Little Fockers

Hey, did you know that the name "Focker" sounds quite a bit like a certain dirty word? Y'know, that's kinda funny. Because it's just a one letter-replacement away from being "fucker," and that's a naughty curse. That really is rather humorous, is it not? It certainly was in "Meet the Parents," a Jay Roach-directed comedy made in Y2K. And just over a decade later, they've beaten this once-amusing joke into a coma and eventually death, upon which they're now digging into its grave, busting open its coffin and thrusting their fists into the corpse's festering skull, pummelling it into a pile of dust that's barely even visible.

"Little Fockers" is the second sequel of the "Focker" franchise, following a mediocre 2004 second installment entitled "Meet the Fockers." The parents-in-law have been met, the Fockers have been met, and now it's time for an introduction to some nose-picking little devils. No, not the filmmakers.

Gaylord "Greg" Focker (Ben Stiller, "Greenberg") and his wife Pam (Teri Polo, "The Hole") now have two four-year-old twins, Henry (Colin Baiocchi, "Couples Retreat") and Samantha (Daisy Tahan, "Then She Found Me"). Born three minutes apart, the siblings have their fifth birthday coming up soon, with Greg and Pam making preparations for the big day while trying to find a school for the cheeky toddlers.

Meanwhile, Pam's ex-CIA-agent-of-a-father, Jack Byrnes (Robert De Niro, "Raging Bull"), has just defibrillated himself out of cardiac arrest (ha ha, heart attacks are funny). Realising he's old and creaky (almost as much as this franchise), Jack appoints Greg the "GodFocker," making the male nurse feel more responsible for his dysfunctional family. So touching.

The film also strains to piece together a plot in which Jack suspects that Greg is having an affair with a new colleague hilariously named Andi Garcia (Jessica Alba, "Machete"). Staying over for the party with his wife Dina (Blythe Danner, "The Last Kiss"), Jack follows Greg around and tries to figure out whether or not his son-in-law really is an adulterous git.

"Little Fockers" is barely able to stay alive for half its running time with such a thin plot as this. Hardly even a film, it goes from one awkward situation to another with no real sense of a storyline or point, with scenes amateurishly stitched together to make for a 98-minute feature. The end result is, of course, a clumsily crafted mess and a sad reminder of what once was.

Greg's parents, Bernie (Dustin Hoffman, "The Graduate") and Roz (Barbra Streisand, "The Mirror Has Two Faces"), are thrown into the proceedings, yet serve no purpose. Bernie is in Spain, learning the Flamenco, while Roz is hosting a TV show called "Sexpress Yourself." Their appearances are purely time-fillers and joke-sparkers, driving the plot in no way, shape or form. They are there, but I questioned why. Pay checks, maybe?

De Niro looks to be a mixture of embarrassment and tired boredom, far from his days of pointing guns at mirrors and smashing Joe Pesci through household furniture. The mole on his right cheek looks more enthusiastic than the "Taxi Driver" star as he sighs and huffs his way through scene after scene of ham-fisted gags, jumping into a ball pit and getting his penis stabbed with a needle.

His rivalry with Stiller's character is restrained until Jack's paranoid instincts kick in once again, their relationship slipping back into past territory. Greg's the same-old stumbles-into-blunderous-predicaments goof, trying to impress his hard-ass papa-in-law by having everything in control. Writers John Hamburg ("I Love You, Man") and Larry Stuckey ("Elling") reanimate stale jokes between these two from the previous "Focker"s, annoyingly pushing the "I'm watching you" gag to the extreme. Guys, think of something new.

The film's humour has been reduced to the sickening stench of a blocked toilet, almost each and every scene smothered with vomit and sex gags, erections and enemas. Children fart and men get buried under piles of sand, but audiences are guaranteed to be left as po-faced as Jack.

Without any point to it or any reason to exist, "Little Fockers" is plotless drivel. With Jay Roach (director of the first two "Focker" flicks) only producing this time round, and Paul Weitz ("About a Boy") in the director's chair, this groan-worthy threequel will not please any fans. It's not funny, it's not likable, and it's not the least bit good. Fock off. In fact, you know what? Fuck off.

3/10