Audacious, outrageous, bleakly funny. Not since Charlie Chaplin sent up Hitler and invited us to laugh at terrible reality has there been a movie like this.
Marvelously balances the silly and the solemn. There’s almost a whiff of the Coen-esque in its slick sharpness, in its whistling past the graveyard.
It’s not so much *Dinner for Schmucks* as it is *Waiting for Dinner for Schmucks.* You know, like *Waiting for Godot,* only in reverse. Because the schmucks start showing up right as the damn movie starts, and they never go away.