That’s My Boy takes a perfectly serviceable concept and farts all over it: what if at the end of Big Daddy, instead of learning his lesson and doing what was right for the kid, Adam Sandler continued to raise, neglect and psychologically abuse him into pre-adulthood? With a premise like that, you could examine the real-world implications of a Sandler character without getting all Punch-Drunk Love about it.

But, of course, Donny (Sandler) is the hero of this thing. We’re supposed to laugh when he gets raped (what else should we call it?) by his comely teacher at age 13, cheer as he becomes an unlikely celebrity and feel pity when, decades later, the son he fathered has cut Donny out of his life. A restraining order would’ve been the next logical step.

Of course, I don’t expect an Adam Sandler movie to take its star to task, but in a career filled with unearned pathos and null self-awareness, That’s My Boy has to win some sort of prize. Donny is physically dirty, annoyingly profane (the kind of guy who takes all the fun out of the F-word), and cursed with a speech impediment akin to Little Nicky auditioning for Fargo. He’s a horrible guy, and stays that way right up to the end. Thankfully, as is the Sandler formula, everyone else warms up to him or is otherwise violently attacked.

The kid, originally christened Han Solo (not quite as funny as Gaylord Focker), grows up to be Todd (Andy Samberg) — an uptight math wiz with a beautiful fiancée (Leighton Meester) and promising career. Donny, broke and facing jail for unpaid taxes, shows up before the wedding with a ridiculous story painting himself as Todd’s long-lost best friend. Todd goes along with this. Apparently choosing a friend as annoying as Donny is less embarrassing than having swam out of his ball sack.

That’s My Boy is crude from top to bottom. Gross, shapeless and laborious (a full half-hour longer than any comedy should be, even a good one), it represents a new low for the Happy Madison brand. It lacks the groan-inducing concepts of Click or Jack and Jill but in messing up a potentially good premise, it somehow seems wasteful, too. I won’t say I didn’t laugh at all, but a few good one-liners don't make up for the sight of Meester licking semen off a wedding dress.

Director: Sean Anders

Columbia Pictures, 114 minutes

Rating: 1.5/5

Also in theatres: Rock of Ages