"I'd rather be watching a funeral."
That quote, stated by Stephanie after watching Dennis Quaid get hit in the head for about the 18th time, serves as a strong indictment of this most unnecessary of remakes, but sadly it's one of the nicest things one can say about the film.
Easily one of the 10 worst movies of the year, Yours, Mine, and Ours should be more aptly titled Suck, Suck, and Suck. Is there still a market for movies that feature little more than a bunch of young kids eating tons of sweets, splattering a house with paint, and hating each other? I figured such uncreative antics had run their course, but perhaps I was wrong. Or perhaps the people involved with this production simply had no better ideas.
"Were the writers even trying?" Stephanie asked me as Dennis Quaid got splattered with paint, fell in a pool of goo, and then tripped over a flatulent pig that, of course, eats at the family dinner table. "No, they weren't," I replied as I stared dumbfounded at the screen, shaking my head over the fact that the writers expect us to laugh about kids vomiting and then falling in it.
I suppose I should commend the movie for warning the audience right away just how bad a time they can expect to have if they attempt to sit through the full 90 minutes. If the "Nickelodeon Films" moniker fails to send up any red flags, then the fact that Dennis Quaid and Rene Russo (possibly the hottest 51-year-old woman on the planet) meet, rekindle their high school relationship, get engaged, get married, and buy a brand new house all within the first 10 minutes should seal the deal that it's in your best interest to sprint to the exit and ask for your money back.
There are two legitimately funny scenes in the movie, one involving Dennis Quaid brushing his tongue. Everything else has been done several times with equally unfunny results. "Oh look, Dennis Quaid's son has accidentally started up a forklift at the store! Oh look, Dennis Quaid just jumped on the forklift and his head is bumping against every box in the store! Oh look, Dennis Quaid's credibility can actually be seen leaking out of the screen!" That's what's considered funny these days?
And just when you think things can't get any worse, the writers decide to blindside us with an ending so ridiculously sappy that you'll be wishing you brought your trusty yellow bucket and you'll pray for an end to your dry heaving. I officially hate lighthouses now.
I suppose 10-year-old girls might enjoy this, but if you value your time or money then I recommend that you stay away. Far away. This is a movie so the opposite of hilarious that I'm forced to come up with a new word for it - lolarious (pronounced "low-larious"). Feel free to use the word amongst friends. Hopefully its popularity will spread and it will one day be added to the dictionary. At least then I could say one good thing came out of the film.
As it stands, Yours, Mine, and Ours ain't mine, I'm pretty sure you don't want it to be yours, and if we made it ours then we'd only end up arguing over who would be the one to get rid of it.
That quote, stated by Stephanie after watching Dennis Quaid get hit in the head for about the 18th time, serves as a strong indictment of this most unnecessary of remakes, but sadly it's one of the nicest things one can say about the film.
Easily one of the 10 worst movies of the year, Yours, Mine, and Ours should be more aptly titled Suck, Suck, and Suck. Is there still a market for movies that feature little more than a bunch of young kids eating tons of sweets, splattering a house with paint, and hating each other? I figured such uncreative antics had run their course, but perhaps I was wrong. Or perhaps the people involved with this production simply had no better ideas.
"Were the writers even trying?" Stephanie asked me as Dennis Quaid got splattered with paint, fell in a pool of goo, and then tripped over a flatulent pig that, of course, eats at the family dinner table. "No, they weren't," I replied as I stared dumbfounded at the screen, shaking my head over the fact that the writers expect us to laugh about kids vomiting and then falling in it.
I suppose I should commend the movie for warning the audience right away just how bad a time they can expect to have if they attempt to sit through the full 90 minutes. If the "Nickelodeon Films" moniker fails to send up any red flags, then the fact that Dennis Quaid and Rene Russo (possibly the hottest 51-year-old woman on the planet) meet, rekindle their high school relationship, get engaged, get married, and buy a brand new house all within the first 10 minutes should seal the deal that it's in your best interest to sprint to the exit and ask for your money back.
There are two legitimately funny scenes in the movie, one involving Dennis Quaid brushing his tongue. Everything else has been done several times with equally unfunny results. "Oh look, Dennis Quaid's son has accidentally started up a forklift at the store! Oh look, Dennis Quaid just jumped on the forklift and his head is bumping against every box in the store! Oh look, Dennis Quaid's credibility can actually be seen leaking out of the screen!" That's what's considered funny these days?
And just when you think things can't get any worse, the writers decide to blindside us with an ending so ridiculously sappy that you'll be wishing you brought your trusty yellow bucket and you'll pray for an end to your dry heaving. I officially hate lighthouses now.
I suppose 10-year-old girls might enjoy this, but if you value your time or money then I recommend that you stay away. Far away. This is a movie so the opposite of hilarious that I'm forced to come up with a new word for it - lolarious (pronounced "low-larious"). Feel free to use the word amongst friends. Hopefully its popularity will spread and it will one day be added to the dictionary. At least then I could say one good thing came out of the film.
As it stands, Yours, Mine, and Ours ain't mine, I'm pretty sure you don't want it to be yours, and if we made it ours then we'd only end up arguing over who would be the one to get rid of it.