It used to be that a logline was all that was needed to sell the premise of a comedy, but that evolved into nothing beyond a poster. The most obvious example of this is whenever two diametrically opposed stars are framed alongside one another; Twins sold themselves in 1988 because the image of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito standing together is funny. On its surface, Little Brother appears to have the same gimmick, given that it would be hard to find two people that would be less likely to be mistaken as brothers than John Cena and Eric Andre. This type of image-based marketing was what the Judd Apatow era of comedy in the early-21st century was based upon, and it's the first suggestion that Little Brother is a film that should’ve been made at least a decade ago.
In fairness to Little Brother, its poster is deceptive in the framing of who the titular “little brother” of the film is. Cena is Rudd Landy, a New York-based real estate agent who’s happily married to his wife Deirdre (Michelle Monaghan), the head of a charitable fund. Although Rudd’s life is seemingly ideal, he’s been overshadowed since childhood by his older brother, Josh (Christopher Meloni), who’s the rare billionaire that everyone seems to like. Rudd’s last shot to one-up his brother is a guest role on the reality show NYC Hustlers, where he’s paired with the influencer Kieran Francis (Ben Ahlers). This route to potential stardom is disrupted by the appearance of Marcus Pinchel (Eric Andre), a patient from a psychiatric facility who Rudd once mentored as part of a “big brother” program when he was a teenager. It’s not something that Rudd remembered, but Marcus became obsessed with the one person that ever showed him kindness, and has assumed that they will catch up and be best friends again.
Netflix has tried to make the sort of R-Rated comedies of the 2000s that’re mostly extinct from theaters today, given that contemporary audiences don’t seem interested in cinema that doesn’t have some component of spectacle. Little Brother might as well have been lifted from a script that passed by the desk of either David Gordon Green or the Farrelly brothers in 2006. There’s always going to be appeal in seeing an action star flex his comedic muscles, but Cena has already proven himself as much more adept at comedy than action; his performance in Little Brother is good, but doesn’t have the same surprise factor that it might’ve had the film been released right after his exit from WWE. Andre’s similarly a comedic figure whose surrealist, chaotic sense-of-humor isn’t as biting now that his self-titled comedy show has been off the air for three years.
Nonetheless, Little Brother doesn’t belong in the same category of “Netflix slop” titles that were clearly aimed to appeal to passive viewers who watch distracted or on their phones; it was made by a real filmmaker in Matt Spicer, whose 2017 dark comedy Ingrid Goes West is among the best modern satires about celebrity obsessionism. There’s a less pronounced, yet subtle sensibility in Little Brother that mocks the self-congratulatory functions of high society New Yorkers, who’d offer to lend a helping hand to people they’d never spend time with. There’s an irony that Rudd, who’s privileged, has still felt like an underdog because of Josh’s even greater success; his agreement to look after Marcus is only done so that he can appear to be a selfless progressive in the eyes of his wife, her charity, and everyone who’ll watch him on NYC Hustlers.
Spicer didn’t write the script for Little Brother, but the film could’ve took the looser approach of the ‘00s comedies it was inspired by. The biggest laughs in Little Brother don’t come from any of the orchestrated gags, and most of the slapstick and gross-out moments fall flat; the funniest parts are the asides, reactions, and off-handed comments made by Cena and Andre when they’re given a scene in which to riff off of one another. The issue with Netflix’s obsession with attention monopolization is that scenes switch between locations at a rapid rate, so that they can be clipped and spread as viral videos on social media. The pacing is too exacting for a film that has such lowbrow humor. Cena (a former wrestler) and Andre (a comedian) have experience performing in front of crowds and having to adjust their routines, so they get their best material when they’re allotted breathing room.
The most refreshing aspect of Little Brother is that it’s heartfelt in a manner that isn’t cynical. Both leads are the butt of jokes, but the film is never mean-spirited. Josh is a character who’d traditionally be an abruptly nasty, pretentious bully made cruel by his wealth, but Meloni’s characterization is that of a strange and lucky guy whose vast fortune has helped disguise his inability to take social cues. The only weak link in the cast is Monaghan, because Deirdre is made ridiculously naive and sincere for the sake of justifying the continued presence of Marcus; given that she recently did great work in The White Lotus Season 3, place the blame on the writing, and not her performance.
Sherry Cola is terrific as Rudd’s assistant Mia, who’s obsessed with Marcus; Ahlers is similarly hilarious as a petulant reality star with a victimization complex, in a performance that couldn’t be more different than his role on The Gilded Age. That Little Brother is a solid, but forgettable comedy is only an achievement because it likely would’ve received the same reaction had it been released in theaters.