To me, few things are as annoying as being stuck in a conversation with a group of stoners who’ve spent most of the day tokin’ it up.
I wasted so much of my 20s hanging out with these 420-types, sitting bored in their thrift-store-furnished living rooms, desperately looking at my watch while the person who was usually my ride sank deeper and deeper into the couch as the thick whiffs of chronic sunk deeper and deeper into their lungs. They were all having a great time, laughing and joking as I prayed forcefully that, at that moment, Jesus would return to Earth and the rapture would take me up to heaven, just so I could have a decent enough excuse to get out of the situation.
In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have been such a sticky-icky in the mud and just peer-pressured myself into their world, eschewing my typical high-and-mighty jerkdom in favor of cannabis-drenched camaraderie. At least when the food cravings hit them, I’d be guaranteed a free meal of sorts. Puff, puff, pass me another slice of pizza, dudes!
The latest Seth Rogen/Evan Goldberg joint — pun fully intended — wistfully took me back to those days, and even better, reinstilled those feelings of virtuous denial I’ve repressed for so long. This Is the End is the cinematic equivalent of being stuck in a living room with a group of High Times subscribers who have plenty of money to burn and plenty of fart jokes to release. Yes, there is a twist to it all, but it seems more like an afterthought than an actual plot point.
Rogen (The Guilt Trip) and Jay Baruchel (Goon), playing exaggerated versions of themselves, are having a reunion of sorts and end up at a party at the house of James Franco (Spring Breakers). Surrounded by all of their Judd Apatow bros, including Craig Robinson (TV’s The Office), Jonah Hill (21 Jump Street), Michael Cera (TV’s Arrested Development), etc. — all playing even more greatly exaggerated versions of themselves — they party it up, smoke it up and throw it up, engaging in the type of rowdy ’n’ raunchy young Hollywood behavior that would make Kenneth Anger gasp and swoon with the vapors.
The twist comes when the biblical rapture strikes, sucking all of the good people up into heaven in a blue beam of light, leaving behind not only all of these superstar jerk-offs, but surrounding the party house in hellfire, rapist demons and Danny McBride (TV’s Eastbound & Down), who is the film’s true high point, admittedly bringing coughing-fit laughter every time he’s onscreen, thanks to his wickedly sharp, consistently assholish delivery and demeanor. Sadly, he leaves halfway through the movie.
The trouble is that as interesting as an idea as this all is, for about a good hour or so, it’s pretty much thrown on the floor of the backseat in favor of a constant barrage of continual semen jokes, gay jokes, masturbation jokes and, if that weren’t enough, rape jokes. So many rape jokes. Some at the expense of Emma Watson (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and Channing Tatum (Magic Mike), surely fulfilling someone’s fan-fic prophecies. But, in the end, it’s really just these dudes, hanging out, getting high and arguing over candy bars and porno mags, and getting paid to do it.