The funny thing about Happy Gilmore 2 is that it can’t really be reviewed without first addressing the nine o’clock shadow cast by the original Happy Gilmore. The 1996 classic is deeply embedded in both the sports world and pop culture zeitgeist. Its impact is so strong that Adam Sandler even named his production company, Happy Madison, after the film’s iconic character. In 2020, Christopher McDonald resurrected Shooter McGavin for a PGA Tour 2K21 promo—further proof of the film’s lasting influence.
Why mention this before diving into the sequel?
Simple: Happy Gilmore casts a shadow too big for any sequel to escape. That distinction needs to be clear before we even hit “play.”
So—on its own merit—is Happy Gilmore 2 a good movie?
I’ll answer that in five letters: “No, but.”
Like most modern movies—never mind sequels—it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why it doesn’t work. There are incredible moments, a great story concept, strong character dynamics, and genuinely good acting.
What’s funny is—it’s also marred by the exact opposite.
Let’s take the overall story. Conceptually, it’s about a man fallen on hard times, rising up from the dirt he put himself in to redeem himself and help others. Solid on paper.
The execution, though, is… interesting.
The movie opens with a recap of the first film and builds on it: Happy continued to grow, becoming ultra-successful—until one day he hits a long drive that accidentally knocks out his wife, dropping her like Stone Cold Steve Austin.
This is the first nick in the movie’s armour. It’s played for laughs (obviously) and becomes the catalyst for the story: Happy rising from the ashes of his own mistake to help someone else (more on that later).
The problem? Tone. The movie flip-flops almost sycophantically between serious drama and full-blown slapstick.
Happy spirals into alcoholism. Virginia—his wife, played again by Julie Bowen—handled the finances. With her gone, he loses everything, including his beloved grandmother’s house (remember that—I’ll come back to it).
Now destitute, Happy and his five kids move into a run-down house—ironically, still bigger than what most people could afford today, but I’ll let that nugget simmer. Four of the kids are old enough to work and look after themselves. Happy lands a job at a convenience store, grinding through a soul-sucking 9-to-5.
All of this is played for laughs—and that’s fine.
But Happy isn’t playing along.
He knows he screwed up. He’s riddled with guilt. He sees himself as a terrible father. And thanks to Adam Sandler’s surprisingly strong performance, it works. Happy becomes the most grounded, relatable character in the film.
And that’s exactly where the movie betrays him.
Midway through, it abandons this emotional foundation in favor of a louder, dumber plot. A rich asshole declares golf is boring and demands a new, faster, “next-gen” version of the game. This leads to Happy being one of five traditional golfers competing against five “new-gen” golfers to save golf.
It’s a fine concept—in a different movie.
Here, it undercuts everything the film had built so far. You were invested in Happy’s personal redemption. The story didn’t need this cartoonish tournament. It didn’t need a forced, asinine premise.
And it definitely didn’t need its brand of unrealistic nonsense in a movie that—until now—had felt oddly real.
Worse still is the addition of a single villain golfer, who contributes absolutely nothing. He’s played by Haley Joel Osment, and while that shouldn’t be a problem, it might be the worst performance in the entire film—and trust me, that’s saying something.
I won’t spoil the film’s literal twist on how that character becomes a threat to Happy, but it’s used as an excuse to launch the movie’s real issue:
The goddamn cameos.
The original Happy Gilmore had major actors and celebrity appearances—many so iconic they’re still quoted today. Richard Kiel as Mr. Larson. Ben Stiller as Hal L., the sadistic nursing home prick. And of course, the greatest use of Bob Barker in any media. (I’ll fight you on that.)
They worked. They enhanced the movie. They were effective and silly and fun.
In Happy Gilmore 2, there are far more cameos. So many that listing them all would take another 600 words. That in itself isn’t a problem—but most of them are tied to characters from the original movie. Some help. Some do nothing but tether the sequel to a better past.
Take Hal L.—he returns as Happy’s AA counsellor. There’s a flashback to remind you who he is. The scene is fine, the cameo fun, but the AA plotline? Completely irrelevant. The cameo ends up feeling more important than the scene itself, and it eats up a solid 10–20 minutes.
Then there’s Mr. Larson’s cameo—alongside his son, played by the best lookalike casting they could find. It’s indulgent, and while the explanation for what happened to Mr. Larson is funny, it’s also nonsense. I won’t spoil it, but it’s exactly the kind of fan-service fluff that breaks the movie’s balance.
Oh, and the golf caddy from the first movie returns—now a golfer himself. It leads to some laughs and paves the way for Bad Bunny to appear as Happy’s new caddy.
Shame, too, because Bunny’s a competent actor, but the movie gives him nothing to do.
All of this creates problems.
But they’re not the anchor dragging this movie down. That honour goes to Shooter McGavin.
Christopher McDonald returns, and this character—this version of Shooter—is everything wrong with the movie.
Shooter starts in an insane asylum, placed there after the events of the first film (cue more flashbacks). The setup is fine. It even fits his cartoonish persona.
We learn he could’ve been released multiple times, but can’t let go of his hatred for Happy.
Eventually, the villain breaks Shooter out so he can play for the “new-gen” team. Okay, fair. Sounds fun.
Here’s the problem: Shooter says no. Which is in character. He loves golf. He’d hate this next-gen nonsense.
So he throws coffee in the villain’s face (an excuse to make them even more cartoonishly evil), runs away, and becomes a fugitive.
Happy—now off the wagon—runs into Shooter in a graveyard where Virginia is buried. They fight.
It’s an excuse to cameo every actor from the original movie who has passed away. Honestly? It’s clever. Touching. Beautiful.
And then… that’s it.
Shooter becomes background noise. He amps up the five “traditional” golfers—another excuse for more cameos—but you barely see them play. Total waste.
Now for the biggest problem: the loose threads.
I intentionally haven’t told you Happy’s main goal.
One might assume it’s to win back his house, save golf, or maybe end up in a romantic arc with Shooter (I know some of you want that, you weirdos).
Nope. It’s to send his daughter—the only child with visible talent—to dance school in France.
It’s a humble, heartfelt goal.
And it completely vanishes in the movie’s second half.
In the first act, it works beautifully. You fall in love with Happy. With his broken family. Even with the daughter—who, despite having no real character, is charming and sweet.
Then the plot derails. And by the end, you don’t care anymore.
This is the tale of two movies.
One that could have been transformative.
And the end result.
To quote youtube movie reviewer Jeremy Jahns:
“A good time if you’re drunk.
Would’ve been a better time if you’re drunk.
And you’re not gonna remember it in T-minus…
One day.
Yeah, already forgotten.”
I’m deeply saddened by this movie—because it’s riddled with potential.
In fact, it might be the most potential-ridden film I’ve seen in years.
Then again… Adam Sandler has a habit of making those.
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