In this politically overcorrect age, can one pan a Marlon Wayans project without being pegged a racist? No? Allow me to try anyway: Somehow, A Haunted House 2 is even worse than 2013’s A Haunted House, a parody so generic, its title perfectly matched. That a mere 15 months passed between the release of each suggests that “rushed” and “half-assed” were intentional. Give Wayans and director Michael Tiddes (Fifty Shades of Black) 15 months more and the sequel would fare no better; it might even play worse.
Wayans’ character of Malcolm has married — gasp! — a white woman (Jaime Pressly, DOA: Dead or Alive), thereby affording Wayans and frequent co-writer Rick Alvarez the single domino they need to push in order for the couple to move into a new home, which also is haunted. Cue the spoofs of The Possession (an evil box), Sinister (evil home movies) and whichever Paranormal Activity chapter happened to be around then.
But mostly it depends upon The Conjuring, because its creepy Annabelle doll shows up and — I hope you’re sitting down! — she won’t leave after Malcolm has sex with her. That bit stands for everything wrong with this sequel and Wayans’ one-track shtick in general: It’s not enough to let a few thrusts tell the joke; instead, we get to see Wayans hump (and perhaps rape) it in position after position, until the gag is beaten as lifeless as the damn doll. Elongating such a imagination-free joke doesn’t make it funnier — just more desperate.
If Wayans isn’t obsessing over penile whereabouts, he’s reinforcing stereotypes that smart comedies would break down. And if he’s not doing that, he’s going for the even easier laugh by shrieking. Those are his three moves and, over and over, they constitute one worthless movie. —Rod Lott