It's crammed with fucken stupid product placement. It terminates in an act of chirpy corporate obeisance. The daydreams have no sense of dramatic uniqueness - they are just escalation. It's just Stiller as a shit director wheeling in the special effects. It borrows its aesthetics wholesale from credit-card commercials and it just pumps out a related "carpe diem, bro. Buy a mountain-bike" message in lieu of anything, anything, with a bit of internal cinematic interest or tension to it. There's no counter-thrust, no reticence, no inside.
Turning up the volume on an old, shit Arcade Fire track is this film's signature attempt to communicate with its audience.
And Stiller is a fuckwit. He's a fuckwit when he's a nerd and he's a fuckwit when he's a preening outdoorsy cockend. Aniston is a void. I don't care who any of the other actors might be, but they were shit too.