I feel the throttle ought to have remained close to where it was at for
the first movie, because upping the action to almost super-hero levels of ability makes the sequel feel like unintentional self-parody. If the scene that opens the farce (before the title appears) makes you cringe, then prepare for the worst, because things get even more moronic later on. The homages to other media feel forced, and the underlying worry of separation and outside commitments, which does actually play into the main plot, is as contrived as
Justin Theroux's Irish accent. A pinch of decent subtext could've saved the story, but nothing other than residency on the cutting room floor could've stopped the action scenes from shitting over the potential for more light-hearted fun.
1½ whip tricks out of 5
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