You'd imagine that a Farrelly Brothers flick set completely inside the human body would provide the perfect excuse for the gross-out auteurs to fully plumb the depths of their favourite scatological functions. Yet despite Osmosis Jones opening with a monkey scratching its arse and ending with Bill Murray breaking wind (as well as containing entire scenes set in the bladder, bowels and uvula), the Farrellys' artistic stamp is somewhat smudged. Yes, there are bucketfuls of bodily fluids and pastoral New England settings, both of which lend the film a definite Farrelly feel, but their presence seems like an afterthought, a calculated attempt to woo hipper audiences and distract them from Osmosis Jones' conventional, decidedly PG-rated innards.
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