Levin's rendering of a literary and ever-surprising New York touches Woody Allen levels, even as he slyly shifts the tone from near-farcical to elegiac, with references to Truffaut's "Jules and Jim.". The movie lurches from one gross-out scene to another, flipping the bird at continuity and logic. It honestly seems as if Sandler and his team descended on a random suburb, halfheartedly improvising and moving on when they got bored.. It's as much a triumph of boyish wish fulfillment as Peter Parke...
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