Publication Date: 02-01-2026

Superbad (2007) review

Dir. Greg Mottola

By: Steve Pulaski

Rating: ★★★★

I was 11-years-old when Superbad hit theaters. I have a confession to make. The first time I ever saw the film was on YouTube in the middle of its theatrical run. You see, long before Google owned YouTube, and even prior to YouTube having the capabilities of auto-filtering copyrighted content, it was remarkably easy to upload clips, or full-blown movies, to the site. Being that most accounts couldn’t upload videos longer than 10 minutes, that meant that movies were split into parts. I watched the entirety of Superbad across 11 different videos recorded by some brave soul who brought a camcorder in to his theater’s showing.

The movie was hilarious then, and even after viewing it close to a dozen times since (in DVD, Blu-ray, or HD cable quality, mind you), I still laugh loudly. Some movies are released and are instantly considered great by the masses. Superbad was one of them. Even with stiff competition in Knocked Up (released the same year, less than two months prior) and The 40-Year Old Virgin, Superbad felt like the generational comedies that came before it. Every decade has one. If you grew up in the 1970s, American Graffiti or the comparatively scuzzier Porky’s probably put your adolescence into better words than you could. The Breakfast Club was significantly less raunchy, but took archetypal teenagers and made them human beings. In the 1990s, American Pie used the allure of sex and parties to get to something deeper: the bond between a large group of friends and the interpersonal bond they had through torment and self-consciousness.

Like the 1980s were made better thanks to John Hughes, Judd Apatow was the comedic voice of a brand new generation in the 2000s, and though he only be a producer on Superbad, he’s forever associated with one of the pillar movies of the decade that still steals some of my time whenever I happen to catch it on TV.

Shamelessly bawdy, with more four-letter words than a Webster dictionary, Superbad appears to be something of an autobiographical account of its writers, Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, who name the two leads after themselves. They are Seth (Jonah Hill), the loudmouth pervert, and the sweetly nervous, self-conscious Evan (Michael Cera).The two have been friends for years, but their friendship is nearing a crossroads, as Evan has been accepted to Dartmouth and Seth is going to a state college. There will come a time when that needs to be addressed, but with graduation near, and the two lifelong pals still virgins, there are bigger fish to fry.

Seth has a crush on a pretty redhead named Jules (Emma Stone), who trusts him with supplying alcohol for her party. Meanwhile, Evan has eyes for Becca (Martha MacIsaac), who hankers for a bottle of Goldslick Vodka at Jules’ upcoming rager. The timing is impeccable because Seth and Evan’s impossibly geeky friend, Fogel (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), is getting a fake ID. Fogel opts for the mononym “McLovin” for his ID, and beyond the fact he looks like a “future pedophile” in the photo, the move that should prompt instant red flags instead gets Fogel in good graces with a pair of ne’er-do-well cops (Rogen and Bill Hader) following a failed attempt to secure booze for Jules’ party.

The night unfolds into a chaotic spectacle, with Seth and Evan on their own to get alcohol and make their way to Jules’, while Fogel and the cops have their own evening of debauchery. Rogen and Goldberg’s writing allows the wit and timing of the characters to take center-stage. Consider how hilarious the aforementioned scene in front of liquor store is, as Seth and Evan wait in the parking lot for Fogel to buy the booze. After the vulgar “pep-talk” they give Fogel, the two friends pass the long, anxious minutes by rambling back and forth. Hill and Cera have the chemistry of lifelong friends, and their dialog achieves a rare musicality where it’s as if they’re singing their lines, or you could believe they’ve deviated far off script.

Even scenes that shouldn’t be funny due to their excessively juvenile nature work. There’s no better example than a flashback to Seth’s childhood obsession with drawing penises. Why does it work? Because the writing leans into the absurdist nature of it all, not to mention employs unforgettable terms such as “Ghostbusters lunchbox dick treasure chest,” it’s a wildly successful aside. Furthermore, it shows how precise Rogen and Goldberg are with their script. For example, I’ve never thought of cargo shorts the same way after seeing this film.

Superbad doesn’t need a plethora of topless extras to try and earn appeal. Rogen and Goldberg’s story effectively captures the awkwardness of teenage years with pinpoint accuracy. It inserts you into the self-interested minds of its leads, where status is the ultimate goal and virginity is an albatross. The undercurrent of friction that Seth and Evan will soon go their separate ways regardless of how this night plays out is palpable, and anyone whose path with their best friend included a fork in the road that would prevent them from seeing one another as frequently will likely feel the empathy, as well as the feelings of desertion, as misguided as they are.

Apropos of nothing, but Superbad‘s music choices have always struck me. The opening sequence is instantly invigorating, with silhouettes of Hill and Cera dancing to the Bar-Kays’ “Too Hot to Stop.” Rather than modern hip-hop, the soundtrack leans into funk, underscored by a great needle-drop of Rick James’ “Bustin’ Out” as the boys’ afternoon sets into motion.

Superbad‘s element of surprise reveals itself with each subsequent watch, at least for me: the nuanced emotion that still peeks through all the crassness. While ultimately another feather in the caps of Rogen and Goldberg, it’s a testament to Hill, Cera, and even Mintz-Plasse for selling the steak of the material; not just the vulgar sizzle. In the scrambled bush of R-rated comedies, Superbad is a rose.

Starring: Jonah Hill, Michael Cera, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Bill Hader, Seth Rogen, Emma Stone, and Martha MacIsaac. Directed by: Greg Mottola.