Review: Game Over, Man!

Let’s hope there are no extra lives

Die Hard doesn’t really need any sequels, but because Bruce Willis is still working, we’ll probably get at least one more anyway, in between Death Wish and Sixth Sense revivals. But, if the creators and stars of Workaholics were to pitch a Die Hard knockoff comedy, starring themselves, apparently executives at Netflix would be hard pressed to not say YES, have money NOW.

For this is all Game Over, Man! is: it’s Die Hard meets Workaholics. And finally breaking free of the shackles that confined them on cable, the trio of Anders Holm, Adam Devine, and Blake Anderson seem to embrace the Netflix freedom with open arms, dropping f-bombs at a pace set to give Scarface a run for its money, and adding more gore than was ever necessary. Sometimes it’s comic, given the trio, and director Kyle Newacheck (Workaholics co-creator and co-star, Karl) are clearly working to make this movie as ridiculous as it could possibly be. But when people start having their face carved off in layers with meat slicers, or tiny dogs explode in pools of blood, they risk taking the gag too far and alienating large swaths of an audience that probably had no idea what it was in for.

Game Over, Man!
Director: Kyle Newacheck
Rated: R
Release Date: March 23, 2018

Alexxx (Devine), Darren (Holm), and Joel (Anderson) are maids, no—cleaners—no, hotel specialists—no, dudes who work for an upscale hotel in Los Angeles, possibly cleaning, but more likely smoking salvia or dreaming of bigger and better things.

Suddenly, things get complicated when an internet celebrity and trust fund baby (possibly based on Dan Bilzerian) comes to their hotel, thus drawing the attention of a ruthless gang of criminals who lock the Nakatomi (let’s just roll with the blatant paralleling) building down and take all the guests and employees hostage. Except for our three maids, who somehow avoid capture with the pure ineptitude of the three stooges.

Game Over, Man! feels like a self-contained ode to all things Workaholics and its creators. Directed by Newacheck and written by Holm, random comedians, celebrities, and public figures show up in every other scene and one can easily imagine these guys being out at various parties and dropping a line like “Yeah, Netflix gave us millions of dollars to make a movie—want to be in it? It’ll be hilarious. It’s Die Hard, starring us. And funny.” It’s their usual material taken much further than ever before.

At times, it works brilliantly, like when Alexxx, Darren, and Joel start firing pistols “near” each other. But a creepy hotel manager (Daniel Stern) seems to exist in stark contrast to everything that’s been unfolding with the #metoo movement and is dramatically out of place, even when his dick is cut off to flop about on screen. Sure, the end result is fitting, but why even go there if not to just get away with cutting off a dick onscreen. Fair warning, it’s only one of two dicks that share ample screen time with the stars.

And there’s other boundary pushing beyond exploding puppies and dick decapitations. If you’re expecting casual comedy, this is not it. It’s OK to push boundaries, but usually doing so deserves an impetus. Without one, it just seems like a running list of “what can we spend this money?” on moments that budgets and cable censors previously got in the way of.

I love the premise, I love the crew, and I continue to love their random brand of comedy and execution, but something’s missing here.