Why doesn’t this turd have the words National Lampoon in its title? What sort of incriminating photos did the producers have of Cuba Gooding Jr.? Can the Academy for Motion Picture Arts and Sciences rescind the awarding of Oscars? And most importantly, why did I have to see if this really as bad as everyone says it is? Because it’s worse.
Any movie in which a character lip-synchs and dances to James Brown’s “I Feel Good” should be thrown in cinematic jail for life, but Boat Trip keeps piling on offenses, like doing a Chariots of Fire parody (those ceased being funny in 1983), giving Saturday Night Live’s Horatio Sanz a starring role, having Cuba dry-hump a porthole until he jizzes on a guy’s face, and having Roger Moore suggestively lick weenies, among other things.
The story (with apologies to the word “story”) has Gooding brokenhearted after his girlfriend (Vivica A. Fox) dumps him when he barfs on her cleavage and proposes marriage. To cheer him up, his ultra-horny janitor pal Sanz convinces him to accompany him on a cruise to engage in lots of promiscuous sex with loose women. But unbeknownst to them, a vengeful travel agent (Will Ferrell, whose cameo is the film’s only saving grace, outside of Victoria Silvstedt’s purple panties) books them on an all-male, all-gay ship. Let the homophobia ensue!
The initially disgusted Sanz thinks the trip might be okay after all when he accidentally shoots down a Swedish bikini team’s helicopter with a flare gun and they must board, enabling them to suntan and do jumping jacks topless. Gooding, meanwhile, falls for the ship’s dance instructor, Rush Hour 2 hottie Roselyn Sanchez — who does things to a banana here that presumably killed her career — but he can’t reveal to her that he’s not a homosexual.
Despite all the cheap shots, the film actually does carry a “being gay is just fine” message, but I doubt very many could make it that far. Its humor is absolutely infantile, and the look suggests a cheap, made-for-cable comedy that wouldn’t get watched without gratuitous nudity. —Rod Lott