I mean, it's called 'Dicks: The Musical.' What did you expect?

Somehow, Dicks: The Musical finds a way to be even less subtle than its title.

It's also sillier. Dumber. More crass, more tasteless. Also: It's exultantly stupid, blithely vulgar and joyfully trashy.

After all, as titles go, Dicks: The Musical is a clever wink, coy and knowing. Compared to it, the film itself is a Grindr notification in church, attached to an unsolicited but no-less impressive gallery of a stranger's privates.

It is also, I hasten to note, supremely self-aware of everything it does, and achieves its specialized purpose with laser-like precision. Said purpose, such as it is: ridicule , toxic masculinity, girl bosses, the queer-assimilationist mantra "love is love" and the phenomenon known as "twincest," wherein hot gay guys tend to hook up with other hot gay guys who look so much like them that any