It has taken me a while to process things in the aftermath of Zoolander 2. It has been a grieving of sorts, a wider mourning for what feels like the slow, grinding death of the modern comedy sequel. I might as well have worn a black mesh veil to Anchorman 2, and swayed a lighter back and forth during Dumb and Dumber To. Zoolander 2 required a gilded coffin and a 21-gun salute.
Why do these comedy hits always insist on going back to the well? Why make a sequel 15 years after the original? Zoolander was a biting satire on the vacuous, lavish world of the early-2000s fashion scene.
It had enough celebrity cameos to satisfy without bragging, and enough good jokes to make us forget about the bad. It managed to be smart, dumb, fantastical and all-too-real, and created the most recognisable facial expression of the millennium.
The sequel mostly felt like when your Dad tells a gag over dinner that goes pretty well, then spends the rest of the night embellishing it to reach that same high. I laughed - sometimes too much - but it was a confused, embarrassed laugh. And it was a lone chuckle in a pin-drop silent cinema.
In the film we meet a washed-up, bearded Derek Zoolander (Ben Stiller) living as a "hermit crab" after accidentally killing his wife and losing his son. He gets back on the modelling wagon, with the help of Owen Wilson's Hansel, to try to prove he can provide as a father.
