Hot Tub Time Machine II
This film makes me angry.
They say that in a time of recession, most of the movies made are either remakes or sequels. One assumes that this is because people will be attracted to the familiar. They put their trust in sequels because, as a rule, they know what to expect, thus making these movies very ‘bankable’. Well, you know what they say about exceptions to the rule; and whichever dollar-worshipping, MGM corporate whore green-lit this fucker, needs to get in a hot tub time machine, go back to the moment of his own conception and punch his own father in the cock. Hard.
This then, is the sequel to 2010’s Hot Tub Time Machine, which was a slacker-time-travel comedy with lots of fun ‘80s references, a cast with enough chemistry to pass as a believable group of friends, and a certain amount of charm. It wasn’t great, but it was good.Five years on, and the sequel has the self respect of a Japanese game show contestant, the charm of a pickled testicle, and a cast that have the chemistry of a police line-up. Rob Corddry seems to have substituted acting for crystal meth (either that or he found an insanity clause in his contract, and spent the whole shoot trying to loop-hole his way out), there’s no John Cusack, and the others all stand around like they lost a bet. By far the worst part of the film is the story. There isn’t one. It’s like a shit sketch show with only one set, where all the punch lines are written by a ten year old with a genital fixation.
This film makes me angry. I’m angry that it got made at the expense of films with something to say. I’m angry that no one will see justice when this film bombs. I’m angry that you can’t polish a turd, but apparently you can fire one out in a hot tub, laugh at its tiny cock, and charge people money to watch it sink.
