Metacritic reviews

A great big bear-hug of a Britcom, with rhinestones on its shirt, salsa in its heart and dick jokes up its sleeve. Something for everyone, then.

Frost is a likable bloke with a deft physical grace to match his rat-a-tat one-liners. But all the sequins and silk shirts in the world can’t disguise the film’s too-familiar formula.

The film is thin on concept and limited in style, but the filmmakers have the good sense to let their characters remain playful and goofy throughout.

Saturday Night Fever by way of Strictly Come Dancing, Frost’s solo movie lacks the inventive madness of his Cornetto team-ups, but it’s still a heartfelt blast of fun.

[An] amiable but flat-footed debut feature.

Overall, it’s just enough to send the date-movie crowd home with a smile on their face and a tingle of joy in their heart.

Frost is a likable lead and an easy rooting interest. But his affability isn’t enough to give this silly-sweet feature the edge and dimension that would make it a memorable contribution to the subgenre epitomized by The Full Monty — comedies in which middle-aged, unassuming Brits discover their inner showman.

This comedy never quite relaxes or convinces or comes together, despite a blue-chip pedigree and a great cast.

Frost can play lovable losers in his sleep, but to succeed, Cuban Fury has to make him dance. A fat man falling down gets a cheap laugh; a fat man with magic feet makes us cheer. Director James Griffiths splits the difference between ridicule and respect, and the resulting comedy is as trite and cloying as a rum and coke.

Cuban Fury belongs to an older, unfunnier time. Please let’s not go back.