Cheaper by the Dozen

The Logistics of a Modern Mob

There is a specific kind of vertigo that sets in when you watch a family of twelve try to navigate a single kitchen. In the 2022 reimagining of Cheaper by the Dozen, that kitchen isn't just a place for burnt toast; it’s a high-stakes command center for a blended, multi-ethnic, entrepreneurial household that feels distinctly tailored for the Disney+ "Trending Now" rail. Directed by Gail Lerner and co-written by the architect of modern sitcom domesticity, Kenya Barris (Black-ish), this version swaps the rural charm of the 1950 original and the slapstick suburban angst of the 2003 Steve Martin vehicle for something far more concerned with "the conversation."

I sat down to watch this while trying to untangle a pair of wired headphones I haven’t used since 2016, and the frantic energy on screen matched my frustration perfectly. We meet Paul (Zach Braff) and Zoey (Gabrielle Union), the heads of the Baker household. They aren't just parents; they’re the CEOs of a chaotic startup called Baker’s Breakfast. Between Paul’s secret savory-sweet sauce and the logistics of getting nine children (plus a few hangers-on) to school, the film moves with a frantic, caffeinated pace that defines the streaming era. It’s designed to be consumed in a living room where someone is definitely looking at their phone, offering enough bright colors and quick-fire quips to keep you tethered to the remote.

A New Flavor of Baker

What immediately separates this iteration from its predecessors is its willingness to actually look at the world outside the front door. While the 2003 film was mostly about Steve Martin getting hit in the groin or dealing with a rogue frog, the 2022 version leans into the complexities of a blended family in an era of hyper-awareness. We have ex-spouses—Erika Christensen as the hippy-dippy Kate and Timon Kyle Durrett as the wealthy, slightly intimidating Dom—who are integrated into the family's daily life rather than being relegated to villainous caricatures.

Gabrielle Union is, as always, the most professional person in any room she enters. She brings a grounded, weary grace to Zoey that keeps the movie from drifting into pure cartoon territory. Zach Braff, meanwhile, leans hard into the "corny dad" energy he’s been perfecting since Scrubs. He’s charming, if a bit manic, and his chemistry with Union is surprisingly sweet. However, the film really finds its friction when it addresses the elephant in the room: race and class. The 2003 version had a better frog-related disaster, but the 2022 version has much more interesting things to say about how a white father navigates raising Black sons in a gated community. These moments of sincerity are where the movie breathes, even if they occasionally feel like they’ve been transplanted from a more serious dramedy.

Content Over Cinema?

Despite the charm of the leads, there’s no escaping the "Disney+ Original" sheen that coats the entire production. It’s a clean, brightly lit aesthetic that prioritizes clarity over character. The house is a bit too perfect; the problems are solved a bit too tidily. It’s "content" in the most literal sense—high-quality, professionally polished, and ultimately a bit disposable. In an era where we are inundated with IP-driven remakes, Cheaper by the Dozen feels like a strategic move to keep a recognizable title in the library while updating its social software.

Interestingly, the film’s production was one of many that had to navigate the height of the pandemic’s logistical nightmares. Apparently, managing ten child actors under strict COVID protocols is about as difficult as the plot of the movie suggests. You can almost feel that bottled-up energy in the performances. There are also some fun nods for the eagle-eyed viewer; the "Baker’s Breakfast" sauce subplot feels like a meta-commentary on Kenya Barris’s own expansive branding empire.

The humor is a bit of a mixed bag. There’s a reliance on TikTok-adjacent dance breaks and "kids say the darndest things" beats that might make anyone over the age of twenty-five wince. But then, a sharp line about co-parenting or a genuine moment of vulnerability between the siblings will land, reminding you that there are real humans under the glossy surface. The middle act drags like a toddler refusing to put on shoes, but the ensemble’s genuine warmth eventually carries it across the finish line. It’s a movie that knows its audience: families who want something familiar but wouldn’t mind if it reflected the world they actually live in.

Ultimately, this remake doesn't quite reach the heights of the 1950 classic’s wit or the 2003 version’s slapstick heart. It’s a pleasant enough way to kill 107 minutes, especially if you’re looking for a family comedy that doesn't completely ignore the complexities of modern life. It’s a bright, loud, and occasionally moving piece of the Disney machine that serves its purpose: it fills the screen, it keeps the kids busy, and it reminds us that no matter the decade, twelve people in one house is always going to be a disaster.