It’s as if everyone realized Jonah Hill, quickly nearing 30 and shocking skinniness, would soon find his “fat, lovable pre-graduate” days behind him, and everyone scrambled to toss together a spiritual Superbad sequel before it was too late. It’s as if all anyone in the Fox offices could find was some dusty spec script from an unknown comedy writing duo, and just shrugged and said “fuck it.” It’s as if David Gordon Green was simply moping around after the failure of Your Highness, willing to take whatever big-budget comedy bone got tossed in his direction. True or not, these are the kind of circumstances that might explain The Sitter, a messy and toothless attempt at a ticking-clock comedy that leaves a typically hilarious actor floundering while the typically talented director is busy clumsily trying to duct tape his sensibilities onto a mostly worthless script. There’s enough talent involved that–if only by virtue of sheer inertia–the film is not entirely without laughs, but “consistently chuckle-worthy” probably isn’t the pullquote anyone was looking for…

In Superbad, remember Seth’s plan for his first night with Jules? “I had like, a general outline, you know? I was gonna go down on her for, like, several hours. She would love that, she would be smitten by that.” Well, we meet our hero Noah Griffith while he’s molars-deep between the legs of a girl named Marisa, who soon makes it clear she only values his company for his exceptionally refined talent for various ‘linguses. Here’s where it might occur to you that Seth did in fact pull the trigger on his romance plan, made a career of it in college and ultimately morphed into Noah: a college stall-out who’s moved back in with his Mom, lives a life filled with no apparent friends, and only manages an occasional whiff of action by donating unreciprocated oral sex to whatever scatter-brained party girl will have him.

This set-up is decent enough, but right away it plants the tone of the humor firmly in the zone of mushy-mouthed throwaway ad-libs that fill so many post-Apatow/Mottola comedies. Obviously Hill is a pro in that arena, but unfortunately there’s nobody in this movie capable of bouncing off of or fueling him, so from the first scene The Sitter is a steady stream of Hill admirably attempting to deliver one-liners that ring out in humor vacuum. One could say he’s tossing shit out to see what sticks, except the movie provides no wall for any of it to stick to!

Quickly into the flick Noah gets guilted into babysitting a trio of cartoonish children–one’s a lil gangsta, one’s a lil prozac case, and one’s a lil celebrity slut–and then gets a call from Marisa, who dangles the sex carrot in front of his face while asking for him to pick up a little coke “for her friend.” The plot then explodes into a tickling clock scenario that brings in Sam Rockwell as a crazy drug-dealing villain, and sends the three kids and their shitty babysitter all around New York City. From there a plot develops that at times juxtaposes pre-teen children against large amounts of coke and a gang of oiled-up bodybuilders, and yet somehow manages to be completely benign. This is largely because there is never even an ounce of presumption that any of the children are in any particular danger, and no violence or drug activity feels real. The plot is also an inconsistent mess that goes from being overly simplistic to out-of-control from one scene to another. It’s as if every attempt to pad out the wafer-thin plot to feature length resulted in story fibrillation that requires the movie to be routinely (and clumsily) shocked back on track.  Mix this with the truly weak-sauce application of David Gordon Greenisms across the film and you’re left with a big disappointing lump.

While the screen is filled with pros (Hill, Rockwell, Smoove) and rookies (Max Records, Landry Bender, and Kevin Hernandez) alike giving it their all, the script simply scrapes too little comedy butter over too much bread. Even Gordon Green’s unique touches serve the movie worse than were it just a fully bland studio effort, as the trippy transitions and smearing of classic hip-hop read as forced window dressing rather than fresh energy. Not to mention these flourishes peak with the opening credits (Slick Rick atop post-production-created camera moves and spins) and lose their vibrancy as the film goes on and the time-lapses wear thin. Green’s instincts for wry drama kick in to replace them, but it’s all undercooked sap that sucks up way too much screentime as a character with no believable sense of wisdom has to sit and deliver sermon after sermon to these kids, who are themselves trite stereotypes. None of it is the result of any earned character arc, and some of it (especially a scene where Noah has to reassure a recently self-realizing homosexual character) makes it clear that it’s not the characters themselves, but the screenwriters who are unequipped to handle meaningful exchanges of  insight. They also forget to pay off any character arcs that might actually matter, with the all-important kids having only the briefest scene (featuring only two of the three) that suggests their dynamic has been improved by the night’s adventures. Were this any semblance of a dark comedy with an inverted moral compass that would be fine, but it’s definitely going for earnestness at the heart of it all.

None of this would be a big deal except many of the films in this genre have aimed at hitting a little relatable emotional subtext and actually succeeded, or they’ve managed to take silly comedic adventures and interrupt them with believable flashes of danger. You would expect David Gordon Green to be able to pull this off, but instead the film repeatedly grinds to a halt to unload emotional dumps, simply because there’s no other place in the plot where such a scene would fit. It’s also worth nothing that The Sitter handily manages to steal the 2011 trophy (from Thor) for “Most Unearned, Unbelievable, and Uninteresting On-Screen Romance,” and may well be a contender for worst of the decade, perhaps worst of all time in a comedy. There are plenty of other nits to pick, but this isn’t the kind of cynical comedy that makes you hate it for existing. Rather, you’re just left wondering what the hell everyone was thinking.

I’d like to say there are bright spots when Sam Rockwell shows up–or when Green gets to go a little nuts with creating the oiled-up bodybuilder dungeon that is Rockwell’s lair–but really you just keep waiting for him to escape with even a funny line worth his time, and it never comes. No, really the only bright spots are the (admittedly plentiful) moments when Jonah Hill is able to land a stellar one-liner amidst all the clunk, and it gets you laughing like you’d hoped you would for the entire film. I expect extremely lowered expectations will serve this well, but I’ll bet a dinosaur egg filled with coke that in four years The Sitter won’t be on anyone’s mind, save for those cashing the residual checks.

Rating:

Out of a Possible 5 Stars