Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay
How does one review a movie where, by the opening credits, one of the main characters has delighted himself by jizzing on his own face? “The best scene of its kind since Shortbus!” I guess the only important question is if it is funny.
The proper answer would be sometimes, even if the jokes are all set up the same way. Character one believes that someone is being racist/sexist or is a thug/redneck. Character two turns out to be the complete opposite, despite their appearance. Character one is reassured. Character two then does exactly what their stereotype demands they do, and all faith in humanity’s predictability is restored.
Because the film plays it so safe like that, complete with the usual scenes of gay panic, its ability to be offensive dissipates into a sort of blissful banality, interrupted by scenes of abundant nudity, drug use, and Rob Corddry playing the world’s most paranoid and stupid federal agent. It renders the promising idea – implied within the title – moot, and the satire toothless, as Harold and Kumar are more worried about avoiding a cockmeat sandwich and reminding Cuban refugees just getting off their escape raft that they should get Tivo.