“We’re done following you around for good.”
Press pause on this Netflix film and you’ll eventually see the testosterone filled log-line (the short summary meant to pitch a film) for Game Over, Man! “Three buddies with big dreams go from underachieving slackers to badass warriors when their posh hotel is taken over by terrorists.” In theory, that story could potentially work. It has before. What’s different here though is the buffoonish amateurism of the entire project, from the camerawork to the performances to the flat-out unfunny material, and it’s not what we’ve come to expect from the tight-knit crew who honed their comedic chops on the often hilarious TV show Workaholics. If you must go into this streaming flick with high hopes, I’d suggest you put down your bowl or your blunt and see it for what it truly is – a dirty, unkempt, overlong pigsty. The project doesn’t even function as pure farce.
Everything centers on three unlovable losers. Alexxx (Adam Devine) is the fast-talking dumbass whose pointlessly obscene name appropriately sells him as the harlot of the group. Drugged out Darren (Anders Holm) makes time to smoke Salvia during room service. Joel “a.k.a. Baby Dunc” (Blake Anderson) has plenty of brains but very little balls, a politically incorrect description which I’m sure these writers would get a laugh from. The three of them are maids by day, idealistic Shark Tank dreamers by night, and hope to use their big idea – an interactive gaming suit – to reel them out of their respective ruts. Then things take a Die Hard twist with a shockingly forgettable bad guy.
Dumb movies can feign smarts through skilled, competent filmmaking. However, Game Over, Man! only lives up to its copycat, bottom of the barrel IQ, dancing around and spraying fire like a blind klutz. Take the recent Vacation remake as an example of a similar job actually done well. It’s stupid, gross, infantile, and elevates the gags with aptitude instead of choking on them from inexperience. Much of the script covers the same brand of we’ve seen this trio of on-screen hooligans and director Kyle Newacheck perform on Comedy Central before, yet instead of 22 minutes of knowingly stupid improv, Game Over, Man! bloats to a whopping, standstill length of 100 minutes. Towards the end you don’t even care whether or not the characters die or if they magically respawn…you just wish the title would come to fruition.
Game Over, Man! confuses its full-frontal male nudity as a hugely daring risk instead of a medium-sized reward, fills out its background characters with a litany of B-list celebrities, and like most hapless middle-aged men who still manage to feel as if the world is their oyster, the film just doesn’t know when the hell to give up on an unobtainable goal. These are the grown guys in their parent’s basement who smoke too much weed, only order delivery, watch porn like a pack of slobbering hyenas, and who only chase dreams when their eyes are closed. I like the Workaholics crew. I think they have great chemistry and genuine smarts. But as for Game Over, Man!, it’s comparable to soberly rewatching those Snapchat stories you recorded with friends when you were way too messed up. “Really? What the f*** were we thinking?” It seems that funny isn’t a very transferable state of mind, so just press delete and try to forget that it happened altogether.
“I’ve got some serious rebranding to do.”
Rating: 1.5 out of 5