Part of the story surrounding the success of the Wedding Crashers is the way that its makers stuck to their script despite the fact that the result would be an R rating, something that, in our prim and proper era, is supposedly box office death. Well, it wasn’t. The film’s a smash and a hoot (I went to see it on Friday with the Dear Leader) and it deserves all the praise it’s got. As a conservative (yes, yes, sort of conservative) however, I’m always sensitive to any sign of slipping standards, and I have to report that, in one crucial area, this movie shows how far things have fallen:
An R rating no longer means what it did.
Yup, there are some bare breasts, a little dirty talk and a wildly entertaining potty-mouthed grandma (Eleanor Roosevelt? Really?), but, frankly, for an R-rated movie I’d expect much, much more.
Do better next time, please.