To say The Happytime Murders is a bad movie is offensive to all the filmmakers who actually put effort into making films before this.
Whether we’re talking Gigli or Glitter, the directors and actors in those films had more talent in their left pinkies than this whole cast — puppet or otherwise — cares to display during the entire run-time.
It’s 75 minutes of penis jokes, puppet sex and snorting imitation cocaine, and the only saving grace is that the film is barely longer than a CBC documentary. It puts us out of our misery before we’ve lost hope in the medium forever.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but Melissa McCarthy has ceased being funny for me. About four movies ago, she moved from a bold, foul-mouthed and fearless female comedic performer to a one-trick pony. And even the one trick up her sleeve is growing stale.
So to see her galavant the streets of a world where puppets and humans roam together — despite species tensions — and not even come up with anything new to bring to the table is disappointing.
It’s pretty sad when your film — with a bankable star and the son of Muppets creator Jim Henson at the helm — is only the second best puppet film with an elongated sex scene.
Team America: World Police did everything Happytime Murders did 15 years ago with a miniscule budget.
It fails as a social commentary, as a comedy, as a cop noir, as a satire and as any sort of think piece.
This film about a serial killer chasing down puppets commits the one biggest cinema sin: It gives the audience Zero reason to care about what’s on screen. It’s also about as funny as a trip to the dentist, and the delivery is just as painful.
Do yourself a favour, and do anything but watch this tragedy of a film.