scenes after production had already wrapped, reversing their decision to write his character out of  the franchise to keep costs down. By all accounts, it was a calamity.

Buying my ticket, I realized that the aforementioned prior knowledge could negatively affect my judgment of the film, because I would naturally look for all the rumored problems to pop up onscreen. I considered abstaining from writing a review. But thankfully for my readers, Little Fockers is so decisively mediocre, so commercially vanilla, so damn ordinary that I have no problem asserting that, in this particular case, no amount of questionable blog “news” could interfere with my better judgment.

Little Fockers takes place about five years after Meet the Fockers ended and, thankfully, now that Greg and Pam Focker (Ben Stiller and Teri Polo) have kids, the insufferable sex jokes of that first sequel have been toned down. (That isn’t to say they have been completely eliminated–the film still prominently features gags regarding a revolutionary new erectile dysfunction pill–but rather that they aren’t nearly as uncomfortably crude as they were when delivered by Greg’s overly open parents.) However, just as the profanity has been muted, so too has everything else in the film. Watching Little Fockers play like a third-rate sitcom, one could easily forget the fact that this franchise began with the edgy and hilarious Meet the Parents.

The main reason for Little Fockers’ utter mediocrity is that the script, penned by John Hamburg and Larry Stuckey, barely even tries to engage the viewer. The duo rely on three pedestrian screenwriting techniques to fill the movie’s 98 minutes. First, they rehash characterizations from the previous films, as if Robert De Niro’s ex-C.I.A. agent father-in-law-from-hell’s routine badgering of Greg is still somehow uproarious. Second, they implement lazy gags that could have appeared in any other mainstream comedy. To illustrate the low level of inventive humor on display here: the scene in the trailer in which Greg is forced to inject Jack’s penis after a medication mishap is about the funniest thing the whole film has to offer. I didn’t laugh once. Lastly, Hamburg and Stuckey employ equally limp dramatic passages designed to get the thin plot from Point A to Point B. These mostly belong to a story thread featuring Jessica Alba as a sexy pharmaceutical rep with whom Jack suspects Greg is having an affair.

Given the above criticisms, one would be right to assume that the movie also has nothing substantial to say about parenting or growing older, despite the introduction of a family setting. Adding two kids to the equation is, like most everything else in the picture, simply a way to kill some screen-time and create plot. They are there for convenience. For instance, Greg’s son breaks his arm so that the family can just-so-happen to run into Alba’s Andi at the hospital, forcing a confrontation with the suspicious Jack and allowing Pam to realize Andi is not the average-schmaverage hag he mentions at home. Everything in the movie plays out in such a forced, obligatory manner that it feels like it was written for Universal in much the same way that a kid who hates school writes an essay: begrudgingly, with the least amount of effort required to produce a passable product.

That all said, it’s hard to get too angry at Little Fockers, unless you’re the one plunking down 100 bucks to go with the entire visiting family over the holidays (in which case you may very well be enraged). Ultimately, there is nothing aggressively offensive or unpleasant about the movie. Yes, it’s stupid and pointless, but feelings of hatred are best reserved for films more unique in their awfulness than this mechanical dud. At the very least, leads Stiller and De Niro are remain rather charismatic and Alba is no chore to look at. But all the same, there is simply no reason to ever elect to see Little Fockers. Sure, your teenage kids will beg you, simply by virtue of the fact that it’s the hot new PG-13 comedy. But you’ll be a far better person if you part ways with them in the megaplex and see Black Swan or, even better, force them to see The King’s Speech with you instead.

* * *

Little Fockers (2010, USA). Produced by Brandon Brito, Robert De Niro, John Hamburg, Ryan Kavanaugh, Daniel Lupi, Meghan Lyvers, Andrew Miano, Jay Roach, Jane Rosenthal, Nancy Tenenbaum, and Barry Welsh. Directed by Paul Weitz. Written for the screen by John Hamburg and Larry Stuckey. Characters by Greg Glienna and Mary Ruth Clarke. Starring Robert De Niro, Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson, Dustin Hoffman, Teri Polo, Jessica Alba, Laura Dern, Barbara Streisand, and Blythe Danner. Distributed by Universal Pictures. Rated PG-13, with a running time of 98 minutes.