Adam Sandler does not make it easy for the critic. With a couple exceptions (i.e., P.T. Anderson's "Punch-Drunk Love"), Sandler has, since the mid 90's, offered up myriad variations on his man-child shtick in a string of badly directed and horribly acted movies, all of which showcase relentless, pea-brained humor that appeals to the lowest common denominator. These films earn gobs of money, with Sandler doing everything he can to get a laugh short of sneaking into the theater to tickle each of us personally. And even though Sandler's movies - let's recap - kind of suck, his naïve zeal is tough to trash and nearly impossible to resist.
Sandler both busts and bares his ass to play the title character in "You Don't Mess With The Zohan," a reliably unsubtle comedy about a deadly Israeli commando who nurtures a secret dream of becoming a hair stylist. After some silly exposition that establishes Zohan's many skills (tactical, culinary, disco) and introduces his Palestinian archenemy The Phantom (John Turturro, the go-to guy for quality ethnic ambiguity), Zohan fakes his own death and wings his way to New York City, ancient Paul Mitchell portfolio in hand. Zohan's fantasies of making hair "silky-smooth" land him a chance in a salon run by the lovely Palestinian Dalia (Emmanuelle Chriqui, E's now-ex on "Entourage"), where good ol' chutzpah fuels his large following among older ladies in the market for a cut, color, and screw. (Co-stylist Alec Mapa's non-reactions to the trembling wall of hair care are funny every damn time.)
A legend in his home country, Zohan mostly keeps his identity under wraps until he's spotted by a cab driver (necessary evil Rob Schneider) harboring a goat-based grudge. Zohan's past of course catches up with him, leading to a showdown with The Phantom and obvious commentary on tolerance (in favor of it!) once a mutual enemy pops up. Dennis Dugan's directing prowess is nothing to write home about, but now on his fourth Sandler film, the man sure knows his way around a sight gag. Tribe Hummus got its money's worth in the product-placement realm, Zohan may or may not be incubating a pterodactyl egg down the front of his acid-washed jeans, and all hail the strategic deployment of Lainie Kazan's lush butt.
At nearly two hours, things drag in the middle, and the success-to-failure ratio of the jokes might not be in our favor, but the deft cast of "Zohan" gamely tries to compensate. Sandler regular Nick Swardson swipes every scene he's in as Kazan's horrified son, and the charming Israeli actor Ido Mosseri makes the most of his turn as Zohan's well-meaning yet shifty sidekick. Sandler, who co-wrote the "Zohan" script with Judd Apatow and Robert Smigel, delivers yet again as the sweet simpleton, but this gifted actor is clearly a prisoner of his own success...and whatever mystery debt Schneider is lording over him. Settle it, already.
Tom Collins' gritty "Kings" follows in the footsteps of Lawrence Kasdan's "The Big Chill" (or John Sayles' "Return of the Secaucus Seven") in that it employs a plot device that brings old friends together to reminisce and rage, mourning the idealism they abandoned once life happened. Ireland's Oscar submission last year for Best Foreign-Language Film - it's in Gaelic - "Kings" unfolds following the suicide of an Irish emigré in London, watching as his best mates try to cope with the painful aftermath.
The lads came to London looking for work, and we see their varied present-day circumstances, as well as flashback hints as to what might have driven them apart. Irish character actor Colm Meaney ("Layer Cake") is the most recognizable actor here, playing a successful builder consumed with guilt over what he could have done to save poor Jackie, but the film belongs to Donal O'Kelly as Jap, a nasty alcoholic quick to blame others for his failures. It's one of the more honest performances I've seen lately, free of the redemption or revelation that the movies seem to think the audience requires to appreciate a film.