First Kid (Retro)

FIRST KID (1996) PG 101 Minutes Director: David Mickey Evans Writer: Tim Kelleher Sinbad, Brock Pierce, Blake Boyd CAST Sinbad...Sam Simms Brock Pierce...Luke Davenport Blake Boyd...Dash Timothy Busfield...Woods Art LaFleur...Morton Robert Guillaume...Wilkes Lisa Eichhorn...Linda Davenport James Naughton...President Paul Davenport Fawn Reed...Susan Lawrence Zachery Ty Bryan...Rob McArthur Bill Cobbs...Speet

In seventh grade, our teacher rewarded us with a movie day. The choices: FIRST KID or JACK. Some troublemaker in the back blurted out, "I don't want to watch JACK...off," which got the whole class laughing and settled the vote immediately. We watched FIRST KID instead. Having now seen both movies, I think we made the right choice—but just barely.

FIRST KID is a Disney comedy about Luke Davenport, the president's 13-year-old son who's lonely, friendless, and determined to make life miserable for his Secret Service detail. After one agent gets fired for being too rough with Luke, Sam Simms, played by Sinbad, gets assigned to protect the kid. In the role, Sinbad is charming and doing his best with thin material. It should work. Except there's one problem: Luke himself is nearly impossible to root for.

The president's son is a dorky twerp. Not in a Milhouse way—just unlikable. He whines, he sulks, he treats everyone around him like garbage. The movie knows this is a problem, so it tries to compensate. Luke has a Bearded Collie that gets squeezed into more scenes than necessary—something for the audience to care about. There's also a pet snake for comedy and chaos. Disrupting social functions. Messing with keyboards. Keeping things moving when Luke isn't interesting enough. Multiple pets aren't character details—they're damage control.

Sinbad's like an enthusiastic puppy in a household of depressed people—big eyes, endless optimism, just trying to make everyone smile. He's charming and fully committed, even when the movie boxes him in with Secret Service protocol and bland buddy-comedy material. The Dunkin Donuts bit at the mall is solid. His dance moves during the "Fantastic Voyage" scene are genuinely funny. As an executive producer, you can tell he's calling some of the shots—he picked his jam and made sure it had some bounce.

The soundtrack follows Disney's mid-'90s budget strategy—75% generic filler, 25% real standouts: Devo's "Girl U Want," Chill Rob G.'s "The Power," and "I Want to Take You Higher." The rest is elevator R&B and knockoff covers. The school dance scene plays "I Can Love You Like That," but it's not the All-4-One hit version everyone knows—it's the Diamond Mike/Joey Richey cover Disney licensed on the cheap. Same song, same words, zero of the harmonies that made the original work. They couldn't afford the real thing, but somehow they got Bill Clinton and Sonny Bono for cameos. Classic Disney priorities: skip the music licensing, book the sitting president. As if he needed the paycheck.

Zachery Ty Bryan plays Rob, the school bully, and he's surprisingly good at it. Maybe too good. He's not just generic mean—when he calls Luke's dad a draft dodger right before their fight, it's got actual bite. You almost root for him, which says something about how weak Luke is as a protagonist. The irony, of course, is that Bryan himself now has assault charges. So the bully actor became—well, you get it.

The plot hinges on Luke chatting with a stranger online—Mongoose12, who turns out to be Woods, the fired Secret Service agent. He's bitter about losing his job after failing his fitness-for-duty evaluation, and by the time he's pointing a gun at Luke in the mall, he's convinced the kid ruined his life. It's insane villain logic, but at least it's motivation. The movie spells it out from the start: Luke's username is Viper Boy, his internet pal is Mongoose12—snake and mongoose, natural enemies. Not exactly subtle. What's more dated is how casually everyone treats internet stranger danger. Simms asks someone to look into Mongoose12, but there's no urgency, no real concern about Luke chatting with a stranger at all. This was just plot in 1996. Today I'd expect Chris Hansen to meet Woods at the mall.

The movie's grasp on technology is hilariously shaky. Luke wears a tracking necklace that apparently has infinite batteries—no charging, no replacement, just perpetual surveillance. At one point, Luke gets a wrist tracker—like he's on house arrest for his second DUI—and slaps it on the dog to fool everyone. Then there's a scene at the mall where a bunch of kids gather around to watch Luke play with clunky 1996 virtual reality tech, like they're courtside at a Celtics game. The whole movie feels like it was written by someone who heard about the internet and technology secondhand and just hoped it would all work out.

For a light Sinbad comedy about a lonely kid learning to make friends, FIRST KID gets surprisingly violent at the mall. The movie sets it up early—Wilkes gets on Simms for not wearing his bulletproof vest because it "causes chafing," then later tells him about getting shot protecting Reagan. So the film is building to Simms getting shot all along. In the modern world, a family-movie climax with bullets flying and people screaming hits very differently than it did in 1996. Even then, the sequence was jarring. It ends with Sinbad taking a bullet—and then everyone goes to the park to play hockey.

And then there's Brock Pierce himself. The kid from FIRST KID retired from acting at 16, became a cryptocurrency mogul, ran for president in 2020, and is now generously described as a creepy billionaire. So the movie about the president's son stars an actual future presidential candidate—just not the kind Disney was hoping for. It's another layer of darkness on a movie that was supposed to be harmless fun.

Luke is a black hole of charisma. Everything else in the movie—Sinbad's charm, the Bearded Collie, the pet snake, and 25% of the soundtrack—exists to compensate for the void at the center. The movie knows it. That's why it keeps throwing animals and energy at the screen, hoping something sticks. It's formulaic Disney moviemaking held together by Sinbad's effort and sheer wishful thinking. When the protagonist is this unlikable, no amount of "Fantastic Voyage" or Dunkin Donuts scenes can save it.

It's Black History Month, so naturally I had to review a movie with Sinbad. I'm probably only going to say this one time in my life: Sinbad is not the problem with this movie. Everything else is. FIRST KID works in scattered moments, but it can't overcome its fundamental problem—you're spending 101 minutes with a kid you don't like. Surrounded by darkness the movie never intended. That seventh-grade vote between this and JACK? Still the right call. But just barely.

Final Verdict: 52 out of 100

Bingo (Retro)

BINGO (1991) PG 89 Minutes Director: Matthew Robbins Writer: Jim Strain Cindy Williams, David Rasche, Robert J. Steinmiller Jr. CAST Cindy Williams...Natalie Devlin David Rasche...Hal Butler Robert J. Steinmiller Jr....Chuckie Devlin Donnie Jeffcoat...Lonnie Billy Jayne...Leo

The name’s Poochie D and I rock the telly
I’m half Joe Camel and a third Fonzarelli
I’m the kung-fu hippie from gangsta city
I’m a rappin’ surfer you the fool I pity
—Poochie D, THE SIMPSONS, 4F12

I didn’t grow up on BINGO, so I’m coming at this without rose-colored glasses. Most people who like this movie probably wore out their VHS copy in 1993, but I was raised in a house where my father had zero tolerance for “dog movies.” I finally see why. So many of them are lazy, relying on a cute face to carry the entire movie while the actual filmmaking stays stuck in a strange, low-effort place.

My path to BINGO came through David Rasche. I was watching SLEDGE HAMMER! and wanted to see if his straight-faced, deadpan delivery translated to a ninety-minute family comedy. Throw in Cindy Williams—whose LAVERNE & SHIRLEY status usually earns a movie at least twenty minutes of my patience. But even with that pedigree, you start to suspect the actors were in it just for a paycheck—possibly earmarked for alimony or tax debts.

BINGO is very much a product of the video-store era. Regardless of quality, a movie with a dog wearing sunglasses on the cover was going to get rented—especially by kids, and especially by parents desperate to kill ninety minutes. It’s a hard PG, too, from a time before the lines between kids’ movies and adult movies were so aggressively enforced. There’s something oddly refreshing about seeing children exchange middle fingers or a parent occasionally swear without the movie feeling like it was sanitized by a corporate focus group.

Movies with talking dogs are an abomination. Maybe “abomination” is too strong—let’s just say they’re strictly for kids in nursery school, the kind where a Chihuahua is given George Lopez’s voice and says things like, “We’re Mexi-can, not Mexi-can’t!” BINGO at least avoids that particular sin. There are no digitally altered mouths and no inner monologue voiceovers explaining his feelings. The gold standard for the genre remains EIGHT BELOW (or its source material, ANTARCTICA), and BINGO never threatens that title. But it does understand that dogs are most effective when they’re actually allowed to be dogs—even if “being a dog” in this movie involves MACGYVER-level tactical genius.

I’m not going to pretend this was a good movie, but there are a lot of fun scenes. Bingo licking dishes clean at a diner as a “job.” A hot dog stand run by a guy who keeps dogs in cages, implying they’re not just mascots but inventory. Bingo even manages to call 911 to report the villains after they kidnap a family and steal their RV. A courtroom scene where Bingo places his paw on a Bible before testifying, gets cross-examined, and somehow winds up in jail. There’s an unaccompanied bus trip to Green Bay, Wisconsin. An extended crotch-attack gag that refuses to let go. And yes, Bingo grabbing the villains’ suitcase bomb and dumping it into the water, limiting the damage but not walking away unscathed.

The villains have a budget HOME ALONE energy—all bluster and incompetence—which makes the movie’s later escalation into genuine peril feel especially strange. They kidnap Chuckie and stash him in a nondescript warehouse while the plot slides into actual hostage territory. It leads to a bizarre ultimatum where Chuckie’s father is forced to tank his kicking career or his son gets blown up. This is the point where BINGO stops being a goofy dog-on-the-loose movie and briefly convinces itself it’s a thriller, even though it never fully commits to that shift.

Bingo’s fear of fire, which the movie went out of its way to seed earlier, finally comes into play here. It’s rooted in his backstory as a circus dog, where a missed jump through a flaming hoop led to a catastrophic blaze. Overcoming that trauma is the movie’s way of giving Bingo an emotional arc, even if it arrives packaged in the clunkiest way possible, with consequences that immediately turn physical. Judging by the size of the explosion that follows, the villains wildly overestimated how much explosive force was required to kill a child.

Bingo survives, of course, after being injured by the blast, and the movie milks the hospital scene for all the fear it can before it gets sentimental. Friends—human and canine—wait anxiously for him to pull through. Once he does, BINGO can’t resist one final joke, ending not on relief or reflection but on a neutering gag—a final reminder that this was always meant to be a family comedy first and a coherent emotional experience second.

Final Verdict: 55 out of 100

Playdate

PLAYDATE PG-13 93 Minutes Director: Luke Greenfield Writer: Neil Goldman Kevin James, Alan Ritchson, Sarah Chalke CAST Kevin James...Brian Jennings Alan Ritchson...Jeff Eamon Sarah Chalke...Emily Alan Tudyk...Simon Maddox Stephen Root...Gordon Isla Fisher...Leslie Benjamin Pajak...Lucas Banks Pierce...CJ Hiro Kanagawa...Colonel Kurtz Paul Walter Hauser...“Zach Galifianak-ish”

For those of you who think I can’t review two Kevin James movies in a row—like I’m going to run out of jokes, or it’ll start sounding redundant—challenge accepted.

“Do I look like a child predator?” Kevin James asks early in PLAYDATE, standing in a park in a windbreaker that’s practically begging for a restraining order. Honestly? I bought it. I can believe him as the awkward stepfather everyone assumes is a creep. What I don’t buy—not for a single second—is Kevin James as a forensic accountant.

The suit looks like it’s on him for the first time in his life. He doesn’t even bother to wear glasses. Oh, don’t get confused—he keeps them perched on top of his head, because in Hollywood, glasses are shorthand for “this is a smart guy doing smart things.” But actually crunching numbers? Please. I could see him as a zookeeper, an IPS driver, or maybe a high school biology teacher who does mixed martial arts to save the music program.

Anyway, Brian gets fired and slips into stay-at-home dad mode, which means he ends up in that weird daytime purgatory of parks, small talk, and pretending you’re not desperate for adult conversation. That’s where Alan Ritchson shows up as Jeff, and he’s the funnier of the two. Jeff has this infectious, manic energy—like he just chugged three energy drinks and decided friendship is a contact sport. I can see why Brian ends up in his orbit, even if Jeff gives off a “this guy has seen some shit” vibe.

Is Ritchson playing the same character as Reacher? It’s hinted. I think he missed the fine print on his Amazon contract: “If you want to get renewed for another season, you have to do a movie with Kevin James.”

Sarah Chalke plays the wife, Emily—you may know her as the other Becky Conner—and yes, she seems a little too attractive for him. The movie knows it too and says it out loud. That kind of self-awareness goes a long way here, and it’s part of why PLAYDATE ends up better than you’d expect.

Then the movie remembers it needs a plot. Jeff kidnaps CJ, and the story never quite gives you an airtight reason. We find out the kid is his—or so it seems—until the villain shows up and snatches him back, because we need movement, not clarity. The pacing stays brisk. It never turns into a slog, which is more than I can say for a lot of these algorithm-built streaming movies. It all builds to a bizarre final standoff involving Maddox, Colonel Kurtz, and an entire army of CJs.

We also get an appearance by the doofus from COBRA KAI (Paul Walter Hauser), and he’s cast perfectly in this. Jeff refers to him as “Zach Galifianak-ish,” and that’s about right. He leans into the weirdness enough to be memorable. The movie could’ve used more of that energy.

PLAYDATE is a solid C. Not an “I didn’t deserve it” C like I got in high school—a real C. Some of the jokes are dumb, but not all of them. Yes, this is a movie you can watch with your family. If I were grading on a curve, I might bump it up—because contemporary family movies are god-awful. But I’m not grading on a curve. If you need something harmless in the background, this’ll do.

Final Verdict: 72 out of 100

Guns Up

GUNS UP
R
91 Minutes
Director: Edward Drake
Writer: Edward Drake
Kevin James, Christina Ricci, Luis Guzmán

CAST
Kevin James...Ray Hayes
Christina Ricci...Alice Hayes
Maximilian Osinski...Antonio Castigan
Luis Guzmán...Ignatius Locke
Melissa Leo...Michael Temple
Leo Easton Kelly...Henry Hayes
Keana Marie...Siobhán Hayes
Timothy V. Murphy...Lonny Castigan
Joey Diaz...Charlie Brooks
Francis Cronin...Danny Clogan
Solomon Hughes...Ford Holden
Miroslav Barnyashev...Harry the Hammer

Here Comes The Boom

In case you missed it the first time—and you probably did—GUNS UP is on Paramount Plus.

GUNS UP is the kind of movie that starts with a bad sign and never really recovers: our hero is named Ray Hayes. Even his name is kind of lazy. Ray Hayes. No parent gives their kid a first name that rhymes with their last. That’s like naming your child “Ben Denn,” then being shocked when he grows up to make questionable decisions.

Ray begins the film making a life-changing decision. He can either keep his police job—where he’s probably making six figures and gets great benefits—or work as an enforcer for some shady criminal enterprise where he can maybe make a few more dollars. Naturally, Ray goes the Doug Heffernan route—dumb, stubborn, and convinced it’ll all work out. He takes the enforcer job, and he’s still there five years later, like this was always part of the plan.

We find Ray embedded in a strange, multi-ethnic gang, the kind you only see in bad ’80s movies. He and his wife, Alice, are saving up for a diner. As soon as he has enough, he’s out. Now that he finally has the money to quit, things get complicated—because that’s how these movies work. You know something will pull him back.

That “something” is Lonny Castigan, and the minute he takes over, Ray’s exit plan is dead.

We’re also supposed to believe Ray’s kids don’t know what he does for a living. I could see the young boy not figuring it out, but he has an 18-year-old daughter. Even Meadow Soprano was hip to what her father was up to.

To get out, Ray agrees to kill Antonio—but he can’t bring himself to do it. He just wants to scare him and run him out of town. Then a third guy barges in, there’s a scramble for the gun, it goes off, and Antonio takes it in the head by accident. Messy, loud, and it sets the rest of the film in motion.

I like many of the character actors here. Luis Guzmán. Christina Ricci. Joey Diaz. Unfortunately, they’re underutilized. You spend the whole time waiting for them to do something interesting, and the script doesn’t let them. They show up, they deliver their lines, and the movie hustles past them to the next burst of violence.

Instead, everything becomes completely preposterous. We find out the wife has her own criminal past. She apparently took Lonny’s eye after his gang killed her parents. Sure. The dialogue doesn’t help much either, relying on generic tough-guy lines like: “We finish what we start.” “No more running, we finish this.”

By the end, it’s less a crime thriller than a conveyor belt of gunfire.

Who is this for? Families looking for a wholesome night in… plus an orgy of violence?

I’ve enjoyed Kevin James’s work and defended him plenty of times, but there’s absolutely no excuse for this movie.

Final Verdict: 48 out of 100