Review of The Boss (2016) by Danielnites — 07 Apr 2016

Melissa McCarthy's noble quest to derail the comedy night train might have finally come to fruition with her latest effort The Boss. Helmed by her husband, Ben Falcone and written by both of them with friend Steve Mallory, this deafeningly constipated attempt at squeezing the funny from a cinder block lays down the framework for the decline of American comedy while reminding you that comedy without profanity and excess is exactly like a car without wheels.

The films plays out like an never-ending sketch not so dissimilar from Night at the Roxbury. It's the story of the darker side of girl power focusing on McCarthy's character Michelle Darnell, a ruthless high-powered corporate phenomenon who gets pitched thanks to her lover Renault (Peter Dinklage) for insider trading and lands it in the big house. After slumming it in white collar D block, she's released to find her assets seized and her home gone prompting her to shack up with her ex-assistant Claire (Kristen Bell) and her tween daughter Rachel (Ella Anderson).

Now partially-ruthless Michelle sees the opportunity to hatch a business scheme selling cookies using Claire's brownie baking skills after observing group of Girl Scouts partaking in a similar venture at Rachel's school. To make the story tumble forward, Michelle's new business "Darnell's Dandelions" is a booming success which, as expected, creates a bitter rivalry between the two groups. This is where the funny is suppose to happen as Michelle uses her R-rated super-gag arsenal to physically and emotionally incapacitate the competition and its many soccer moms. Backhanding minors and colorfully drawn F-bomb are only the tip of the iceberg. Towards the end, Renault pops in to proclaim his undying love for a Michelle incapable of completing her character arc, culminating with an out-of-left-field swordfight on a rooftop.

The Boss screams self-approval and aggrandizement at the top of its battered lungs as its excessively callous material points to clear differences between comedy brewed in one's basement and one vetted by thoughtful studio heads and established co-writers. As it throws vulgar buffoonery, dredged up from its bottomless cesspool, right past you, praying anything will stick, it will either having you wondering what you could've done with the money spent to get in or reminisce about your worse hangover yet.

If raw slapstick or overly physical humor is your thing, by all means. If not, price of admission pays for a month's Netflix and a 4 for 4 at Wendy's: dinner and at least 50 movies.