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Mel Brooks has often been called the Master of Comedy. The moniker might be a bit too grandiose, but he was certainly the master of the parody. In recent years that has become more evident than ever. Too often I’ve been forced to sit through something called a comedy. Not only can I do so without ever actually laughing, but there are far too many titles of late that don’t even give me the chance to crack a smile. It’s not that I’ve seen so much that it’s hard to find anything original. I can still laugh like crazy when I watch a Sanford and Son episode I’ve seen at least 50 times or an Abbott & Costello routine
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“Even in the most primitive man, the need to create was part of his nature. This need, this talent, clearly separated early man from animals who would never know this gift. And here, in a cave somewhere in the North American Continent, about two million years ago, the first artist was born. And, of course, with the birth of the artist came the inevitable afterbirth … the critic.”

That’s me. Afterbirth here. Brooks always did love to poke fun at the critics. And why not? Unfortunately, this was not one of his better films and likely received a lot of poking from the brethren.
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