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.
Bitter, brutal, and — unfortunately for the hopes and dreams of the American people — very very pointedly funny.
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.