Adam DeVine, Anders Holm, and Blake Anderson hold the human **** in a similar regard as Martin Scorsese does the holy cross: it is a graven object of obsession and great fear, a totem of power and pain, an icon through which one can find salvation just as easily as damnation. In Game Over, Man!, Netflix’s new feature film from the former Workaholics man-children, phalluses are everywhere. They’re getting kicked, punched, slapped, and generally brutalized. They’re shoved into faces; sometimes this causes delight, and sometimes despair. They’re severed, thrown around, and used as weapons. In this film’s utterly deranged guiding philosophy, the dong is the essence of life.
That our ostensible heroes can shrink back in icky panic at homosexuality while being unable to go two minutes without another dick joke is only part of this film’s dense thicket of perverse contradictions. A harebrained premise pits a hit squad of domestic terrorists against the main trio in the hotel where they do janitorial work, and though the script is open about its wholesale Die Hard thievery, John McClane’s moral compass has been thoroughly corrupted. The good guys are insufferable, the bad guys are sympathetic, and the audience can’t help but root for a repellent hostage to get his brains blown out.
Movie - Lads - Director - Kyle - Newacheck
It’s easy enough to see the movie that the lads and their director Kyle Newacheck thought they were making. Each character has their own arc straight from the screenwriting books, sketched in easily identifiable beats. Alexxx (DeVine) is all ideas with no follow-through, and he’s impeding the group’s dream of selling their fully-bodysuit video game console called the Skintendo. Darren (Holm), disillusioned with his workaday grind, continuously vapes to isolate himself from the world around him. Most heinously, Joel (Anderson) has locked himself in a closet of glass, his suppressed sexual...
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There's no problem on the inside of a kid that the outside of a dog can't cure.