In a movie you'd swear has already been made, Ryan Reynolds lives an absurdly structured life full of specific lists and unchanging schedules--that is, until he misses a ferry and does something with a baby. Then he starts doing anything that would create slapstick comedy or appeal to males 18-35 (bar fighting, interacting with boobs).
I commend the director for attempting to make this a slightly mature film (more naturalistic lighting, not casting Jim Carrey in the lead), but any script that assumes streaking and bar brawls are hilarious only allows for so much dignity. And when the graphics department decides to stick on the same over-inflated crimson lettering used to title every awful comedy from License to Wed to Alvin and the Chipmunks to whatever Eddie Murphy is wearing a fat suit for, it's like a big, puffy red flag of text warning you to stay away.
Thanks to Kyle for inviting us to yet another low-brow, high-concept Ryan Reynolds vehicle.