In one scene, Blart passes out from his hypoglycemia and must use a nearby child’s melting ice cream to revive himself. He crawls forward, moaning about his need for sugar, and then lies underneath the dripping cream, followed by an extended shot of the cream getting all over his face as he desperately tries to swallow it. In this scene, James graphically turns himself into the cockroach and the whore that he was to make this movie. Photos courtesy Columbia Pictures.
This is what you do. This is what you mother fuckers do. You easily entertained, intellectually infantile, giggle-while-you-watch-shadows-dance-on-the-cave-wall idiots. You people who think 3D is actually worth something, you people who shell out for that shot of Taylor Lautner’s abs that the trailer already gave away, you people who take your children to the post-Pixar holocaust of cartoon movies, this is what you do. You turn Paul Blart: Mall Cop into a franchise.
In the opening scenes of Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2, in what is very much the best part of the film, Blart’s (Kevin James, who also writes) wife leaves him after six days and his mother gets hit by a milk truck. But he just as quickly receives a ray of light when he is invited to the national mall security conference in Las Vegas. There, the hits keep coming as Blart fights with his daughter and pretty much everyone he comes into contact with. Soon, this conflict becomes justified as Vincent (Neal McDonaugh) attempts to pull several priceless pieces of art from the hotel.
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