The Naked Gun review: Liam Neeson a bit of a puzzle amid big dumb fun
Director
:
Akiva Schaffer
Cert
:
15A
Starring
:
Liam Neeson, Pamela Anderson, Paul Walter Hauser, Kevin Durand, Danny Huston
Running Time
:
1 hr 25 mins
When, way back in 1982, Jim Abrahams and the Zucker brothers launched Police Squad! – TV forerunner of the Naked Gun films – the cop shows being parodied were already drifting out of fashion. Those pompous episode titles and woody performances were riffing on Quinn Martin series from the previous decade (and farther back than that).
A malcontent in the 21st century might reasonably wonder what possible sense a 'legacy sequel' could still have. 'They don't make cop movies any more,' a Zucker brother said not so long ago. 'When you do parody, you've got to spoof something current.' You may as well launch a comedy aping the conventions of medieval mystery plays. Right?
Akiva Schaffer, director and co-writer of the first Naked Gun film for more than 30 years, has taken some of those arguments on board. You will detect a few riffs on Tom Cruise's Mission: Impossible adventures. There are (obviously) a few more on
Liam Neeson
's recent run of revenge thrillers. Contemporary pop culture works its way in. But the new film essentially works within the old structures.
Neeson, as Frank Drebin jnr, son of
Leslie Nielsen
's original dumb copper, still works at an old-school Los Angeles precinct with grumpy men in lounge suits. The films seems to think 'content creators' still deliver mystery dramas in which officers stand off against evil geniuses in southern-California mansions.
READ MORE
None of that matters. It never did. The same team's Airplane! still plays well with audiences whose parents were barely sentient during the 1970s disaster-movie boom. The Naked Gun was a joke-delivery system whose allusions to Cannon and The Streets of San Francisco were mere decoration. The current Naked Gun has its flaws, but none of them stems from anachronism.
It is at its best when playing with the original series' deadpan linguistic misunderstandings. 'You can't fight City Hall,' the set-up comes. 'No ... it's a building,' comes the reply. As before, the character delivering the feed doesn't point out that wasn't quite what he meant. The conversation carries on as if that
was
what he meant.
The Naked Gun: Eddie Yu as Detective Park, Liam Neeson as Frank Drebin Jr and Paul Walter Hauser as Ed Hocken Jr. Photograph: Frank Masi/Paramount Pictures
The supporting cast are all on board with this conceit.
Pamela Anderson
, still enjoying her deserved renaissance, accommodates the straightest of faces to a noirish simmer. Danny Huston is equally strong as an evil billionaire who doesn't believe anyone so dumb as Drebin can thwart his plans. CCH Pounder does good angry boss. Paul Walter Hauser is an ideal sidekick.
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Liam Neeson: From Paisley-loving Catholic boy to actor, then action man, now comedy star
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]
Neeson himself is more of a quandary. He's never bad. He doesn't kill the joke. But it does feel as if too much acting's going on. Somewhere in here there's a line about being 'the same as you but completely different and original'. It is, unfortunately, impossible to watch a second of Neeson without considering Nielsen's heroic blankness. Our man looks to be making the unfortunate, though not fatal, mistake of trying to make sense of every line. Drebin jnr is thinking things through. His dad allowed no such complicating process.
[
Pamela Anderson: 'I felt like life was really like death for me'
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]
That reservation aside, it must be admitted that, against the odds, the team do a largely satisfactory job of reanimating the corpse. I'm not sure audiences will have quite as much fun watching the thing as the writers plainly had getting it on to the page. But they have certainly stuck to the brief with admirable diligence. The inevitable backward-looking cameos are kept to a bare minimum. Nobody expects you to follow the preposterous plot. Some of the funniest jokes are held for an extended end-credit sequence that expands brilliantly on a solid recurring gag from the original series.
We deserve some big dumb fun. We always do.
[
Magic movies: The 25 best comedies of the past 25 years – in reverse order
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]
In cinemas from Friday, August 1st
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Irish Times
18 hours ago
- Irish Times
Brendan Gleeson: ‘I can't go into a pub any more. I really miss it'
'It was an odd experience,' Brendan Gleeson says with a smile. Seated in a rehearsal space in a leafy part of Dublin, the Irish actor is reflecting on the episode he hosted in 2022 of Saturday Night Live, the US television sketch show that likes to have stars deliver questionable comedy skits to a studio audience. 'I didn't have experience of it, and I first said, 'No, absolutely not.' Then Colin Farrell said, 'You should do it,' and I know him well enough to trust him – that he's not a surfacy person, that there was something that was worth doing,' Gleeson says. 'The whole process was fascinating. They don't really want an act, and yet you're not yourself. They only make up jokes that week. You get things that half-work. It's very gruelling. And you don't know who the audience are. I didn't really want to watch it back.' It's a measure of Gleeson's popularity that, although his hosting of the show with Farrell attracted a few nitpicky reviews, for many it felt akin to watching a beloved groom give a wedding speech after a long engagement. We were on his side, willing to live through the cringy bits in the service of seeing the show acknowledge a simple truth: Gleeson is a star. READ MORE With roles in The Guard, Paddington 2, The Tragedy of Macbeth, In Bruges, Joker: Folie à Deux, Calvary and The Banshees of Inisherin , Gleeson is one of Ireland's most prominent and charismatic actors. At 70, the Malahide resident – father of his fellow performers Domhnall and Brian Gleeson – is in the remarkable position of being busier than ever. Or, as he puts it, 'I haven't time to wash my face.' We're meeting today because Gleeson is returning to the stage after a decade's absence, specifically to the 3Olympia Theatre in Dublin, followed by the Harold Pinter Theatre in London, where he will make his West End debut as Jack in The Weir, which is being directed by its writer, Conor McPherson . A tale of friends meeting for a drink in Co Leitrim when a stranger among them reveals an emotionally engulfing personal story, the play features little surface action yet delivers a remarkable punch. The Weir: Brendan Gleeson with fellow cast members Seán McGinley, Owen McDonnell, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor and Kate Phillips. Photograph: Rich Gilligan As I slip into the rehearsal space at Wesley House in Ranelagh, Gleeson and the rest of the cast are into their second week of line reads and stage preparations. They're not sweating it yet. Or not quite yet. Playing the part of the oleaginous estate agent Finbar, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor has thrown away his playbook to summon up the words from memory. So has Seán McGinley , in the role of bachelor Jim. Both have monologues to give. There are rueful chuckles as occasionally a prompt is needed or a line flubbed. Gleeson is sitting between them, on a bar stool, his white shirt and suit jacket on, hair slicked back, a spider web of lines tracing his forehead, inhabiting his role with earthy precision. Across the room, McPherson, inscrutable in a cap and glasses, is a quiet, watchful presence for all the actors, who also include Kate Phillips and Owen McDonnell. 'I'm trying to allow them to be as close to themselves as they can be,' McPherson says later. 'Brendan has a huge presence. He's very powerful, very funny, but he can give you lots of depth. It's a pleasure. It's like if you get into a very expensive car: you don't have to do very much; it's just, 'We're going.'' 'I'm bad for the planet?' the actor huffs amicably when I quote the expensive-car line back to him. But he's smiling. 'Ah, that's nice.' He enjoys collaborating with directors and has a healthy respect in particular for the Irish theatre-makers he has worked with over the years. 'In America, in a lot of TV, tailoring the dialogue is almost taken for granted. A lot of actors would take control of what they're doing themselves. But with somebody like Conor McPherson or Martin McDonagh , the rhythm of the language is so important; everything is so precise. You'd be an idiot to try and mess with it.' Gleeson loves The Weir, which was written nearly three decades ago, and is set entirely in the bar where the group meet, for how it portrays us as Irish people. The stories that are told are pithy and revealing, a simulacrum of life in Ireland in the 1990s. 'Lads would come down to the pub, and the level of conversation that used to go on in those places: underestimate these people at your peril,' Gleeson says. 'There was an incredible beauty in the way people informed themselves. In England you'd go into a pub and you didn't strike up a conversation the way you would over there. In Ireland there was too much drinking; it was no harm for that to shift. But the pub was a centre whereby people touched base. It was like the postman coming, the small community, the ties that bind.' There may be a certain irony for Gleeson in that the play is all about the quiet pint, something the actor no longer feels able to enjoy. He sighs when the subject comes up. 'I can't go into a place any more in terms of pubs, because it turns into selfie country. I really miss [it], particularly going into music sessions. You mightn't believe me, but people will do amazingly dumb things about interrupting you. I draw the line at funerals.' I wonder if it's his roles in global film franchises – in the Harry Potter series he plays Mad-Eye Moody; in the world of Paddington he appears as the winningly abrasive chef Knuckles McGinty – that have made the difference in the past decade. Not so, Gleeson says. It's the mobile phones and the likelihood of people texting their friends to let them know if Gleeson might be sitting in on a session. 'The mobile phones mean you can do nothing. I'm not an elite musician. I was always running after the bus that way. But before you'd hear of a few quiet tunes somewhere, and you could go and you'd get a couple of hours spare [playing]. Now somebody has texted, and it's rammed within half an hour.' Does he feel isolated? 'I would, certainly. It does make the world smaller. Being able to drop into a place and just do the crossword and talk to somebody, you can't do it any more.' A memory surfaces: the opening night of Enda Walsh 's Ballyturk at Galway International Arts Festival in 2015. Following the play, which starred Cillian Murphy, the Gleeson family went with other theatregoers to an after-show gathering at a nearby hotel, where they clustered fireside in the lobby. You could feel the implicit plea from them in the ether: to be allowed to enjoy a night out without being bothered. I did leave them alone, but I will admit it was hard work pretending to ignore them. Gleeson nods when I mention seeing them. 'It's only the last couple of years I've realised it's uncomfortable for everyone. It alters the equilibrium. So you just say, 'Okay, I've got this far. I'm 70 now, so I should really not be going into those places anyway.'' Gleeson has the complicating virtue of having come to acting relatively late. Formerly a teacher at Belcamp College in Balgriffin, in north Dublin, Gleeson was 34 when he was cast as Michael Collins in the RTÉ drama The Civil War. His ascent was far from assured in the early days: casting agents wanted him for character roles, but whether playing the Dublin criminal Martin Cahill in John Boorman's The General, Mel Gibson's sidekick in Braveheart or the lead in McDonagh's Oscar-winning Six Shooter, Gleeson had an ease in front of the camera that meant directors wanted to work with him. Ask the average Irish person about a Gleeson film and they might mention Hollywood big-budget affairs such as Joker: Folie à Deux or the Sundance TV series State of the Union , for which Gleeson received an Emmy nomination. But they're just as likely to wax lyrical about home-grown films such as The Guard, directed by John Michael McDonagh, or The Banshees of Inisherin, directed by Martin McDonagh, in which Gleeson riffed beautifully off Farrell as his forlorn former friend. The Banshees of Inisherin: Brendan Gleeson with Colin Farrell in Martin McDonagh's film. Photograph: Jonathan Hession/Searchlight Then there are the children's films, such as the glorious Paddington 2 , that Gleeson cherishes making. 'I grew to like movies as against films,' Gleeson says. 'Especially kids' films. Why would you underestimate children? Their little worlds, their beliefs, when you see kids watching something, their big eyes out on saucers, they're living this. It's important, so you do it properly if you can.' [ Brendan Gleeson the American is not nearly as agreeable Brendan Gleeson the Irishman Opens in new window ] When The Weir transfers to London, Gleeson will spend time with the junior members of the Gleeson tribe. 'It'll be exciting in terms of the lads are over there,' he says. 'I'll get to see my grandkids.' He doesn't talk much about his wife or four children, but it's obvious they're a tight-knit crew. That last stage performance 10 years ago was with his sons Brian and Domhnall in The Walworth Farce , another of Enda Walsh's plays. 'I find myself asking more and more questions of them and to give me an insight into things I'm blind to or things I don't quite understand,' he says about their acting skills. He sounds proud of them. 'I am.' The Walworth Farce: Brendan Gleeson with his sons Domhnall and Brian in Enda Walsh's play. Photograph: Photograph: Patrick Redmond Gleeson could big up his sons or name-drop all day if he wanted, but it's obvious he chooses his words in interviews with care. 'I'm moaning a lot,' he says at one stage before course-correcting. It makes it all the more endearing to hear the warm delight in his voice when he occasionally allows in some discussion of his career high points, such as his Academy Award nomination, for best supporting actor, for The Banshees of Inisherin in 2023. 'I was thrilled to get an Oscar nomination,' he says. 'When I walked in and saw the people that were there in one room. I mean, you've Spielberg over there, all these film-makers.' Gleeson worked with Steven Spielberg on the 2001 film AI Artificial Intelligence , a dystopian tale of robotic intelligence that has more resonance in today's bot-driven world than ever. The actor has recently been dealing with a deepfake version of himself that has been circulating on the internet, touting a cream that 'totally eliminates pain'. 'Two people sent it to me. I'm not on any of that stuff,' he says about social media. 'So I was blissfully unaware, and thought it was a joke. But then I realised, 'Jesus, are they asking people to actually press a link?' So I just wanted to say that I don't endorse anything other than support for the hospice.' [ Despair among young people 'really, really scary', Brendan Gleeson says at hospice fundraiser Opens in new window ] Gleeson is a long-time campaigner for improved resources at St Francis Hospice in Raheny, in north Dublin, where both his parents spent their final stages of life; his galvanising social conscience is an important part of his character. It has caused more than one person to question if there's a role for him in politics. Or, say, in the Áras when the presidential role comes free? [ 'I would be dead now if it hadn't been for the hospice' Opens in new window ] 'I'm quite opinionated,' Gleeson counters. 'I just think I'm not a good politician. I can't get to the place. I love Michael D Higgins for what he's done, what he's doing, his reckless energy and his positivity. Everything about what he does fills me with inspiration. I'm not good at that. I do get upset about things that are patently wrong, but I'm not the fixer of those issues. I just hope we can allow people to have a place to live. I think profit-making on homes is immoral.' If politics is partly about the exchange of ideas, art can spark similarly big conversations. The Weir comes to Dublin at the same time that The Pillowman , by his friend and collaborator McDonagh, runs across town at the Gate Theatre. It's a controversial play that tackles themes of violence against children. When I tell Gleeson that I found McDonagh's play tough to watch, his gaze sharpens. [ The Pillowman review: Anthracite-black comedy. The most appalling crimes Opens in new window ] 'I heard there were people getting upset in the audience,' Gleeson says. 'Some people in particular places in their lives may not be able to handle it. Part of art is to face the brutality of the truth. That's why we keep Auschwitz. The idea of sheltering everybody from horrible consequences, it's like, if you've never been to an abattoir, that's where you go. 'Early on with Martin, I challenged him on something. I said, 'Are you just pushing the envelope for its own sake?' I said you've got to really know what you're doing. And he said, 'Everything I write is about love.' I realised with his work you don't hate anyone; you find the humanity. 'I did the same with John Boorman with The General. You go into a place where you're saying, 'This is inhuman.' No, this is human. This is humanity, I'm afraid.' Gleeson puts himself through the wringer as an actor. In addition to his work on the forthcoming film adaptation by Emma Donoghue of H Is for Hawk and the TV series Spider-Noir, Gleeson has recently returned from Atlanta, where he was filming The Good Daughter, by the crime author Karin Slaughter. 'It was emotionally demanding and traumatising,' he says. 'I was wasted when I got back, in a head-space sense.' The Weir will represent a palate-cleanser. It's a play that contains quiet truths; that suggests more than it shows. 'At the time of life I'm at, and in the zeitgeist where there's so much apocalyptic desperation, this is a beautiful piece of work,' Gleeson says. 'It's very profound.' The play is likely to be the hottest ticket in town. Anne Clarke of Landmark Productions , its coproducer, is worried about one thing only: how to distribute the guest-list tickets on opening night. 'It's like Irish theatre royalty,' she says, laughing. 'Everybody wants to come. We're having these big meetings about how we can manage it.' [ Landmark's Anne Clarke: 'Every producer, if they're honest, is a control freak' Opens in new window ] As for Gleeson, he's fretting about his lines. Well, that and the prospect of getting a break at some point. He smiles when he hears a Leonard Cohen lyric: 'I ache in the places where I used to play.' Seventy is treating him reasonably well, he says. But the body is creaky sometimes. 'I'm wiping the slate clean. I have to take a break. This year and last year was too much. I'll take time to smell the coffee, because you can run around and not see what you're looking at.' Gleeson knows he's in the right place spiritually, in part because of the distance he has travelled in his life. 'I think I was okay as a teacher,' he says. 'When I found acting, I just knew. When I was writing down in my passport under occupation, and I wrote down 'actor', I felt: I'm home.' The Weir opens at 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin, on Wednesday, August 13th, with previews from Friday, August 8th. It runs until September 6th, then transfers to the Harold Pinter Theatre, in London, where it runs from September 12th until December 6th
Irish Times
18 hours ago
- Irish Times
Kamala Harris and Stephen Colbert symbols not so much of a vanished time as a lost US future
Time moves differently in Donald Trump 's presidency, so the effect of seeing Kamala Harris back on television screens was like the shock return of a once prominent but long vanished character from Dynasty or Falcon Crest, or any of the stars from the classic era of US soap operas that outlasted the rise and fall of several presidencies. The defeated Democratic candidate is in the public eye again to publicise 107 Days, her account of her belated, doomed attempt to resuscitate her party's hopes in the 2024 presidential race after Joe Biden 's candidacy became untenable. She was appearing on the The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, a flagship talkshow that CBS has decided to cancel once the season ends in May. The decision to end Colbert's run generated delight on the Republican right, not least from Trump, who is frequently in the firing line of Colbert's brand of slick, savagely funny satire. That CBS needed approval from the Trump administration for its sale to Skydance to go through, and that its parent company, Paramount, recently settled a spurious $16 million lawsuit with the president, was lost on nobody. David Letterman, the original host of the show, from 1993-2015, described the CBS decision as 'gutless' and 'pure cowardice'. READ MORE Ironically, the Trump lawsuit was framed around a charge that an interview Harris had given to 60 Minutes during last year's election campaign had been edited to her advantage. Cancelling Colbert was just the icing on the cake for Trump. And it was also a reflection of the fast-changing broadcast news and talkshow landscape. Letterman had the undivided attention of late-night America but the culture, and options, have changed enormously since then. CBS issued a bland statement thanking Colbert and leaked remarks to the effect that a staff of 100 and a bill of a $100 million for a dwindling audience had become impossible to maintain. The Ed Sullivan Theater, where The Late Show with Stephen Colbert is recorded live, in midtown Manhattan. Photograph: Spencer Platt/Getty So when Harris and Colbert sat down, a desk between them, both seemed like symbols not so much of a vanished time as a lost future. It will be impossible for Americans to ever see Harris and wonder what the road not taken in 2024 might have looked like. The stark numbers of the election are worth repeating. Although Harris and the Democrats were trounced on the big blue and red electoral college board, in actual human votes, Trump won 77,303,568 (49.8 per cent) and Harris 75,019,230 (48.3 per cent). Some 2,284,338 votes separated them: a significant number of people but not so much that Harris and her supporters won't always imagine a different outcome. As Colbert mentioned, she looked rested. She revealed that she spent much of the past six months in restorative mode – 'lots of cooking shows'- and that, no, she had not watched much current affairs. 'I'm not into self-mutilation,' she said in a rare moment of sharpness. [ From the archive: It's a do-or-die moment for Kamala Harris. She needs to assert herself Opens in new window ] That acidic edge was a reminder of what Harris often seemed to lack during those 107 days when she sought to persuade Americans that she was a better alternative to Trump. She had the extraordinary rise from modest west coast immigrant home, a natural telegenic appeal and, when she permitted herself, came across as warm and authoritative. There was no menace. But there was too often a blurriness about what she might do. And even in Thursday night's harmless and friendly theatre in New York, her fatal conservatism remained intact. She brought no gossip or intrigue or fresh revelation, nothing to excite the hopes of the millions of lost Democrats out there. For six months, Trump has talked and talked and talked, as though the Oval Office is his psychologist's couch and the people of the United States his listener. It may be bewildering and contradictory and frightening. But it has the world's attention. [ US AI policy risks disaster because of Trump Opens in new window ] Harris teased an anecdote featuring Doug, her husband, and a missed birthday of hers in the days before the election but when Colbert teed her up, she broke into laughter and said, 'you have to read the book'. A mildly exasperated Colbert mimicked flicking through the pages. It's the golden rule of these shows followed by any celebrities there to sell a film or a biography: the host says lovely things about you and in turn, you tell a few self-deprecating yarns and everyone is happy. Even now, Harris held back. Six months in, Trump's second term has, for now, confounded the doom sayers. The markets continue to thrive despite the tariff upheaval. However, Friday's August deadline was accompanied by reports of a weakening labour market and a dip in markets. He has, as promised ended border immigration but the Ice deportation campaign continues to horrify many Americans. His vow to end the Russia-Ukraine conflict has not been fulfilled. The situation in Gaza has become even more horrifying that it was under Biden. [ Justine McCarthy: Keir Starmer and Donald Trump looked ready to put a ring on it. No wonder Melania stayed at home Opens in new window ] Already, the Democrats are nearing the point where potential challengers to the next Republican candidate will have to step into the bright lights. Many have interpreted Harris's decision not to run for governor of California next year as an intention to put herself forward as a presidential candidate in 2028. To Colbert's army of night-watchers who flicked off the TV for the night, it will take a lot of convincing by Harris if she is to catapult from her place as the face of calamitous disappointment for Democrat voters to their best future hope.
Irish Times
a day ago
- Irish Times
Malachy Clerkin: Every pro golfer who appears in Happy Gilmore 2, ranked in order of their acting performance
What you think about the original Happy Gilmore doesn't matter. What matters is that among pro golfers, it's Citizen Kane, Pulp Fiction and Old School all rolled into one. Which means all the best players in the world fell over themselves to be in Happy Gilmore 2 , out this week on Netflix. The results? Nobody will be giving up their day job. Maybe John Daly – but then again, it's never totally clear what John Daly's day job is, so maybe it's this? Anyway, herewith – in reverse order – the official Look Up ranking of the pro golfer cameos in Happy Gilmore 2. Spoiler alert: it's all spoilers. 23 Keegan Bradley READ MORE In the movie but doesn't speak. Maybe his joke got cut out? 22 Jim Furyk Also mute but does get to give the finger to a seagull in a flashback, so that's something. 21 Tony Finau Should have been Bradleyed. Wooden as the fine oak doors in the players' locker room. 20 Nick Faldo Part of the old-guy chorus, strictly there as the set-up man for the others. Credited as Sir Nick Faldo in the cast list, presumably to cushion the blow. Rory McIlroy, Scottie Scheffler, Brooks Koepka, Lavell Crawford as Slim, Bryson DeChambeau and Adam Sandler as Happy Gilmore. Photograph: Scott Yamano/Netflix 19 Corey Pavin Another who got very little to do, other than provide one line of exposition on How Times Have Changed in pro golf. 18 Nancy Lopez On the board of the mental hospital where Shooter McGavin has spent the past 29 years. A small role, but at least she's acting. 17 Collin Morikawa Gets body-slammed by NFL star-turned-waiter Travis Kelce, which is long overdue. In life, whatever about the movie. 16 Rory McIlroy Ach, Rory. The material was there, he just didn't deliver. Part of a superstar quartet but ultimately got outacted by his stunt double with a couple of funny pratfalls. Definitely the biggest disappointment. Best line: 'You guys get those clothes from the Lost & Found at ComicCon?' 15 Bubba Watson Not great either but does make a pleasingly niche joke about a breakaway golf league. Best line: 'What's up with that tool starting that goofy league?' 14 Jack Nicklaus One good joke wherein he asks for a half lemonade, half iced tea and the waiter goes, 'Arnold Palmer?' and Jack goes ... Best line: 'No, Jack Nicklaus. But I do get that a lot.' A scene from Happy Gilmore 2. Photograph: Scott Yamano/Netflix 13 Jordan Spieth Ominously convincing as a gin snob who complains that he got Tanqueray instead of Bombay. Best line: 'No, just the right booze please.' 12 Brooks Koepka At least he's convincing as an aggressive, shit-talking alpha golfer. Best line: 'I say we sweep these goofy bitches.' 11 Rickie Fowler Seems to be on the verge of corpsing most of the time. Plays the straight man for Xander Schauffele, building up to one big pay-off. Best line: 'Now THAT's what she said!' 10 Justin Thomas Sends himself up as an Uber-fan of Happy Gilmore even as he's competing against him. Pulls out his camera and films him hitting his tee shots. Best line: 'I'm actually kind of rooting for you. I gotta stop.' 9 Charley Hull Nobody grabs their moment better, as she bolts from the manager's office in Big Charley's Mini golf in a rage and berates Slim Peterson for walking off the job. Best line: 'You leave now, you ain't ever coming back, you big pork chop.' Adam Sandler as Happy Gilmore, Rory McIlroy, Christopher McDonald as Shooter McGavin, Brooks Koepka, Bryson DeChambeau and Scottie Scheffler in Happy Gilmore 2. Photograph: Scott Yamano/Netflix 8 Lee Trevino He was in the first movie and has said in the past that he regretted it because there was so much cursing. Seems to have found a way past his objections. Best line (talking about aspirin): 'I grind them into my apple sauce.' 7 Nelly Korda Only in one scene and doesn't have more than a couple of lines. But the world's best woman golfer can really act. Nails it as the heartless, provocateur board member in the mental hospital with Shooter. Best line: 'And if he was wearing a gold jacket…?' 6 Fred Couples Leans into a running gag in which he is constantly on the lookout for desserts, whether his own or somebody else's. Best line: 'Hey Happy, you gonna finish that blueberry jubilee?' 5 Bryson DeChambeau Makes it into the top five for one line and one line only, which is so out there that he might even have improvised it. McIlroy gets his nipples tweaked by one of the opposing team, leading to Bryson jumping in and screaming: Best line: 'Don't twist my boy's titties! Those are my titties!' 4 Xander Schauffele Thoroughly enjoys himself by continually shouting, 'That's what she said!' at exactly the wrong time. Even mouths it silently at one stage. In the wrong hands, it's a tired, nothing joke. Schauffele nails it. Best line: 'I think there's a fork in my ass.' HAPPY GILMORE 2. John Daly as Himself in Happy Gilmore 2. Cr. Scott Yamano/Netflix © 2025. 3 Will Zalatoris It's been an online gag for years that Zalatoris looks like a grown-up version of the caddie Happy beats up in the first movie. But he had no right to be this good in playing the role. Best line: 'Blondie? My name's Will and I'm still mad at you for choking me out, you son of a bitch.' 2 Scottie Scheffler Some people are just good at everything. So good, he even gets the post-credits extra scene. Best line (as cops turn up to arrest him) 'Oh no, not again.' 1 John Daly Magnificent. Lives in Happy's garage, gets taken care of by his family, completely at ease making himself out to be a down-and-out, handwash-drinking, Love Island-watching charity case. Best line: 'It's 75,000 dollars. That's four years. That's 333 grand.'
