Written and directed by John Favreau

Starring Jon Favreau, Vince Vaughn, Famke Janssen, Sean Combs

Bobby (Favreau) isn’t in any danger of being a contender. With a 5-5-1 record in the ring at The Sportsman’s, he’s in no danger of moving up from his dead end job laying concrete and keeping tabs on his stripper girl friend Jessica (Famke Janssen). But if you think he’s a loser, meet his best friend Ricky (Vaughn). While barely qualified to sweep up on a construction site, he encourages Bobby to be all he can be and keep slugging. When Bobby roughs up one of Jessica’s johns — I means clients — the local Mafioso, Max (Peter Falk), sends the two of them off to New York to act as muscle in a mysterious job with the urbane and violent Ruiz (Sean Combs). Bobby does his best to act the strong silent type, and Ricky does his best to act the rube in the big city. After nearly bringing the mystery deal to its knees, Ricky accidentally saves the day with a starter’s pistol. The point of the deal is vague — it wasn’t drugs, it wasn’t diamonds• maybe they were exchanging hot MP3s. Somehow, they end up doing whatever it is they’re supposed to, and upon returning home, Bobby quits the mob and Jessica gives him her feral child Chloe (Mackenzie Vega), and then Ricky and Bobby live happily ever after.

It’s a sappy buddy flick, and 50% of the dialog is “fuck,” but it has its moments. There’s a great scene where Combs unloads his Internet stocks at the peak, and Ricky spends $48 on two burgers and a beer (NYC room service is SO overpriced), and a gay architect wants to spank the building crew for mis-spacing his studs. A lot of what happens on screen isn’t well motivated, but the supporting cast shines through. Besides Falk and Combs, there’s Ruiz’s huge body guard Horace (Faizon Love) who puts up with more crud from Ricky than any bodyguard ought to, and the longsuffering bell hop at the Soho Grand, who places fresh bowls of goldfish everywhere. Made is coarse and funny, but don’t expect a tightly written piece, and don’t expect to understand why Ricky wasn’t shot by anyone with a gun who happened to bump into him. I would have popped him myself, given half a chance.

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