The Boss (1/10)

by Tony Medley

Runtime 90 minutes.

Not for children.

This threatens to give nepotism a bad name. Melissa McCarthy gave her husband, Ben Falcone, his first directing gig with the deplorable Tammy (2014) that was worse than awful, clearly the worst thing Melissa has ever done. Falcone admits that “We’re not very far removed from having to take any job that we can find…” Well, speak for yourself, Ben. You’re lucky you have a superstar wife, who can continue to bring in the bacon with talented filmmakers.

But Melissa is going to have to realize that a lot of her success depends not on her talent alone, but on good material and working with good people. Junk like Tammy and this (which was also written by Falcone and McCarthy) just does not cut it.

In this, McCarthy plays a crude, profane business woman who has gone to jail and come out with nothing. When she tries to get back in the game she discovers that everyone hates her. She prevails upon Kristen Bell, who also does not like her, to allow her to live with Kristen and her daughter, Ella Anderson, for a while, and things go from bad to worse.

This is bubbling over with hackneyed story lines, like the little girl who is sophisticated and wise beyond her years. I’m getting sick of that character, the 13 year old child who is the adult and the adults who are children, that is appearing in more and more movies nowadays.

The so-called humor is basically limited to frank discussions of men performing sex acts on other men. The two Chardonnay females sitting next to me were rollicking in laughter every time McCarthy discussed this. Sorry, but shocking, frank discussions of sex acts, that would never have found their way into films back in the good old days of the ‘30s-‘50s when F-bombs and tawdry language were verboten, are neither funny nor humorous and are inadequate substitutes for actual humor. And I am, frankly, sick to death of hearing women mouth F-bombs. If they think that developing foul mouths is what women’s liberation is all about, they are sadly mistaken. Women are better than that. Men aren’t yet, but it does give men something for which to aspire. But when you can neither write nor direct with wit and style, that’s what you’re left with, a gift from Judd Apatow, the patriarch of today’s vulgarians.

As I’ve said of other movies like this, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that it’s only 90 minutes long; the bad news is that it is 90 minutes long.

I’ll close with a personal note to Melissa. Forget writing, directing, and producing. Let those be done by people with those talents. Stick with acting. That worked for Cary Grant and Irene Dunne and the other comedians of Hollywood past. It will work for you, too.