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
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 concluded his review with a line that
So, when the calendar flipped to July 2008, and the multiplexes were graced with Step Brothers —a film starring Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly as two forty-year-old virgins who live with their parents and wage a war of domestic terrorism involving drum kits, bunk beds, and a notorious "Dirty Mike & the Boys" incident—the critical establishment prepared for the usual ritual. The New York Times called it "a noodge of a movie." Variety sighed about its "one-joke premise." The consensus was a weary shrug: Juvenile. Stupid. Beneath consideration. That stupid, impossible, beautiful drawing of a car
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."