As a ’90s kid, the Jackass crew will always hold a sacred, bruised place in my heart. Whether launching bikes off ramps, deliberately looking like absolute dickheads in public, or taking cattle-prod voltage to the nuts just to crack your mates up, they captured an adolescent running rampant in a world before consequences. That spirit is what permanently sets them apart.

Modern YouTube pranksters have poisoned that space with clout-chasing and predatory, monetised “acts of kindness,” but Jackass never punched down. The cast were always the fools, never the public caught in their blast radius.

This continues in Jackass: Best and Last which fully embraces those late-’90s skate-video roots and true to itself values. The film shamelessly acknowledges the millions made from turning reckless stupidity into a global juggernaut, yet their scruffy brand of male camaraderie remains strong. Even with white hair and creaky joints, watching these jackasses still feels like hanging out with the boys in a backyard with a handycam.

That said, the franchise has visibly crossed the finish line. Leaning heavily into the rhythm of a classic sitcom clip show, Best and Last trades relentless forward momentum for nostalgia. The new stunts feel noticeably subdued – the jumps and falls are lower, the hesitation is palpable, and youthful bullishness has naturally yielded to basic self-preservation. When placed directly alongside archival footage from their peak, the contrast is stark. Every fractured bone, blown ligament, and permanent concussion accrued over two decades finally weighs on the screen, and for fans chasing that same level of jackassary, the fresh material will feel undercooked.

Yet the film never pretends to be anything else. Well aware of its own cash-cow status, Johnny Knoxville and his ensemble treat this less like a boundary-pushing sequel and more like a curtain call for the faithful millennials who bought the ticket. It’s not trying to recruit a new generation of fans, it’s an affectionate, 91-minute send-off for the ones who grew up alongside them.

A fitting final bow that lets the juggernaut limp off on its own terms and to Frank Sinatra – until the next one.

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