How Bigalow Can You Go?

This wholly unmerited and unwelcome sequel to 1999s reviled comedy Deuce Bigalow washes up on our shores with writer and star Rob Schneider owing considerable compensation to cinemagoers unlucky enough to see it under the ‘polluter pays’ principle. I emerged from his latest laugh-free effort with an immediate need to wash my eyes, having seen his ‘he-whore’ character relocate to Europe, or the stoned Amsterdam bit of it anyway, to track down a serial killer who is decimating the gigolo herd.

Clumsy, dim-witted Deuce along with his pimp and friend T.J. Hicks (the shrieking Eddie Griffin) try to track the immediately obvious killer involving a brief parade of grotesque female suspects and you can figure out the rest for yourself. Troublingly, during his tiresome investigations Deuce meets a woman with a penis instead of a nose. You don’t want me to describe what happens when she, inevitably, sneezes. Having said that, if you are the kind of person who finds that unlucky image funny, then it’s safe to say you’re not reading this. Or anything else for that matter. But Schneider thinks it’s hilarious that this condition is a result of the Chernobyl nuclear accident, so stupid and offensive doesn’t come into it; this primordial thing is like something you’d scrape off your shoe.

The only good thing is that, at a merciful 75 minutes, it would appear to have had about a quarter of its childish skits excised by somebody with a sharp scissors and a lingering trace of humanity. My own act of compassion would be to bundle every existing reel of this awful film into a sack, leaving plenty of room for Schneider, and bury it, at night and in secret, at the bottom of the ocean. This unimaginative, mean-spirited effluent does not deserve to exist as a film and most certainly doesn’t deserve your attention.