This entirely forgettable movie is most notable for the physical appearance of Dave Franco – I had no idea he was so tiny.
Standing next to Tom Wilkinson he is small enough, but when in the same frame as the admittedly gigantic Vince Vaughn he looks like a little boy just out of primary school. And his diminutive stature is accentuated by the fact that the character he plays is juvenile to the point almost of being retarded.
I simply could not figure what his function was in the story, for he does nothing except be there and be stupid.
Then again, Wilkinson does nothing either.
As the idiot without the savant bit, Franco tags along with the other two when Vaughn leaves his job in a hugely successful marketing agency after a row with his bitchy boss (Siena Miller) – it is a scene in which there is more than the mere scent of misogyny.
The guys form their own company and find themselves in direct competition with Siena for a mind-blowing contract with a Euro-knob that will be worth g’zillions. Other than featuring some diverting shots of Berlin, however, there is nothing remotely interesting in a screenplay that is sloppy and slapdash.
He is not to everyone’s taste (I think he’s terrific), but as a comic actor, Vaughn can usually be relied on to at least deliver a line with timing and panache, but the gags in this fly like the Hindenberg.
It is only when Vaughn is compelled to accept accommodation in a German museum’s art installation – American Bussinessman 42 – that the script attempts to venture beyond the banal, but director Ken Scott is otherwise content to rely for laughs on penises sticking through dunny doors in a gay bar and naked negotiations in a sauna.
You get the picture?
A half-hearted attempt is made at commenting on body-image and school bullying, with Vaughn comforting and offering sage advice to his obese son, but the movie is a waste of time for all involved.
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