The Naked Gun Review
A nostalgic gag‑a‑minute revival that sputters when it forgets to build anything real.
When I sat down at my screening of The Naked Gun, I knew what I was walking into; a dumb, crude, uninhibited theatrical comedy like the ones I remember growing up with in the 90s. And for about the first hour, this reboot delivered. Gags fly fast, sight jokes hit hard, and Liam Neeson’s deadpan delivery and comedic timing is pitch perfect. However, around the 60 minute mark (granted, the runtime is only 85 minutes), the jokes begin to land with less conviction. Without emotional stakes beneath the punchlines, the film starts to feel like one very long sketch rather than a cohesive comedy.
The plot follows Frank Drebin Jr. (Neeson), son of the iconic original detective, as he attempts to thwart tech-billionaire Richard Cane (Danny Huston) and his plans to use his P.L.O.T device (one of many satirical gags that got a belly laugh from me) to destroy the world. The entire plot is nonsense of course, but gleefully so, used more as a joke delivery device than a substantive narrative.
There’s an undeniable joy in watching this kind of film in the theatre and sharing in the laughter with complete strangers, the marketing for this film has certainly leaned heavily into this mantra. And there is a definite hunger for theatrical comedies that hasn’t been satiated in years; when you’re in the theatre and the absurd snowman montage, the scat‑singing jazz number, or the repeated coffee gag actually gets a decent laugh, it feels good. And even if this film isn’t perfect, I was glad to be a part of that laughter.
What’s missing? Some emotional connective tissue. If Frank and Beth gave us more than smash‑and‑laugh chemistry, the ending might have felt like a finale—rather than just the credits rolling on one relentless gag reel.
