By: Henry J. Fromage (Six Pack) –
Why haven’t you heard of this Patton Oswalt, Johnny Knoxville, Rob Riggle, and Patrice O’Neal starrer? Let me name the ways…
Nature Calls is an ingeniously and very tellingly-titled boy scout comedy where Oswalt and Knoxville are brothers, one who loves the boy scouts and one who hates them. Plot contrivance, lazy storytelling, just not giving a fuck later, and they have to save the forest or something. Who the fuck cares?
Well, I do like Patton Oswalt. Oh, and this was supposed to be Patrice O’Neal’s Hollywood breakout. Instead, it was his last movie.
The first beer goes to breaking really the only rule of comedy. Be funny. This is painfully, utterly unfunny. Kids plus curse words lots its edge two decades ago, folks. Try to bring something new to the table. At least you could laugh in childish wonder at how many bad decisions had to be made for something like Movie 43 to come to exist. This has no such silver lining.
You know, I never quite got why people hated on Rob Riggle so much. Sure, he’s a one trick pony, but that trick is alright in some situations. Never mind, I get it now. Good goddamn, I get it now.
Although meth head John Leguizamo (Eddie Rouse) gives him a run for the nails on a chalkboard-level annoyance money.
[Picture not found due to immediate career disappearance]
Something’s just off about this movie. It doesn’t feel quite like something a real human being would come up with. It’s like aliens acquired the 1960s Disney boy scout film Follow Me, Boys! and a copy of Drillbit Taylor and tried to bioengineer their own blockbuster comedy. Either that or there was no script at all and the actors were only given one take to improv what droll fuckery they could.
At one point, Riggle and Knoxville riff on a baseball broadcast that’s clearly a forty year old match-up of the California Angels and the Houston Colt 45s or some such incredibly aged nonsense and act like it’s a live game they’re betting on. Maybe the production couldn’t afford the rights to a more current baseball tape or something, but it’s painfully obvious and painfully lazy. The whole production’s operating at that effort level. With this many people phoning it in it’s small wonder U.S. cell service is still so shitty.
Colt 45s 4 Life, bitches.
When all else fails, add a pinch of misogyny here, a smidge of blasphemy there, a dribble of scatological humor everywhere, and ladle out one steaming serving right on your audience’s lap. Bon appetit!
Curiously, the principal goal of this movie seems to have been incurring the wrath of God with rampant, unclever blasphemy. Thankfully for them, not even he bothered seeing this.
Take a Drink: whenever a joke gets a little rape-y
Take a Drink: whenever they let the kids just wander around and yell random shit
Take a Drink: whenever you wish the world had a big enough cork for Rob Riggle’s mouth
Do a Shot: Blasphemy, I say!