Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Guest House’ on Netflix, a 2020 Pauly Shore Vehicle That’s Too 1989 for Its Own Good

A Pauly Shore vehicle in 2020 is as likely as anything else that happened this year, I guess — and that includes a new Crocodile Dundee movie. Eyerolls; shrugs; a general yeah-sure-why-not-ness. Guest House arrives on Netflix ripe and ready to reanimate long-dead memories of the Weaz-ullll, buuuddy, as Pauly plays a stoner-slacker who’s barely changed since MTV stopped showing music videos. Sometimes, we see celebs late in their career enjoy a credible resurgence and a sniff at Oscar immortality, so maybe we should give this movie the benefit of the dou-

GUEST HOUSE: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: Sarah (Aimee Teagarden) and Blake’s (Mike Castle) house-hunting is over: This. Is. The. Place. It’s spacious, the kitchen is UHH-MAY-ZINGGG and it has a gigantic party-friendly backyard with a pool and patio. But what does the agent from Hindpokin Realty regret to inform them? The guest house occupant is Randy Cockfield (Pauly Shore), a cocaine-huffing eternal partyguy who’s like R. Crumb’s brother in the Crumb documentary cross-pollinated with Stifler, a Rob Schneider character in a Happy Madison production and, I dunno, Jack Black voicing a cartoon elephant who wears a Hawaiian shirt? Except less interesting.

The house is too alluring for the young couple, though. They could probably have Randy-Pauly legally removed from the property, but this isn’t reality, it’s a movie that won’t work in the least if any logic is applied to it. There’s a moving-in montage in which Sarah lines the shelves with her artisanal jars of pickled vegetables, so they’re obviously Millennials. One day, they follow a trail of discarded food wrappers from their cupboard back to the guest house. This will not do. Blake assures Sarah that he’ll kick this glorified squatter from the grounds, but soon enough, Randy-Pauly brings out the worst in reformed hardy-partier Blake, and they end up sitting among the non-renter/squatter’s collection of swords, pirate hats and assorted sarcofagi smoking weed out of a big old penis bong. Sarah is UNAMUSED.

And yet, they persevere. Blake proposes, Randy-Pauly interrupts and almost ruins it, Sarah accepts. SIX MONTHS LATER, a subtitle blurts. Blake and Sarah are planning the wedding. Randy still hasn’t moved out. In fact, he’s having naked-babe ragers in the middle of the night and when Blake goes out to break it up he instead ends up waaaayyyyyyyy-stiiiiiiiiiiiiddddd in a whoa-dude par-tay montage that concludes with explosions and flames. Randy-Pauly makes sure Blake is the one who gets arrested and subsequently meets a cop played by Lou Ferrigno (!). It becomes a war of attrition. Blake gets fired from his job at a skateboarding firm? Company? Conglomerate? Owned by a nut named Shredd (Steve-O). Randy-Pauly gets a restraining order and exploits plot holes, etc. Meanwhile, Sarah contemplates dumping Blake as she stands in the kitchen next to her dishwasher with the giant, obtrusive handle. Why would anyone put up with such shenanigans? Why would anyone not buy the dishwasher with the recessed handle? I have no answers for any of this.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: Grandma’s Boy. Please don’t take that as flattery.

Performance Worth Watching: Playing Sarah’s intimidating Army Ranger father, Billy Zane gives off some terrifying Steven Seagal vibes.

Memorable Dialogue: This film, in one line: “Randy has fallen, and I can’t get up!” — Randy-Pauly

Sex and Skin: Gratuitous full-frontal ladies and manbutts; Pauly has a genital confab with a woman in “Tommy Lee’s sex swing.”

Our Take: Guest House isn’t even half-assed, quarter-assed or penny-assed. This thing is barely -assed at all. Consider my expectations met.

It is, however, lazy, sexist, homophobic and completely unaware of any societal changes since 1989. The script seems cobbled from the top 50 least-read Barstool blogs (“That walking foreskin got me fired,” “You need to toss that boy out like a used tampon,” “Randy Cockfield”) and the film appears to be edited with the stick from a jug of elementary-school classroom paste. It features repetitive gags, Pauly Shore shitting his pants, possum antics set to generic nu-metal and an ending swamped in unconvincing sentimental slop.

It fits nicely into Shore’s filmography, although it makes Encino Man look like Raging Bull. I truly, honestly believe Shore could do some reasonably substantial acting when asked, but Guest House is content to urp up the same old Pauly persona from 30 years ago, and the results are dire.

If you want to haul out the backhoe and dig deep, maybe you’ll find a Millennials-v-Gen X war of attrition to ponder (an opportunity that slips by like vomit on a downhill slip-’n-slide). You’re more likely to slam the digging bucket into the sewage line and end up with a faceful of excrement. I’m sorry to say that Pauly Shore’s first comedy vehicle in eons is not particularly satisfactory.

Our Call: SKIP IT. Seriously, you don’t want to bang your hips into that big old handle, and the one with the recessed handle is the same price!

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Read more of his work at johnserbaatlarge.com or follow him on Twitter: @johnserba.

Watch Guest House on Netflix