CAPSULE: Sisters (2015, Dir. Jason Moore)

It's a fairly sad indictment on modern Western society that rejuvenating house party movies are common enough to have developed a set of instantly recognisable tropes. If I were being uncharitable, I'd say there were a good many people who struggling with letting go. Follow the trail of empties from the fratboy comedies of the late '70s and early '80s to the crossover acknowledgement of Will Ferrell's feral Old School and the draw-you-in tut-tutting of the recent Bad Neighbors and it looks as we have a culture-wide complex. One we laugh at but quietly (actually, raucously) celebrate.

This is where this Tina Fey and Amy Poehler vehicle picks up. Written by fellow SNL alumnus Paula Pell and directed by Pitch Perfect's Jason Moore, Sisters sees two women (one goodytwoshoes motherly type, one hot-mess mother) suffer a potential life meltdown, onset by their parents' decision to sell their childhood home. Their pissed off reaction sparks a house party, part high school reunion, part destroythejoint fuckshitupedness complete with new edition drugs, lesbian DJs and a skimpy Korean foam party. First stop: Wrongtown.

Sisters goes hard at the clichés, using them as a extra springy springboard for Fey and Poehler's already-bouce-off-each-other schtick. Any comment on Western culture's trend of drawing out the passing into adulthood is subsumed in the Poehler/Fey show. Which is a good thing. Both their characters play to type with just a hint (okay, a healthy dollop) of try-hard raunch.

Much of the raunch (if you take out drug-fucked man painting penises on the wall with his penis) is focused on the expression of the middle aged women's sexuality, which is superb. The objects of their sexfection are as opposite as the sisters. One, Ike Barinholtz, is perfectly cast as the newly almost-buffed handyman next door type. The other, John Cena, is like a fucking brick wall (which Tina Fey won't stop licking).

Honourable mention goes out to Dianne Wiest too as the sisters' expletive-creative mother. And Maya Rudolph as Fey's high school nemesis, who had me laughing before she'd even opened her mouth. And John Leguizamo as that oversexed guy that never got out of the suburbs... Hell, the whole crew is a blast.

In short, Sisters is an easy film to give over to, especially if you yourself haven't spiritually let go of your younger, wilder self (hell, you're only a product of the prevailing culture!) The laughs come thick and fast. Thick and fast enough to bury the film's repetitive premise early on. In fact, all that familiarity was drowned out soon as the lesbian's rolled out their DIY dance party.

Many memories. Much fun. Easy to mop up.

★★★☆

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