Directed by Amy Heckerling.
Released by Tri-Star.
If you let all the air out of "Look Who's Talking Too," you'd be left with about seven minutes of not very interesting domestic drama in which John Travolta and Kirstie Alley try to outbitch each other -- not my idea of a good time, but possibly yours.
The air, in this case, consists of endless close-ups of cuddly toddlers representing their children but doing nothing of note except being cuddly and drooling a lot while Bruce Willis and Roseanne Barr read extremely mild repartee into the soundtrack. The issue of drama here seems to involve pee pee and poo poo. Again, not my idea of a good time, but possibly yours.
Meanwhile, Alley is undergoing the most EZ-does-it pregnancy in history, while her string-bean lout of a husband lies around and is sensitive but seems unable to make much money. Things get even more complicated when Travis Bickle moves in with his handgun collection.
Actually, it's Elias Koteas, a young actor who continues to get work by virtue of his physical similarity to the young Robert De Niro; he seems to have very little else to offer.
Offered as a sort of right-wing maniac who is, unlikely as it seems, Alley's brother, he waves a pistol, drinks all the soda pop and eats too many Twinkies, and soon perfect, sensitive father Travolta has abandoned his family.
The movie is a classic case of a film for which no justification existed outside of the market hunger. Writer-director Amy Heckerling has no story to tell and nothing to share. But how could she or Travolta or Alley begin to say no to the millions in found money their listless sequel is sure to generate?
So this imitation movie putters along, in search of story and incident, picking up and discarding ideas; it feels as if it were directed by Mikey, in fact, because its attention span is so infantilistically short.
The pistol is a curious example.
Goony Elias brandishes it, terrifying Travolta; but for some peculiar reason, the prospect of a loose gun in the same house with an unsupervised, highly curious 2-year-old boy doesn't scare mama a tad (it scared me in the theater).
Is Heckerling setting up a story stroke by which she can address the considerable danger and utter folly of mixing kids and guns?
Nope. The gun soon disappears (as does the Koteas personality, as defined in the early going), only to figure but marginally in the silly climax.
Frankly, the movie is so disorganized and chaotic, it looks as if it were made up on the spot. Barr and Willis (and Damon Wayans, in a much ballyhooed but almost non-existent voice role) can't have spent a morning in the dubbing studio. Nobody worked very hard on this one.