It’s almost as if Sandler and his Happy Madison production company are baiting viewers, engaging them in a sadistic, decades-long thought experiment to see how many repellent films he can make before they turn on him. Even before afflicting theaters, they loom malevolently in the culture, serving as a dispiriting reminder of the low, low standards of the general public. Recent Sandler vehicles like Jack And Jill, That’s My Boy, Grown Ups, and Grown Ups 2 broadcast their awfulness with titles, premises, and posters that serve as chilling portents of terribleness to come. Adam Sandler has loudly, obnoxiously evolved into one of the most consistent performers alive, in that his films consistently beg to be considered when the worst films of any specific year are tallied.
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