Considering the extreme depths of my affection for Apatow (not!), Michael Cera (ha!), and fat people (pfft!), I had no intention of seeing this film, even though certain of my friends (who love Apatow, Cera, and fat people) went to see it opening day. And yet, on a six hour trans-Atlantic flight, a bad movie becomes incredibly enticing.
What surprised and disappointed me, though, is that this movie isn't really any different than any of the other adolescent-males-running-amok-in-hopes-of-sexual-activity movies that have, over the years, become classics, from Fast Times at Ridgemont High to American Pie, except that the characters wear indie polo shirts with cargo shorts instead of members only jackets or Abercrombie baseball caps. As much as I detested Knocked Up, I did expect that between Apatow's lewd sense of comedy and Cera's awkwardness, something a bit more interesting than a Cops! farce would come to pass.
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