Bedtime Stories

Posted December 24, 2008 in Film

Dear Santa: All I want for Christmas (well, nearly) is for Adam Sandler to be funny again. It’s killing my youthful memories—the slumber parties and SNL episodes, the drives to the mall that bumped The Hannukah Song on repeat, the swooning desire to be his Drew Barrymore. In Bedtime Stories, he’s such a half-assed sad sack that I can’t help worrying that my generation of teenagers was huffing in a hilarity toxin when we crowned him Gen X’s Comedy King. (And Ben Stiller—seriously, WTF?) Santa, look at the plot of Bedtime Stories. Sandler’s cast as yet another underdog whose life is centered on one weird random passion. Here, he wants to manage a hotel. Or was it an ultimate frisbee team? It doesn’t matter. Screenwriters Matt Lopez and Tim Herlihy don’t add any jokes to the Sandler formula, and all director Adam Shankman can think of to do is encourage Sandler to mug like a chimpanzee and convince Russell Brand and Keri Russell and Guy freaking Pearce to mire themselves in this disaster. Oh, and there’s these really expensive bargain basement-looking fantasy sequences like the one where a snot monster licked Pearce in the face. Even the twerpy tweens yawned. C’mon Claus—or else I’ll be really naughty and encourage Happy Madison to make a sequel. (Amy Nicholson)


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