In a time of contraction for many film genres, buddy action comedies have proliferated, particularly on the streamers, which are lousy with them. Most don’t have a compelling premise, but Luke Greenfield’s Playdate does. The buddies paired up here are Kevin James and Alan Ritchson, the former the rolly polly comic who has been in our lives since The King of Queens, the latter a sculpted adonis currently starring in the TV show Reacher. Their requisite adventures occur after a playdate goes pear-shaped, which means they’re each also hauling around a tween boy (Benjamin Pajak and Banks Pierce).

A situation like this calls for a “yes and” comedic improv mentality, but James is consummately a “no but” sort of actor. James is a frequent collaborator of Adam Sandler, and their niche in the comedy world is to act superior to whatever’s happening on screen, rather than showing themselves comically vulnerable. It’s a lazy and entitled look, insecurity covered up by an unappealing braggadocio. Sandler takes risks in his dramatic work, but his comic work reeks of laurel resting. James doesn’t have any dramatic work, so only the reeking part remains.

And Playdate reeks, despite Ritchson trying to make up for James’ deficits and ingratiating himself to us quite well in James’ absence. Given their differing contributions to the material, Playdate could go either way, but the deciding factor pointing it downward is the writing and directing. The references by screenwriter Neil Goldman are all to the pop culture of 30 years ago, when only James would have been an adult (Ritchson would have been 12), and Greenfield’s direction is hackish and oddly self-serving. In an example that illustrates the problems of both men, the two boys watch inappropriate movies on the backseat TV screen during a high-speed chase in a minivan, and those movies are Silence of the Lambs (1991), Boyz N the Hood (1992) and Greenfield’s own movie he directed in 2004, The Girl Next Door — the sort of wink that only works if you are a beloved personality with a filmography far better known than that of Luke Greenfield. Updating your references is a “yes and” act this movie is too lazy to undertake.

In a series of unbelievable and poorly staged events, forensic accountant Brian (James) is fired by the reprehensible bros who run his company for refusing to cook the books, while his partner, Emily (Sarah Chalke), suddenly mentions she has an old firm who wants her back. That puts Brian in a position to stay at home with her son, Lucas (Pajak), his stepson whose lacrosse team Brian also coaches. The most common dynamic here is that the kid hates the stepfather, and the stepfather steadily has to win his trust, but Lucas is quite different from that in a way that seems designed to convince us, unconvincingly, how innately loveable Brian is. Moony-eyed Lucas tells Brian he loves him and calls him “Dad,” while the only evidence of Brian’s behaviour toward Lucas is that he can’t even make the kid lunch and asks the kid to do it himself.

In adjusting to his new role, Brian meets a group of mums led by Isla Fisher who call themselves the “mama mafia,” and who all drive identical minivans. But the more promising new relationship is with Jeff (Ritchson), who is serving a similar role as Brian to his own son CJ (Pierce). Envying their more macho father-son dynamic – Jeff and CJ can whip a football back and forth while the more artistically inclined Lucas can’t catch any of Brian’s passes – Brian meets and strikes up a friendship with Jeff, a gregarious goofball who describes himself as a widower, but has an oddly flippant way of referring to his deceased wife that suggests there’s more going on here. Because James is, as mentioned previously, a “no but” performer, he again gets to go on the superior defensive to Jeff’s enthusiasm for the friendship. And their playdate quickly spirals when strange men appear who seem interested in killing Jeff or CJ or possibly both.

There’s a good idea here, with potential fruitful avenues to explore the challenges of adult men making new friendships, or taking on new domesticated roles to which they are unaccustomed in an economy where a lost job might not quickly be replaced. Since the thrust of the film is to get us to what the people allegedly want, car chases and shootouts, a film like this can distinguish itself in the design details along the way.

Playdate is utterly unequipped to do anything with this good idea, in large part due to how James is either unable or unwilling to put himself out there. It may just be that he’s unable, as James has now been on the scene for three decades and has been in a thousand dumb comedies that never asked much of him. At age 60 he should probably no longer be doing this. The writing does not help him out, as it is noticeable how certain joke structures are repeated throughout, and were never that good to begin with. When the loopy Jeff produces what he describes as a common saying, Brian will rejoin with “Literally no one has ever said that” – not once, but at least three or four times throughout the movie. Beyond the finer details of the dialogue, there are also big swings in the narrative that just don’t work — though I suppose the fact that they are big swings is something.

There’s one honest conversation halfway through Playdate where James’ character starts to address our accumulating qualms. Here he calls attention to our big red flag in terms of the screenwriting, that this kid who has not been his stepson very long calls him Dad and says he loves him. But calling out the artificiality of your setup through dialogue only means you were aware of it and could have done something about it. One honest conversation cannot save Playdate from its terminal lack of inspiration and effort.

 

Playdate is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.