Here's something you might be interested in.
From Adam Sandler (he co-wrote) and the dicks at Happy Madison Productions comes a comedy for compulsive masturbators who suffer from microphallus.
Bucky (Nick Swarsdon), a clueless virginal dweeb whose overbite extends farther than his manhood, can’t even manage to hold down a job as grocery store bag boy. (Can you sense the originality brewing?) While being coached in the art of self-pleasure techniques by more experienced nerd-pals with a stag film and 16mm projector, Bucky discovers that in another life, Ma and Pa Larson were legendary porn stars, Jim Spraysian (Edward Herrmann) and Rosy Bush (Miriam Flynn).
A kid sees his parents screwing on screen and decides on a career in porn? What a terrific premise for a dark comedy set in America's underbelly, but leave it to the “Waterboy” and his shopworn band of adolescent pranksters to once again drop the ball. Goodbye social commentary, hello Booger Nights!
Can’t Bucky simply be a normal teenager instead of an otherworldly naif? Why must Swarsdon look like the spawn of the Dutch Boy Paint kid and Mel Gibson’s co-star in The Beaver? (If this is Sandler’s idea of paying tribute to Jerry Lewis’ Nutty Kelp, he should drop dead yesterday.)
Tom Brady (The Hot Chick) is credited with what little direction there is. From Grandma’s Boys to The Benchwarmers, take Sandler out of the starring role and the baby-talking numb-nuts at Happy Madison continually prove incapable of igniting a box office flame with their simple-minded, one-dimensional, character-driven drivel. This time they have all but given up, allowing Swarsdon, whom I hope to never, ever again see on screen, plenty of room to mumble and mince.
Turns out Bucky can spontaneously ejaculate and becomes an overnight sensation. There is one legitimate laugh -- Bucky’s blindingly-white horse-teeth exposed to ultra violet light -- to be found amid the 96 otherwise insufferable minutes of drooling, panting, squirting, and cumulus-sized closeups.
I must be the only one in town to fit the target demographic. (Insert your own masturbatory, microphallus jokes here.) It’s Saturday night, opening weekend, and I sit alone in the Gaslamp #10 watching Bucky Larson. For once I applaud the taste of San Diego filmgoers.
Reader Rating: Zero Stars
From Adam Sandler (he co-wrote) and the dicks at Happy Madison Productions comes a comedy for compulsive masturbators who suffer from microphallus.
Bucky (Nick Swarsdon), a clueless virginal dweeb whose overbite extends farther than his manhood, can’t even manage to hold down a job as grocery store bag boy. (Can you sense the originality brewing?) While being coached in the art of self-pleasure techniques by more experienced nerd-pals with a stag film and 16mm projector, Bucky discovers that in another life, Ma and Pa Larson were legendary porn stars, Jim Spraysian (Edward Herrmann) and Rosy Bush (Miriam Flynn).
A kid sees his parents screwing on screen and decides on a career in porn? What a terrific premise for a dark comedy set in America's underbelly, but leave it to the “Waterboy” and his shopworn band of adolescent pranksters to once again drop the ball. Goodbye social commentary, hello Booger Nights!
Can’t Bucky simply be a normal teenager instead of an otherworldly naif? Why must Swarsdon look like the spawn of the Dutch Boy Paint kid and Mel Gibson’s co-star in The Beaver? (If this is Sandler’s idea of paying tribute to Jerry Lewis’ Nutty Kelp, he should drop dead yesterday.)
Tom Brady (The Hot Chick) is credited with what little direction there is. From Grandma’s Boys to The Benchwarmers, take Sandler out of the starring role and the baby-talking numb-nuts at Happy Madison continually prove incapable of igniting a box office flame with their simple-minded, one-dimensional, character-driven drivel. This time they have all but given up, allowing Swarsdon, whom I hope to never, ever again see on screen, plenty of room to mumble and mince.
Turns out Bucky can spontaneously ejaculate and becomes an overnight sensation. There is one legitimate laugh -- Bucky’s blindingly-white horse-teeth exposed to ultra violet light -- to be found amid the 96 otherwise insufferable minutes of drooling, panting, squirting, and cumulus-sized closeups.
I must be the only one in town to fit the target demographic. (Insert your own masturbatory, microphallus jokes here.) It’s Saturday night, opening weekend, and I sit alone in the Gaslamp #10 watching Bucky Larson. For once I applaud the taste of San Diego filmgoers.
Reader Rating: Zero Stars