72 HOURS

Two jokes. That's what I got out of this thing. Two jokes, and both of them earned a "hah" and nothing more. Not a laugh. Not even a solid chuckle. A hah.

Kevin Hart was doing Kevin things, and it did not land. That's the part that stings, because normally the guy is money when he's got somebody to bounce off of. Give him a scene partner and he finds the rhythm. Here? Nothing. The bouncing just stopped. Whatever usually clicks between him and the people around him never showed up.

It fell flatter than a piece of paper.

And it looked entertaining. It really did. That's the cruel part. The whole thing has the shine of a movie that's about to be fun, and then it just sits there.

It tried to be funny. It tried to be sweet. It fell flatter than a piece of paper.

Not one thing worked. I want to be fair here and find something, dig around for a moment that saved it, and I've got nothing. It's an entire film of swings that never connect.

The whole experience felt like Netflix wanted a movie on the shelf. Not a good one, not a memorable one, just a thing with a title and a runtime that fills a slot on the homepage. Boo to that. Genuinely. If you're going to put this many people in front of a camera, have a reason.

I watched it alone and I almost walked out on my own couch, which is a hell of a trick for a movie to pull off. Nothing stuck with me after. I couldn't tell you a single line I heard an hour later.

I won't be watching it again. If I recommend it at all, it's to a very specific kind of person, and I'm still not sure who that person is.

Skip it.