Video review: "Blockers"

“Blockers” is the sort of movie that a screenwriter brings into a pitch meeting with a studio executive as their third option. They’ve got their wish concept, their safe concept and their backup concept. All they want is for a concept to get a go-ahead to be turned into a script. If the first two strike out, the “here goes” idea gets dusted off, probably something they noodled with but never fleshed out.

Here’s my guess how the pitch meeting went for “Blockers”:

Writer (very nervous now): “OK, so we’ll put a pin in the gay vampires musical… what about a sex comedy about teens making a pact to lose their virginity, like ‘Superbad,’ but instead of awkward boys they’re cool girls? And the parents hear about the plan and follow them around all night of the prom to keep them from having sex.”

Producer (licking his fingers after feasting on the previous screenwriter’s soul): “Oh, so the focus is on the parents rather than the kids? I like that idea! Teen actors are a PITA to work with.”

Writer (quickly switching gears): “Yes, that’s exactly it! The parents get into all sorts of rude and crude adventures, trying to hang out with teens and be cool. We’d need a comedienne who’s good at playing blue…”

Producer: “Leslie Mann would be perfect, and would jump at top billing. And what about John Cena as a straitlaced type who has embarrassing stuff happen to him? His agent really thinks comedy is where he’s going to be able to show off his acting chops.”

Writer (stifling rising bile in throat): “Oh yes, he’s a terrific funnyman. He’s like Schwarzenegger, but willing to poke fun at himself.”

Producer (turning to assistant): “Marcy, get Kay Cannon’s agent on the phone. She’s super-hot now after writing and producing the ‘Pitch Perfect’ flicks, and I hear she’s dying to direct. This would be right in her wheelhouse. (Back to writer.) So how soon can you flesh it out into a first draft?”

Writer (distracted by thoughts of a check with lots of zeroes): “Er, um… it’s practically already written!”

The result isn’t exactly craptastic, boasting a few decent laughs. The funniest is probably the scene where Cena’s character is challenged with imbibing alcohol in a very… direct manner.

But “Blockers” is formulaic and predictable, the sort of thing that was better left half-written in somebody’s bottom drawer.

Bonus features are ample, including deleted scenes, gag reel and a “Line-O-Rama” of unused takes. There are also six making-of documentary shorts: “Rescue Mission,” “Prom Night,” “The History of Sex with Ike Barinholtz,” “John Cena’s Prom Survival Kit for Parents,” “Chug! Chug! Chug!” and “Puke-a-Palooza.”

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Review: "Blockers"

The arithmetic behind "Blockers" is not hard to add up: Take your prototypical teen sex comedy premise of three horndogs looking to lose their virginity on the night of the prom/homecoming/big party, flip their genders to girls, have their parents stumble upon the #SexPact2018, freak out and spend the night following them around to prevent said flowers from being plucked.

Layer in a little PC speech about female empowerment for show, stir in a gross-out scene or three, and you've got a movie.

It's not a bad flick, but I counted maybe four solid laughs in the movie, and a whole lot of chatter in between. In comedy, like a lot of life, many people confuse activity with achievement.

"Maybeifwetalkrealfastpeoplewon'tnoticethatnoneofwhatwe'resayingisreallyallthatfunny!!!"

The focus is clearly on the parents, played by comedienne Leslie Mann, comedic actor Ike Barinholtz and John Cena, the WWE star who's trying to join the string of musclebound ersatz athletes -- Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Johnson -- trying to pump himself into a funnyman.

I'll be generous: he's getting there. He's building some decent timing and repertoire of deadpan reactions. Cena seems obliged to show his ass in every movie he's in these days -- in the flesh, I mean, not "Ferdinand" -- and the camera crew labors to shoot him at the proper angle to obscure his bald spot. I give him one more movie before he joins Channing Tatum in full-on Toupee Acting.

He plays Mitchell, a dweeby coach obsessed with success. His kid is Kayla (Geraldine Viswanathan), who's easily the best of the three actors playing teenagers. She plays drunk well and gets several good one-liners.

Mann is Lisa, a hectored single mom who has some skeletons in her closet, and wants to ensure that her daughter, Julie (Kathryn Newton), doesn't start a graveyard in her own.

Last is Barinholtz as Hunter, the screwup of the trio. He's largely been an absentee father, and is now looking to reconnect with Sam (Gideon Adlon), who's a little bit more reserved than the other kids and a mite Goth. She's got a secret she's been harboring, and it's to Hunter's credit that he notices what's up with his kid long before anyone else does.

I wish the movie had spent more time with the teens and developed them a bit better. As it is they're just reflections of their parents, played by recognizable adult actors.

Julie has a longstanding boyfriend, Austin (Graham Phillips), so her hookup is more logical, while the other two girls more or less pick some dude at random to take to the prom. Indeed, Kayla literally peers around the lunchroom the day of the prom and points out the class druggie, Connor (Miles Robbins), as her mark.

Sam is going with Chad (Jimmy Bellinger), the sort of clueless schlemiel who thinks that wearing a short-brimmed fedora can somehow subtract an ass-ton of awkwardness. But he's just a tool, and Sam has her eye on someone else.

It's interesting that the boys are pretty much disposable accessories to the girls' mission. I guess that's fair, since that's how the young women are treated in most male-centric sex comedies.

Gary Cole and Gina Gershon turn up as Austin's mom and dad, who have a little extracurricular activity of their own scheduled for prom night, where our hapless threesome of overprotective parents make a couple of pit stops to gather intel. Both actors get a lot of, uh, exposure that was probably unnecessary.

I liked "Blockers" in pieces. Parts of it come at you with staggering predictability -- as soon a stretch limo shows up as conveyance, you just know the interior is going to get a very organic redecoration. And Mitchell is a such a tightass that we are certain some bizarre scenario is going to come along that forces him to unpucker.

(I assumed the particular type of imbibing depicted was a concoction for the movie, but I Googled it, and nope: it's really a thing. But in a world of condom snorting, I guess I shouldn't be surprised.)

Director Kay Cannon is the creative force behind the very successful "Pitch Perfect" franchise, and steps behind the camera for the first time, while screenwriting bros Brian and Jim Kehoe provide the very formulaic story.

The truth is that losing your virginity is very stressful for most people, and the actual sex itself is almost always subpar. Using the old saying about pizza and sex as a ruler, this is better than gas station slices, but tops out at around Little Caesars.

Review: "Ferdinand"

It's interesting that the two best animated films of the year -- "Coco" and "Ferdinand," in that order -- have an overt Latin theme. "Ferdinand" is set in Spain against the backdrop of the popular national sport of bullfighting. It is an egregiously cruel and useless endeavor, but rather than take angry shots at bullfighting, "Ferdinand" shows us the pull of the opposite of aggressiveness and violence.

"Ferdinand" is a film about love, but also about masculinity. It's no mistake that there are literally zero female cows in this story, which focuses on young bull calves and later grown adults. They have been reared their entire lives being taught that the best -- and only -- joy in their lives will come from being selected by a matador to fight in the ring.

The matadors are, of course, still batting 1.000 in the ongoing contest, but the bulls don't know that. They are bulls, so the only legitimate form of behavior is to be aggressive and competitive with all other bulls.

Sound familiar? The nexus of sports and male behavior is often a toxic space.

Then along comes Ferdinand, a gentle little calf who prefers sniffing flowers to fighting. He's mocked by the other young bulls at the Casa de la Toro, a breeding and training ranch for their kind, and not a little bullying takes place. But he eventually escapes that crucible and grows up on a remote farm raised by a gentle girl, who nurtures that side of him.

And grow he does. Ferdinand ends up as a truly monstrous-sized bull, bigger than even than the greatest champion bulls of old. But he doesn't care about being the biggest or the strongest -- he just enjoys his life of quiet and peace.

(He is voiced by John Cena, which is a rather contradictory choice for a character who hates battle. I guess you could argue that since Cena is a fake fighter, that makes it somehow OK.)

Later Ferdinand finds himself back on the bull ranch, where he's once again forced to vie for a spot in the ring, or be sent to the meat factory next door.

He finds that his old tormentors have grown up, and added a few new faces. There is Valiente (Bobby Cannavale), chief bully and enforcer of the bull code. Peyton Manning does the voice of Guapo, who acts as Valiente's wingman but has star aspirations of his own. Anthony Anderson is Bones, the undersized bull who joins in the treatment of Ferdinand, mostly because he would be the next logical target.

David Tennant does the voice of Angus, a woolly bull from Scotland who can't see very well because of the long hair in his eyes. And Tim Nordquist is Maquina, the result of genetic splicing who doesn't speak much and has very robotic qualities.

Kate McKinnon delights as Lupe, a "calming goat" assigned to Ferdinand to keep him chill, but ends up acting as his bullfighting coach. She's a typical animated sidekick, mostly there for comic relief, but she also provides a lot of heart and not a little wisdom.

There's also a trio of trouble-making hedgehogs, another threesome of smug horses who all have Germanic accents for some reason, and El Primero, the aging matador (Miguel Ángel Silvestre), who insists on fighting the greatest bull for his final match.

"Ferdinand" has all the ingredients for an enjoyable kiddie flick -- plenty of action, cute critter antics, a bit of gastrointestinal humor. But it's the deeper themes that give the film surprising weight and meaning. Just like the bull who prefers flowers, this is a different kind of animated film that wants to do more than merely entertain.

Review: "Sisters"

Amy Poehler and Tiny Fey have been called the best comedy duo since Martin and Lewis. That may hold for fake TV news shows and emceeing awards programs, but their film resumes are rather spotty -- both together and apart.

Each had bit roles in "Mean Girls," written by Fey, and that was the high point. The less said about their first big-screen pairing in lead roles, "Baby Mama," the better. Now comes "Sisters," with their traditional roles swapped -- Fey playing the party-hearty girl and Poehler as the responsible one in dire need of cutting loose.

Written by longtime "Saturday Night Live" scribe Paula Pell and directed by Jason Moore ("Pitch Perfect"), "Sisters" demonstrates two things: women comediennes, despite the naysaying of some uptight fossil comics, can be every bit as raunchy and uproarious as any male. Second, the tendency for recent comedies to be wildly uneven and overlong is a gender-neutral affair.

The setup is simple: the Ellis sisters were famous for throwing legendary parties back in the '80s in their Orlando hometown. (Also my own; O-town is having a renaissance on film this year, with this movie, "99 Homes" and "Paper Towns" all set there.) Not much is going right as they enter middle age, with beautician Kate (Fey) unable to hold down a job or keep the trust of her teen daughter Haley (Madison Davenport). Maura (Poehler) is divorced, downbeat and coasting.

When they find out their parents (Diane Wiest and James Brolin, brazen scene-stealers) are planning to sell their posh childhood home in order to movie into a swingin' seniors village, the Ellis girls resolve to throw one last big bash before reality resumes its rightful place.

The parts of "Sisters" that work are a sort of eulogy for the spent youth of Generation X, those perpetually overshadowed by the Baby Boomers and their children, the Millennials. Almost the entire second hour is the party itself, a blowout of epic proportions that will involve music, drugs, sex (mostly interrupted or implied) and property damage.

It's fun to see these aging adults, whose rebellions were mostly confined to getting drunk and cutting class to go see "Breakfast Club," finally discovering their inner hellions. For one night, all bets are off, along with the shirts, and who cares if the bellies and chins are slacker than they once were.

The Poehler/Fey dynamic pays off, mostly, but then they keep bringing in their SNL buddies like Rachel Dratch and Maya Rudolph for supporting storylines that distract and drain. It reminds me of how Adam Sandler keeps digging up spots for David Spade and Chris Rock in his flicks, all of them clutching each other as they sadly circle the drain.

This is one of those movies that has more attitude than jokes. There are scenarios, not scenes. Some of the best stuff is when the women don't have to drag the plot forward, but can just hang out and goof on each other -- such as when they prepare for the party by trying on entirely age-inappropriate outfits.

"We need a little less Forever 21 and a little more Suddenly 42," Maura quips.

There are love interests, of a sort. Ike Barinholtz plays the guy down the street also preparing to sell his folks' home, who gets sexually harassed by the Ellis sisters, but enjoys it. Wrestler John Cena gets recruited to show off his guns as a scary drug dealer with a soft side. ("My safe word," he instructs, "is 'Keep Going.'")

There are also stereotypical gags about lesbians and Asians that, if they were in a dude comedy, would get diced on Twitter by a legion of P.C. valkyries, and deservedly so.

"Sisters" isn't the lamest comedy of the year, but there is lots of competition for that spot. In an otherwise sterling year in cinema, the animated films and comedies have been decidedly lackluster. Some stars, and strains of humor, are simply a better fit for the small screen.

Review: "Trainwreck"

The difference between writing for sketch comedy and doing a feature-length comedy script stretches wider than the Grand Canyon. Sketches rely on a quick set-up/punchline rhythm and absurd concepts, the zanier the better. Making a whole movie is exponentially tougher: you've got to weave the humor into a broader narrative, fashion engaging characters and come up with a satisfying arc for them to journey along.

"Trainwreck," written by and starring Amy Schumer, has a few good individual laughs but fails pretty miserably at the big-picture stuff.

It's essentially a two-hour-long iteration of the quasi-autobiographical version of herself Schumer presents in her standup routine and television show: hedonistic, hard-partying girl who loves to sleep around and mocks the idea of commitment. It's made for a lot of winning gags for TV, with Schumer's sly intelligence and feminist undertones percolating through the laughs.

There are three or four decent scenes like that in "Trainwreck," but the connective tissue in between is tough to wade through. The answer that Schumer and director Judd Apatow seem to have to come up with is to feature well-known actors or celebrities in punchy minor roles to spice up the dull patches. It works a little, but only a little.

You've probably heard that NBA superstar LeBron James plays himself in the movie, as a patient of wunderkind sports surgeon Aaron Conners (Bill Hader). Amy is Amy, a writer at a Neanderthal men's magazine called "Snap" who's been assigned to profile the doc, despite knowing exactly zilch about sports.

For instance, we're supposed to laugh at the notion that Amy has no idea who LeBron is when he pops into Aaron's office while she's meeting him. Except you'd have to have lived underground since birth not to recognize King James. In a common refrain in comedies these days, LeBron plays a goofy version of himself. Here, he's a cheapskate who insists on splitting the lunch bill and pals around with dweeby doctors.

Tilda Swinton plays Amy's boss, who has an abundance of confidence and a paucity of taste; Brie Larson is her younger, wiser sister; Colin Quinn plays their father, a philanderer who taught them "monogamy is unrealistic"; Ezra Miller is the impressionable young intern with a dark side; Mike Birbiglia is the kind-yet-dull brother-in-law; John Cena shows up -- and flashes a lot of skin -- as Amy's initial 'roided-up boyfriend; Amar'e Stoudemire portrays himself as a fictional patient of Aaron's; Dave Attell plays a mouthy panhandler; and Norman Lloyd, a bonafide 100 years of age, twinkles as a sparring partner of Amy's dad at the old folks' home.

One of the chief weaknesses of the movie is that I never bought the romance between Schumer and Hader for even a second. The idea is that Amy, having promptly slept with the guy she's supposed to be profiling, gets unwilling sucked into a relationship with him. But Hader isn't given much to do in the script that would make him endearing to such a wild-and-crazy gal... or anyone. He feels like a personality vacuum who got lucky.

At 125 minutes "Trainwreck" is about a half-hour too long, a near-universal feature of Apatow films that I had previously chalked up to his own undisciplined writing style and apparent unwillingness to hire an editor with any kind of clout. (Someone needs to tell him less is more, and with his style of motormouth comedy, less less is even more more.)

But even with Schumer handling script duties, this movie is still an overstuffed mess with jangled pieces that never really fit together. It's a one-night stand in which the evening grows old, fast.

Review: "Legendary"

An after-school-special on steroids, "Legendary" is the story of a fake wrestler teaching his kid brother how to be a real wrestler.

WWE star John Cena headlines this sports drama produced by the wrestling empire's film production company, which also bankrolled his previous star vehicles, "12 Rounds" and "The Marine."

Those were mindless action flicks suited to Cena's stone-faced, muscle-bound appeal. This time, though, he's called upon to do more than grimace and growl, and his meager acting chops leave him face-down on the mat.

Director Mel Damski, a television veteran, tries to shoot around his star's inability to emote by pairing him in scenes with another actor who does all the heavy-lifting -- shouting and pleading and such. Cena just stands there, tight-lipped and blank-faced.

Unfortunately, making movies is a contact sport. Other than a couple of times where his character gets into bar fights, Cena sucks the life out of every scene he's in.

He plays Mike Chetley, a legendary high school wrestler now facing a bad stretch. He just lost his job, has a string of parasitic girlfriends, and can't stop drinking and brawling.

Then Mike gets a visit from Cal (Devon Graye), his younger brother. Unlike Mike and their father, who tragically died in a car accident years ago, Cal is a skinny beanpole, a smart nerd who gets bullied.

Cal decides he wants to try out for the school wrestling team, at the urging of Red (Danny Glover), a mysterious stranger who shows up one day with a fishing pole and a whole cornfield worth of homilies.

Cal's mother (Patricia Clarkson) is secretly torn up over her estrangement from Mike, but seems to have a healthy relationship with Cal. She hates the idea of him wrestling, though, having seen it consume the lives of her husband and elder boy.

Cal's a washout at wrestling, losing all his matches, so he seeks out Mike for coaching. Of course, it's mostly a ruse to engage in a little male bonding.

The screenplay by John Posey (who also plays Cal's coach) is an assemblage of moldy sports movie clichés and made-for-television sentimentality. For example, Cal begs Mike to teach him a rare and difficult wrestling move, so we just know it's going to be whipped out for the big match, a la the Crane Kick from "The Karate Kid."

The mushy melodrama stuff builds toward the big reveal of a Dark Secret that, when it finally arrives, feels trite and inauthentic.

It's a curious thing to use a "pro" wrestling star in a movie about the real kind. Actual competitive wrestling organizers go out of their way to disassociate their sport from the phony entertainment version. Meanwhile, it's doubtful the average WWE fan is interested in a bunch of scrawny kids in tights and ear protectors down on all fours.

Still, some showbiz slips in. There's one scene complete with Cal wearing a gaudy robe entering the arena to rock music and pyrotechnics that would have immediately got him banned for life from a real high school wrestling circuit.

So "Legendary" is a movie that's not for fans of either real wrestling or the bogus kind. That leaves it with those dying to see a lunkhead pro wrestler whose screen presence could best be described as a charisma sinkhole stumbling through "serious actor" mode. Count me out.

1.5 stars out of four