Sam Woolf: Unfinished Business
2015 has been an anemic year for comedies, especially considering how many of the duds have been non-sequels. While there’s very little you could point to as being original in Unfinished Business, the cast alone should have made for a serviceably bawdy business trip comedy (think The Hangover in slacks).
Instead, what we got was a string of derivatively smutty set-pieces and Xeroxed “ain’t Europe weird?!” gags. But it’s the treacly sentimentally of Unfinished Business that’s more disgusting than any of the body fluids on display. The film desperately wants you buy into the big softie hiding underneath its lifeless, joyless exterior.
Unfinished Business is like a boorish, aging fraternity brother who wastes time and oxygen trying to convince you, “No, really, I’m a good guy.” File it under NSFW: Not Safe for Watching.