He concluded his review with a line that should be carved into the headstone of every cynical critic: "To reject Step Brothers because it is juvenile is to reject the sound of a child’s laughter. This movie is not a failure of taste. It is a liberation from it."
And so, we return to the cataline. That stupid, impossible, beautiful drawing of a car with a bed in the back. In the world of adult logic, it is worthless. In the world of Roger Ebert’s balcony, it is a masterpiece of imagination. It goes nowhere. It makes no money. It solves no problems. And for that reason, it is perfect. Step Brothers is the cataline of cinema. And Roger Ebert, bless him, was the only critic willing to take it for a drive. roger ebert step brothers
It was a film that seemed designed to be forgotten—a footnote in the DVD bargain bin. Critics who panned it called it "lazy." Ebert pounced on that word. "Lazy is a film that goes through the motions," he wrote. " Step Brothers is exhausting. It throws everything at the wall, and if it misses, it throws the wall." He concluded his review with a line that
A lesser critic would have stopped there. Ebert did not. He recognized that the film’s stupidity was not a bug, but a feature—a deliberate, almost surgical, excising of adult social convention. Ebert wrote, "The movie is not about immaturity, but about the liberation of being completely, authentically yourself." That stupid, impossible, beautiful drawing of a car
Ebert saw the film as a brutal satire of the American Dream. The "good guys" are the ones who refuse to grow up. The "villain" (Scott’s Derek) is a successful, sleek, Prius-driving entrepreneur who uses therapy-speak as a weapon ("The only thing that's going to be stretched is someone's face... across someone's fist"). Ebert noted, with a critic’s glee, that Derek’s comeuppance—getting punched in the face, losing his job, having his car vandalized—is presented as a moral victory. In Ebert’s reading, Step Brothers argues that success is overrated. Loyalty to your fellow chaos-gremlin is what matters. Roger Ebert died in 2013. In the years since, Step Brothers has undergone a seismic critical reappraisal. It is now frequently listed among the greatest comedies of the 21st century. Quotes from it have become linguistic shorthand ("Boats 'n Hoes," "Did we just become best friends?"). It is a cultural touchstone for a generation that came of age during the Great Recession—a generation that looked at the promise of adult life (careers, mortgages, 401ks) and decided, perhaps ironically, perhaps not, that building a bunk bed was a more worthwhile pursuit.
He called it "exhilarating," "sublimely ridiculous," and "a work of pure, uncut id." He placed it in the company of The Producers and Animal House . The review was not a guilty pleasure confession; it was a battle cry. To understand how a film about two men fighting over a drum set on a front lawn became, in Ebert’s eyes, a minor masterpiece, is to understand the very soul of his criticism. The surface-level reading of Step Brothers is easy. Brennan Huff (Ferrell) and Dale Doback (Reilly) are regressed man-children. They speak in high-pitched shrieks. They build makeshift weaponry from cleaning supplies. Their vocabulary is a barbaric yawp of insults: "You’re a fuckin’ liar, you’re a fuckin’ liar, you’re a fuckin’ liar!"
