If nothing else, you’ve got to give John Cena credit for trying to single-handedly resurrect the 2000s gross-out comedy boom all by himself, lugging around an avalanche of bodily-fluids jokes on his impossibly broad shoulders without breaking a sweat. Whatever was memorable about 2024’s “Ricky Stanicky”—Peter Farrelly’s attempt at recapturing the proudly crass dirtbag energy of the movies he used to direct with his brother Bobby Farrelly—was mostly due to Cena, a performer who, to his immeasurable credit, remains allergic to vanity, even in superhero fare. See: “The Suicide Squad.”
We’re also at something of a revival point for this type of humor. After all, there’s a “Jackass” sequel and a “Scary Movie” reboot currently playing in multiplexes, and even something like this year’s oddball curio “The Napa Boys,” with its defiantly tasteless gags about projectile excrement and public inebriation, seems explicitly indebted to the crude cinematic yukfests of yore. Whereas “Jackass: Best and Last” is a nonstop barrage of self-harm mixed with a wistful clip show, and the new “Scary Movie” is undone by its own reactionary need to “trigger” the sensibilities of younger viewers, something like the new Netflix comedy “Little Brother” exists in a sweet spot between those two registers. While parts of the film are every bit as disgusting as a vintage Tom Green bit, there’s an underlying, good-natured sweetness to the endeavor that makes the end result go down easy.
Cena embodied the proverbial stink in the room in “Ricky Stanicky”—the idiot that others couldn’t help but hate, until they learned to love him—but as evidenced by his performance in “Little Brother,” he’s equally equipped to handle straight-man duties. This holds especially true when Cena is allowed to play off none other than Eric André in full gonzo-lunatic mode. Helmed by “Ingrid Goes West” director Matt Spicer, “Little Brother” is boosted by the kind of lowbrow, high-concept hook that studios used to greenlight without hesitation decades ago: a stiff square’s perfect existence comes undone when an uncouth slob crash-lands into his life. It’s an evergreen premise that has powered everything from John Hughes’ seasonal holiday classic “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” to Adam Sandler’s critical villain-turned-deserved cult favorite “Jack and Jill,” and by sheer virtue of the collective willpower of the film’s stars, gosh darn it, the formula works in “Little Brother,” too.
Working from a script by “Yes Man” writers Jarrad Paul and Andrew Mogel, Spicer wastes no time establishing his movie’s setup. Cena is Rudd Landy, a handsome, somewhat uptight realtor with a seemingly perfect life: a gorgeous and understanding wife, played by Michelle Monaghan, who is given much more to do here than in your average bro comedy, even if that “something” involves eating her husband’s ass on the side of the road; a house in the suburbs; and the respect of his peers. Well, actually, maybe we’re not so sure about the respect part. After all, Rudd has to live in the looming shadow of his macho d-bag of a brother, Josh, played by Christopher Meloni, having a grand ol’ time as an absolutely horrible guy, who’s an even bigger success in the cutthroat real estate market than Rudd is.
The thing is, Rudd’s always had a loving little brother—just not a biological one. Meet Marcus, a walking red flag whom the “Bad Trip” star embodies with every ounce of his signature, shameless flop-sweat mania. Rudd and Marcus met when they were kids, when Rudd mentored Marcus as part of a Big Brother/Little Brother program. Rudd mostly chalks their boyhood friendship up to just that, whereas Marcus—well, to say he hasn’t forgotten about Rudd would be something of an understatement.
You can probably see where all this is going. Marcus gracelessly crashes the proverbial party, invading Rudd’s life and privacy in ways that would drive any sane person up the wall. And, as is often the routine in these sorts of comedies, the proverbial rub ends up being that people actually like Marcus, much to Rudd’s chagrin. Despite his buffoonish exterior, there’s something undeniably charming about the guy, much of which is owed to André’s performance, which balances the cringe-inducing desperation that the comic is known for with warmer notes that hint at a range we may not have yet seen from him. André sells the movie’s emotional beats just as well as he delivers a mid-movie digression about how much he loves the band Hoobastank, and without the slaphappy bromantic chemistry he shares with Cena, it’s possible that “Little Brother” might not work at all.
The best bits in “Little Brother” are possessed by an anarchic, surreal edge, such as a drug-trip sequence that allows Cena to stretch his considerable gifts for physical comedy to their breaking point. Better yet, it’s the kind of movie that allows you to imagine its stars playing off each other in a variety of vehicles, Abbott and Costello-style. We’d happily watch Cena and André in at least a few more of these gleefully dumb vehicles, particularly with a more-than-capable filmmaker like Spicer at the helm.
Boosted by spirited, often-hilarious supporting turns from a cast of certified funny people—Ego Nwodim, Sherry Cola, and Caleb Hearon—“Little Brother” is better than anyone tuning in for another mindless streaming comedy would have any right to expect. It’s not going to break the mold for these sorts of movies, but it does include a scene where André projectile-urinates out of the window of a moving car that is, in its way, as funny as anything in a classic “Jackass” movie. Here, Spicer is smart enough to keep building off the gag without venturing into overkill: first, Marcus pisses out the window, then the window shatters, then a truck flies by and takes the entire passenger-side door off. If reading this makes you laugh, maybe “Little Brother” is for you. [B/B-]
