As a movie on its own, the Farrelly Brothers' Three Stooges does not work. As a tribute by way of imitation, it works only about as well as when a dog starts howling along with someone singing. It's loud and tone-deaf, and though it's kind of funny what it's trying to do, you can't help but pray it would stop within the span of a YouTube clip. Watching trailers for the film makes the 1995 Brady Bunch Movie suddenly seem inspired. At least when that paid homage to a bygone relic, it had a bizarre self-awareness and a slightly more strongly-implied subplot of inherited mental illness. The Three Stooges is just an uncomfortable, misguided love letter that shouldn't be shown to anyone--the result of a group of people gulping down the Stooge oeuvre, letting it filter through their system, and excitedly sniffing at the odious Stooge farts they produce. Quite literally:
You know, the more I see of his quick temper and bumbling, the less confident I am that Moe should be the one handling my investment future.
(Yeah, that's Moe.)