(Aren’t the young man’s exaggerated pecs enough?) We’re all encouraged to laugh uproariously at a brain-damaged mental patient, and a sick joke about Gary Busey’s near-fatal real-life motorcycle accident falls as flat as elephant dung. (Wouldn’t one or the other have sufficed?) Lucy’s father cruelly imitates and mocks his son’s speech impediment. Segal is the man responsible for Anger Management and Nutty Professor II: The Klumps, among other imbecilic disgraces, so nobody is likely to enter this crypt in search of subtlety, freshness or style.īut even by Hollywood standards, what kind of mind slam-dunks you with a combination of this much toilet humor and physical abuse at the same time? Prepare yourself for gruesome kindergarten bits about bruised testicles, a walrus that vomits profusely and a near-hermaphrodite. At each stage of the romance, the movie digresses into so much scatology and puerile adolescence that it seems to have been directed by Mr. While the lame script by George Wing pads itself to an unendurable feature length of 95 minutes with a series of never-ending dates in which Lucy thinks she’s meeting Henry for the first time, the repetitive kiss-and-cuddle scenes are offset by director Peter Segal’s commitment to gross-out overkill. But isn’t it curious that the only person who looks damaged and sub-mental in all of these movies is Adam Sandler himself? In the obnoxious 50 First Dates, his deficiencies seem even deadlier than they did in the numbingly pretentious Punch-Drunk Love. In every Adam Sandler movie, fun is poked at gays, senior citizens, paraplegics, people in loony bins and wheelchairs. The nauseating dirty parts assault what’s left of your own brain faster than you can say “Farrelly Brothers.” She likes to sniff his fingers because they smell like mackerel. He falls for Lucy the minute he spots her in a diner, making a house out of a stack of waffles. Sandler enters as a marine veterinarian and conqueror of lady tourists named Henry. For reasons you don’t want to know, her hateful dad (Blake Clark), steroid-pumped brother (Sean Astin) and various native hula dancers (did I neglect to mention it all takes place in Hawaii?) go along with the gag, even watching a nightly rerun of The Sixth Sense and feigning shock and surprise every time Bruce Willis turns out to be a ghost. Now she loses her short-term memory every night and wakes each morning believing it’s the day of the accident all over again, which is also her father’s birthday. A medical phenomenon who lives only in fractured time, she’s an arts teacher who suffered a head injury in a car accident. If his character was stuck in purgatory, Drew Barrymore’s character, Lucy, is condemned to limbo. 2 over and over until he learned to become more empathetic toward the Punxsutawney rodent looking for its shadow. The nonexistent plot reworks Harold Ramis’ 1993 movie Groundhog Day, in which Bill Murray played a cynical weatherman doomed to relive the events of Feb. Sandler’s portfolio of stock moronic slackers like champs and heroes. Still, the usual jackass gags and sickening, sophomoric sentimentality are here in abundance: gay jokes, savage beatings, old senile people who talk filthy, and the pathetic coterie of social and medical misfits who treat Mr. Sandler (and an always baffling fraternity of misguided movie critics who feed on tastelessness) probably calls style. Like his 1998 valentine The Wedding Singer, this alleged new comedy pairs the liverwurst-faced Saturday Night Live alumnus with fizzy, wide-eyed Drew Barrymore, who makes a nice leavening agent for the ugly, abrasive and creepy persona that Mr. “Crude,” “lewd” and “shameless” are three words that pretty accurately describe Adam Sandler movies in general, and 50 First Dates in particular.
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