



About as subtle as calling a spade a f’ing shovel. Tactless, predictable and to be avoided unless you’ve imbibed copious quantities of something recreational. Which would be a waste if you did. So don’t.
For such a cult film, I expected more—more chaos, more gross-outs, more laughs. What’s here is a romp with flashes of fun, but it never quite reaches the delirium its reputation suggests.
John Belushi, of course, is the engine—his Bluto a whirlwind of pratfalls, food fights, and anarchic energy. Around him, though, the film feels thin: most characters are sketches built to service gags rather than a story. The result is a patchwork of set pieces. The second act drags, stretching hijinks without escalation.
Still, it’s easy to see why Animal House left its mark. It bottled a spirit of campus rebellion that felt both juvenile and oddly liberating, and it paved the way for countless imitators—though first doesn’t always mean best. Taken on its own, it’s more wry than wild, more shrug than shock: a film that sparked a genre but doesn’t quite blow the roof off anymore.
I sometimes find the National Lampoons to be a hit and miss but I'm addicted to spoofs and this one was great, taking the absolute mickey out of american college life, jocks etc. A great laugh especially for it's age.