From the strip club bachelor party complete with some things I didn’t even think were allowed to be shown in theaters, to comments like “You can eat that ass when I’m done,” “We gonna get our dicks sucked,” and “I’m gonna go put a dent in that,” even down to smaller details like a women catching a baseball in her boobs and the fact that Donny’s ringtone is a girl moaning, That’s My Boy screams MISOGYNY in your face for 115 minutes.
But apart from what I would say are the movie’s two major themes – “Statutory rape is okay as long as the child is a boy and the teacher is hot” and “Women are to be treated worse than animals and are good for nothing but blowjobs” — there were moments clearly meant to shock you into nervous laughter that instead made my stomach lurch. For example, the obese middle-aged stripper hanging upside down on a pole pouring orange juice on herself. Then there was Adam Sandler jacking off to a picture of his son’s future grandmother-in-law, who later throws herself at him. (Naturally, because really, women like to be objectified and will just throw themselves at you when you treat them like a hole for your dick, which is another major theme in this movie.) Then, in a truly repulsive move I am horrified that I saw coming from the second Leighton Meester overzealously greeted her brother, they threw in some casual incest. Fanflippingtastic.
So, let’s talk about how many things this movie ruined for me—starting with jeans, because I inadvertently sat on a piece on gum at the theater and blame Adam Sandler for that too. There’s the AMC movie theater on 42nd Street, which is now tainted with the memories of this dreadful moviegoing experience. But more importantly, there’s “Lazy Sunday” and all of my other beloved SNL shorts, thanks to Andy Samberg. There’s Jess from Gilmore Girls, as Milo Ventimiglia (I was so in love with him that I knew that spelling off the top of my head) played Leighton’s brother. Yeah, the one she has sex with. Oh, it didn’t ruin “Ice, Ice, Baby” though, because somehow that role just seemed appropriate for Vanilla Ice.
I could discuss the racism (This comment actually gets said of housekeepers: “They aren’t from this country, so feel free to abuse the shit out of them”), the inordinate profanity, the odd frequency with which people get into fights and Adam Sandler hits someone over the head with a beer bottle, the glorification of alcoholism, or a myriad of other repugnant factors. Honestly, I could go on for pages. But I think my thoughts on That’s My Boy can be summed up by saying truly, I don’t know how anyone involved in the making of it can sleep at night.