
Bad Neighbours (aka Neighbors) movie review: stubbing your brain
A mess not by accident but by design. It’s meant to be a ton of stuff thrown against the wall in the hope that some of it will momentarily distract you into involuntary laughter.

A mess not by accident but by design. It’s meant to be a ton of stuff thrown against the wall in the hope that some of it will momentarily distract you into involuntary laughter.

We need an equivalent term to “Uncle Tom” for a woman — in this case, screenwriter Melissa Stack — who participates in Hollywood’s systematic hatred of women.

This is like the Mirror Universe, evil-goatee-wearing flip side of Don Jon, a pile of obnoxious, grossout junk.

Forget about the socially conscious core that fueled the exploitation engine of the first film. This one is flat-out, no-message action comedy, outrageous and hilarious.

An appalling array of hideous ethic and gender stereotypes is what passes for “humor” in this pitiful excuse for a comedy.

I’m actually angry at how little the movie even tries. There isn’t enough of anything here to pad out a brief sketch, never mind a feature-length film.

This is not a movie. This is nothing but Adam Sandler hanging out with his pals and congratulating himself on how awesome he finds himself to be.

Reason No. 34,075 to legalize drugs: it would eliminate painfully unfunny comedies like this one. Comedy shouldn’t make you pity the comedians.

Like a Comic-Con cosplay event gone horribly wrong, this poor excuse for an action comedy has nothing to say beyond a few expletives and nothing to offer but a shocking lack of appreciation for its own awful irony.

I died laughing… and I’ve found a new respect for a Hollywood posse whose work I mostly haven’t enjoyed before.