'Happy Gilmore 2' review: Adam Sandler delivers nostalgic punchlines and unfiltered energy in hilarious sequel
Adam Sandler storms back onto the green in Happy Gilmore 2, a full-throttle sequel that embraces absurdity, celebrates nostalgia, and revives the very style of comedy that launched Sandler into superstardom in the 1990s. This isn’t a soft reboot or sanitized update — it’s a chaotic continuation that brings back Sandler’s signature blend of rage, heart, and offbeat humor, with all the unpolished charm that made the original a cult classic.
Adam Sandler returns to the green with Happy Gilmore 2, a fearless blast of '90s comedy chaos, nostalgia overload, and unfiltered rage-fueled laughs.
Netflix
The screenplay, penned by Sandler and longtime writing partner Tim Herlihy, picks up decades after the original film left off. Happy Gilmore, once a golf legend with six championship titles and a seemingly perfect life, is now a broken man. Following a tragic and absurdly Sandler-esque accident — a deadly tee shot that kills his wife Virginia — Happy has abandoned golf and spiraled into alcoholic dysfunction. His beard is thicker, his reflexes slower, but his inner fury remains intact.
Sandler taps into his roots with surprising ease. The film presents a man-child past his prime, but it never loses the comedic anarchy that defined Happy’s early career. As Happy stumbles through supermarket aisles with flasks disguised as produce and kitchenware, there’s a sadness that never overtakes the humor. Sandler walks that line with confidence, never letting the film collapse under the weight of its darker premise.
The comeback arc arrives via Happy’s daughter Vienna, played by Sandler’s real-life daughter Sunny Sandler. Accepted into the Paris Opera Ballet School, she needs $75,000 in tuition — money only a golf championship could earn. The comeback journey is classic Sandler: a training montage set to Foreigner’s “Juke Box Hero,” a series of crude motivational speeches, and a return to golf that’s more outrageous than ever.
A key addition is the Maxi Golf League, a satirical reimagining of modern professional sports where the game is trimmed to seven holes, injected with multimedia gimmicks, and populated by surgically enhanced players. Benny Safdie, in a wildly grotesque performance, leads the Maxi team with a blend of tech-bro arrogance and villainous flair. The contrast between old-school Gilmore rage and this next-gen spectacle sets the tone for a chaotic and clever showdown.
Fan service runs deep throughout the film. Familiar faces return in gloriously exaggerated fashion. Christopher McDonald reprises his role as Shooter McGavin, now institutionalized but no less competitive. Ben Stiller is back as Hal, the sadistic nursing home aide turned recovery program leader, playing his character like a Broadway villain with a 12-step curriculum. The son of Chubbs Peterson joins the team, wooden hand and all, continuing the legacy of gags that only make sense in Sandler’s slapstick universe.
Cameos from Kevin Nealon, Rob Schneider, and SNL’s Marcello Hernández pepper the runtime, offering blink-and-you-miss-it comedy beats. Sports legend Verne Lundquist, dressed in paisley so loud it borders on surrealism, adds a bizarrely charming layer to the climactic tournament commentary.
This sequel leans into the lowbrow with pride. The humor is deliberately unsophisticated, but there’s an intentionality behind the chaos that’s easy to overlook. Happy Gilmore 2 is built on the legacy of Sandler’s mid-’90s rebellion — a reaction to critical snubs and mainstream comedy conventions. Films like Billy Madison, The Waterboy, and the original Happy Gilmore weren’t just random nonsense; they were expressions of defiant comic instinct.
The comedic aggression of the original film still pulses through the sequel. Sandler’s performance bridges past and present — showcasing how his juvenile persona matured without losing the primal comic rage that defined his rise. His delivery is still manic, but now seasoned with just enough vulnerability to suggest an aging outsider who knows exactly who he is.
