There’s a point in my notes that says ‘And then they get caught!’, reflecting a classic trope of sitcoms, someone doing something they shouldn’t, like when your mom walks in right as you’re looking at tumblr for the first time, or killing a hobo. For the first time. Thing is, can’t remember what this particular note was in reference to. And that pretty much sums up the experience of Blended: waiting a long time for it to be over, and then it being over. It’s inert, but so much that you’d notice.

It’s obvious why I saw it, or it should be. It’s the same reason you might be reading this (hmm, that’s an interesting question for the blog age. No one is reading this, but someone might. Schrödinger’s Reader? Maybe his T.A.), for the feeling of accomplishment of having done so. It’s sort of like a thrill seeker. I’ve seen Jack and Jill, I’ve seen What to Expect When You’re Expecting, I’ve seen Berlin Alexanderplatz. In terms of film going, I’ve sky-jumped off a balloon into a mount Everest made of tiger sharks. The only thing left to assuage my ennui are the films that offer nothing at all. Seeing Blended is what happens after you’ve seen The Ravens of the world, because it’s not in the slightest way funny or weird, and so slight, it couldn’t even get made in the 90s.

Yet, as always, I get something out of it. First of all, the audience loved it, but they were totally retarded. Nope, I’m leaving that in. You see, it’s half term, and the Downs View School for Special Educational Needs was taking a field trip. No, really. It the kind of thing that actually happens to me when I see films. And if you’re going to see an Adam Sandler movie…

So the experience was enjoyable, sure, but then there’s the film itself. You would think that jokes about aged (pronounced age-ed) giant vaginas needing six tampons taped together would give you the potential for another Grown Ups 2. Like if you had an African guy going bug-eye at humping rhinos, look into the camera and say ‘That’s something you won’t see in New Jersey.’

Amos wept.

Andy was very well spoken.

All this should make this a very strange film indeed. But instead it simply exudes tepidity. That’s too strong. ‘Has?’ ‘A negligible amount of?’ Since it’s a film about a wacky trip to Africa, it naturally spends fifty minutes without mentioning said continent (because, by the way, it’s much less offensive to use the continent as a placeholder than it is to actually pick a country), and when it does, two minutes later, our character are there, lightly squabbling.

Where? Well, would it surprise you to learn that the title refers to a resort that caters to couples with step children, hence the title. And the song.

There’s a song.

It’s called “Love is a Many Blended Thing.”

Possibly the rarest thing under the firmament.

But it wouldn’t surprise you, because surprise is a feeling. There’s sense you get watching the film that you start to miss cliché, which at least produces something. It’s a staple of romcoms that a secret will be revealed and people will break apart only to be united. And that happens because it has to, but the underlying tension watching this film is that you have missed something that would cause some tension. You keep trying to find the cliché when, alas, there is none to be found. He doesn’t know that she killed his mom’s hobo for example. Generally genres run on people not knowing something, then knowing it. You can’t just break up ‘because I can’t’ (actual dialog, do not attempt), and then get back together at a baseball game (‘You have to show up for your kids…like him!!!!!’ – no, really. Actual dialog).

In fact, the only cliché the film manages is of the ol’ transformation and lesson learning variety. For example, Ms. Barrymore is really organized. Over the course of the film she finds a way…to be even more organized! It’s a very useful skill. Mr. Sandler, on the other hand, plays a grumpy old filmgoer, who almost, almost, gave up on cinema.

He doesn’t change.