If you've ever seen a dumb party movie, you can predict what happens in Sisters, the Tina Fey/Amy Poehler comedy about sisters revisiting the Orlando McMansion of their youth to pack up their bedrooms and throw one last rager. Once the drugs and booze start flowing, the evening is a mess: There will be fights, dancing and destruction, and probably foam from the ceiling. Suds and secrets spill all over the house.
Fey and Poehler even divide into typical archetypes. Fey's Kate is the unhinged, oversexed loon while Poehler's Maura has the self-sacrificial prudery of a kid who spent her life cleaning up after her older sister's wreckage. Their shared bedroom is a wreck, a jumble of detritus that captures growing up girl.
You might get restless as director Jason Moore (Pitch Perfect) establishes their wearily predictable dynamic. It's tired stuff, but after two decades of friendship, Fey and Poehler know how to sell their characters' bond. They generously egg each other on to look even funnier, and Poehler may be the best straight-woman of her generation.
Once the bash really gets going, I was swept up in the chaos and happily clicked off my brain. Screenwriter Paula Pell classes up the dumb stuff with a touch of depth—these revelers, mature-ish people with mortgages and children, savor this night because, as Poehler yelps, "We know we could die tomorrow!" Pell unabashedly writes for and from a female POV, trusting that we'll get the joke when Maya Rudolph, as a bitter mean girl, claims she vengefully flushed a tampon down the toilet and Fey counters, "You're pads all the way, and we know it!"