When a Delta Tau Chi-wannabe frat, led
by party Poobah Teddy (Zac Efron), moves next door to thirty-something married-with-baby Mac (Seth Rogan) and Kelly (Rose Byrne), hijinks ensue. It’s about the most
basic comedic premise possible, and NEIGHBORS, from GET HIM TO THE GREEK
director Nicholas Stoller, is happy to traipse through it with an effortless,
carefree abandon that makes for a quick, bright, one-and-done comic trifle as
watchable as it is unmemorable.
Marketed as Rogen vs. Efron, the
film is content to be precisely that, pitting rote versions of each actor’s
public stereotypes – the latter’s droll, shrugging schlubbery and the former’s
chiseled, entitled douchefulness - against one another in a series of
escalating pranks and asinine subterfuge.
At its best, the film features
several inspired and absurd sequences of physical comedy, including an
escalating series of the airbag gags featured in the trailer, and a flailing,
prop-enhanced brawl between the two leads. Stoller also excels at visually
capturing the booze-sopping, drug-fueled mayhem of the frat’s near-nightly
ragers. It’s not quite ENTER THE VOID, but the camerawork is kinetic enough to
convey bombastic energy, pulling backward out of bongs, weaving amid gyrating,
sweaty flesh, and plunging through strobe lights and pot smoke.
(Comedy-wise, Efron earns his keep, but my favorite of the frat pack is Jerrod Carmichael as Garf, whose intermittent kush-slushed interjections are stoner comedy gold.)
Unfortunately, the momentum doesn’t
carry over into the domestic scenes, which are necessarily blander in their
visual presentation, but which also aren’t particularly funny. Byrne isn’t
a comedic dynamo, but when placed among the frat brahs, she spits enough
firecracker charm to pop through profane comic setpieces. When it’s just her
and Rogan, though, the laughs humor starts to sputter. A bit in which their
baby teethes on a condom, and another where the couple must creatively
compensate for a busted breast pump are particularly uninspired.
It’s not just a lack of
chemistry between Rogan and Byrne. The pseudo-dramatic scenes between the frat brothers, particularly
those involving Teddy and chapter Vice President Pete (David Franco), feel a bit
logy. In what feels like a hasty misapplication of Apatow comedy
principles, NEIGHBORS is intent on purveying meaningful emotional resonance.
And it couldn’t be clumsier.
The film is easy to understand –
both the Greeks and the newlybreds are families in flux. For the frat, the
couple are a harbinger of college mortality – the commuting, suburban,
lawn-mowing cuckoo affixed to a swiftly tightening spring inside a relentless
clock counting down the final minutes of party time. For the couple, the frat
is as much a threat to their new family’s sleep schedule as it is an unwelcome
object of unhealthy youthful nostalgia for a lifestyle they’re just coming to
terms with losing.
It’s a welcome subtext - I like that
the NEIGHBORS doesn’t lock Rogan and Efron into a lazy dichotomy. - but it’s not
a subtle one. And certainly not one that, once both warring parties are imbued
with some measure of relatability, warrants further reinforcement. So when the
film stops to establish that Pete dreams of being an architect, or that Terry
is secretly depressed by his lack of direction, or for Mac and Kelly to have a screaming argument, it doesn’t create welcome, artful depth - it impedes upon
the expected stupid fun.
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