Dude, Where’s My Car? Stark Raving Mad. Bulletproof Monk. The Dukes of Hazzard. Mr. Woodcock. Cop Out. American Reunion. Movie 43. Just Before I Go. The cinematic oeuvre of one Seann William Scott doesn’t exactly cry quality merchandise. Even his dislocated voicework couldn’t raise the likes of Planet 51 and four (!?) Ice Age sequels to anything much beyond meh.
Scott’s best reviewed film to date, Goon (2012), was an amiable slob comedy (i.e., pervasive stupidity, overage drinking, genitalia) about a doofus hockey fan who’s signed by the Halifax Highlanders after the team’s coach witnesses him brawling on the ice. Unfortunately, Doug doesn’t even skate, let alone know where to stick the puck.
It was inevitable that, five years on, Scott would be recast as Doug “the Thug” Glatt in Goon’s “long-awaited” sequel, Goon: Last of the Enforcers, and sure enough, here he is! But as we learned earlier, a quick peruse through the actor’s embarrassing filmography tells us that most anything with Scott in it—sadly—is likely to be a dud. And Goon: Last of the Enforcers doesn’t disappoint.
Ooh yah. Dud-ola.
Tonally, the film is all over the ice. The hockey sequences zip along but first-time director Jay Baruchel (a Seth Rogen crony; he was in Knocked Up and This is the End) flips between bloody face-offs, sports-center aggrandizing, and sentimental domestic moments so randomly that the film fails to find any kind of rhythm. Baruchel has a recurring and, thankfully, small role as Doug’s best bud Pat—he’s repulsive. Fleshing out the name performers are Alison Pill (Scott Pilgrim vs. the World) as Doug’s pregnant wife Eva, Elisha Cuthbert (Fox TV’s 24) as Eva’s girlfriend Mary, and Liev Schreiber (X-Men Origins: Wolverine) as a former hockey pro, Ross Rhea, who teaches Doug to fight with his left after the coach’s son (Wyatt Russell, Kurt and Goldie’s kid) relegates Doug and a dodgy right shoulder to a short-lived career selling insurance.
While Scott himself isn’t the worst thing in the film—Dougie’s darling dimwittedness generates an occasional chuckle—it’s not exactly a performance he should feel, you know, proud of. And it does beg the inevitable question: Dude, Where’s My Career?
(c) 2017 David N. Butterworth