At 72, Robert De Niro can be seen as a man unwilling to meekly allow his date of birth to determine his pursuits.
A lot of people have a sense of identity that is inextricably linked with their life’s work and, in the case of actors, there is also the possibility that they are seduced into believing they are the character they’re playing.
I can think of no other reason that De Niro, who surely can’t need the money, would be involved in a movie as abysmal as this.
For a man of such stature it is undignified – the best thing about it was the air-con in the cinema.
Recently widowed, Dick Kelly (De Niro) embarks on a road trip to Florida with his soon-to-be-wedded grandson, Jason (Zac Efron – who might never be taken seriously).
After forty years of being faithful to his wife, Dick (the name gives you some idea of the witless nature of the script) is as horny as anything – he’d root a rattlesnake if he could hold it still long enough.
They meet a couple of girls on the way, one of whom takes a shine to Dick while the other hits it off with Jason during a series of misadventures with a screwball dope dealer, a pair of bent yokel cops and a crew of bad-ass n—–s (‘You can say nigger when we let you’).
If you’re unable to figure that Jason will renege on the stifling marriage that awaits him in favour of the sweetie who has won his heart… well, I guess you don’t get out to the flicks much.
The dialogue is heavily sprayed with the f-word (barely a sentence is uttered without it) along with countless references to vaginas and penises.
Above all, it raises the question: Why are we so outraged by a two-minute video of a footballer acting like an imbecile but happy to have ninety minutes of similar behaviour screened three times daily in theatres everywhere?
It’s juvenile, brain-dead and ugly.
– John Campbell
