Early in the latest entry of this cash-cow franchise, Robert De Niro defibrillates himself with a lie detector machine. It’s soon clear that unlike his retired spymaster character, Jack Byrnes, no amount of voltage (that of the mostly talented megastar variety) can revitalise the series in this limp effort.
Don’t be deceived by the title. Sure, the cutesy, smart-aleck Focker offspring play their part but Little Fockers as ever, revolves around the cat and mouse games played by Jack and his hapless son-in-law Greg (aka Gaylord Focker, Ben Stiller).
In the wafer-thin plot, Jack tests Greg’s suitability as his patriarchal heir (a.k.a the GodFocker) and Greg is enlisted by a perky valley girl pharmaceuticals rep named Andi Garcia (Fantastic Four’s Jessica Alba, more hammy here than a Christmas banquet) to spruke a Viagra-like drug. All of which leads to the requisite misunderstandings and pratfalls that have characterized the series.
There’s nothing wrong with toilet humour but Little Fockers, with its done-to-death ‘fockerisms’ aims for the lowest common denominator (projectile vomiting, erectile misadventures etc) with little comic effect.
Where the first two films managed to mix mawkish sentimentality with cringeworthy scenarios to good effect, this pale facsimile disappointingly (though perhaps unsurprisingly) is tired and simply embarrassing.
As Greg Focker might say, it’s high time for this franchise to “Step off, bitch”.
By James Mitchell. First published online at trespassmag.com, December 2010.
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