Extract is so bad its rottenness becomes a source of fascination, which is a good thing, because there’s nothing else to sustain your interest while the 89 minute dud drags by. It’s all Mike Judge’s fault, that much is clear. He wrote and directed it as if he’d forgotten what he does for a living. Is he suffering from amnesia? Narcolepsy? Ketamine addiction? The malaise that afflicts so many Hollywood types with so much success and so few brains they wind up in the hospital suffering from “exhaustion”?
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I’m supposed to be reviewing The Hangover here, but the problem is I saw it when hung over and can’t remember much of it. That’s what you call “irony.”

(Manhattans and red wine, if you must know.)

I’d heard that this movie is so funny I’d be in convulsions over it, so I went in there hopeful, because personally I like to be convulsed with laughter, but after awhile I realized it wasn’t going to happen. Maybe my hangover was at fault; maybe the audience was one of those tough crowds and that put a damper on things; or maybe, just maybe, the movie drags like a half-detached muffler and for some reason nobody wants to mention it.
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