Liam Neeson gives us all a little of what I think the world needs right now: Absolute silly, goofy behavior in a vivid screenplay. The witty lines we have all loved and missed dearly since the late Leslie Nielsen starred in the original television series “Police Squad!” (1982) and in the first movie of the trilogy, “Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!” (1988). And now, the franchise has been rebirthed and ever so slightly tweaked. Neeson does a decent job to capture the father-son legacy dynamic, as highlighted in the owl gimmick motif from beginning to end. I seem to recall the original as sporting a lot more physical theatre and humorous elements, such as the iconic driver’s ed scene with Stephanie (Winifred Freedman) and her middle finger, plus the questionable parking techniques from Drebin Sr. that surely could have benefitted from the instructor in the aforementioned classic scene.
Nonetheless, Drebin Jr. brings us down memory lane, imitating the mannerisms of his father with his own awkward twists. This movie wouldn’t be a “Naked Gun” without of course the love interest — this time, provided by Pamela Anderson, who shows striking confidence and seamless timing in the back-and-forth chemistry with Neeson that played out. Her classic late-1980s blowout also gives the film that nostalgic feel, despite its modernized elements. If one were to take this too far as a social commentary, you would be remiss. It is seems no secret that Richard Cane is supposed to be Elon Musk in all his capitalist Tesla–Space X glory and, although I enjoy these confrontational elements in most films, I think the beauty of the original franchise is that it lends itself to completely disconnecting from all logical reason.
The commentary on Danny Huston’s Richard Cane as Elon Musk seemed lackluster at best; on one hand, does a movie whose opening sequence features Liam Neeson infiltrating a bank robbery as a little girl require social commentary? If it does, then why not lean into the capitalist debauchery committed by Musk (or an unknown group of billionaires) and stand confident in making the jest? Commit to the jest. At first glance it’s comforting that our comedy movies agree on dethroning all billionaires, but on further reflection it seems like a hesitant and somewhat unnecessary jab with a sprinkle of Tesla product placement. Even in a world of self-driving cars, Drebin Jr. still fails to navigate his way through the city in a thrilling chase under the control of autopilot. Nevertheless, there are still plenty of good gags to reiterate the motif of his poor (and at times illegal) driving despite his ultimate execution of solving the crime at hand. If only the pace of events and the vivacity present in the middle and latter parts were as consistent in the plodding middle. Regardless of these missed opportunities, it still deserves credit, providing a much-needed call to all of us in a world of extremity: “let’s get retarded in here” (quoting Danny Huston) like it’s 1988!
