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Chris Anne Affleck, the mother of Oscar winners Ben Affleck and Casey Affleck, died June 2, her family announced. She was 83 and diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in December.

Christine Anne Boldt was born in New York City in December 1942. She was a graduate of Harvard University and spent 35 years as a public school teacher. She retired in 2008 and was a fierce civil rights advocate throughout her life, having served as one of the original freedom riders who went into the Deep South during the 1960s.

Chris and her ex-husband Timothy Affleck welcomed their first child, Ben, in 1972. Ben’s brother, Casey, was born in 1975, around the time their family relocated to Massachusetts, where she continued her teaching career.

“My mother taught public school, went to Harvard and then got her master’s there and taught fifth and sixth grade in a public school,” Ben told The Hollywood Reporter in 2012. “My dad had a more working-class lifestyle. He didn’t go to college. He was an auto mechanic and a bartender and a janitor at Harvard.”

By the time Ben was 12, his parents divorced. As his passion for entertainment grew during his adolescence, Chris played a hand in his early industry beginnings, connecting her son with her former Harvard roommate, casting director Patty Collins, who helped him audition for commercials and TV movies.

She was an avid supporter of her sons’ acting careers and attended the 1998 Oscars alongside Ben and Matt Damon, who also brought his mother as his date, after the pair were nominated for best original screenplay for Good Will Hunting — a film the duo also starred in alongside Casey. Ben and Damon would go on to win the Oscar, and the film has become a classic.

“We were sitting next to our moms and we won, and we kind of hugged our moms. I remember how everyone had made such a big thing out of it as if this was such a novelty,” Ben told Vanity Fair of the moment. “I remember thinking, being insecure, like, ‘Why? Why is it weird that we’re bringing our moms?’ Who else do you think we would bring?”

Ben would go on to win his second Oscar, for best picture, for Argo in 2012. Casey would win the best actor Oscar in 2017 for his performance in Kenneth Lonergan’s Manchester by the Sea.

Chris was given six months to live in December, and her greatest wish after her diagnosis was seeing grandson Atticus graduate high school, her family said. She attended the event with her family on May 31 and died peacefully in her sleep two days later.

In addition to her sons, survivors include her five grandchildren: Casey’s kids, Atticus and Indiana, and Ben’s kids, Violet, Fin and Sam.

There’s an amusing, insightful movie to be made about the culture clash that would inevitably result between a 40-year-old Millennial and several Gen Z twenty-somethings. But that’s not the new Netflix comedy directed by Tim Story (Barbershop, Ride Along) and starring Kevin Hart.

Instead, as might have been predicted, 72 Hours aims for the lowest common denominator, with a wildly farcical plotline in which Hart’s character is mistaken at various times for a human trafficker, a cop and a Cuban drug lord. He also gets into a brawl with several women in a moving limousine and finds himself in a smuggler’s boat carrying an illegal contraband haul of “whale dicks.” Add to that Hart’s face swollen to monstrous proportions after being stung by a jellyfish, and if all of this sounds hilarious, then this is the movie for you.

The script crafted by a quartet of screenwriters features a reasonably clever premise. Hart plays Joe, a marketing executive whose pitch for a new vodka line falls flat. “You don’t seem to get youth culture anymore,” his boss (Kevin Dunn, doing his usual exasperated thing) tells him, adding that if Joe doesn’t get with the times he’ll be passed over for a promotion.

It’s fortuitous, then, that Joe finds himself accidentally included in a group chat with several young men planning a bachelor party in Miami. When he impulsively responds with a cash gift, he’s invited to join the revelers, who have no idea that he could be their dad. Desperate to find out what makes the younger generation tick, Joe decides to go, much to the irritation of his longtime girlfriend (Teyana Taylor), who is impatient for a marriage proposal.

Cue the would-be yucks as Joe meets up with Nick (Marcello Hernández), Hunter (Ben Marshall), Freshman (Kam Patterson) — all three comedians Saturday Night Live recruits — and groom-to-be Mason (Mason Gooding, Heart Eyes, Scream 7) in a palatial Miami mansion. The house turns out to be the former home of a deceased drug kingpin, which leads to dangerous complications as Joe suffers a series of misadventures, including several run-ins with a group of criminals led by the menacing Jaze (Michael Mando, illustrating the dangers of typecasting after his far more serious performance as Nacho Varga in Better Call Saul).  

The film’s unfunny nadir comes when the gangsters force Joe to ingest cocaine, which for some reason transforms him into the heavily accented “Riccardo Montana,” complete with Scarface riffs including “say hello to my little friend.” The gag is repeated later on; Hart and the filmmakers apparently are convinced that his Al Pacino impression is a laugh riot.

Any stabs at cultural satire about, say, Gen Z’s addiction to documenting their lives on social media, are subsumed by the crazy action-comedy shenanigans, with the younger cast, all of whom have proven themselves funny on prior occasions, unable to elevate the pedestrian material. Hart tries hard (he always tries hard), throwing himself into the slapstick with his usual determination. The fact that he’s able to wrest a few laughs is a testament to his comic chops and professionalism.

There are some semi-amusing cameos along the way, including a brief appearance by Mike Epps as a cop, and another performer whose identity has been deemed a spoiler by Netflix. But both are outshone by a hilarious Andy Garcia, who demonstrates that, under the right circumstances, sometimes serious actors can be the funniest of all. It’s a shame, though, to see Taylor, fresh off her Oscar-nominated turn as a fierce revolutionary in One Battle After Another, reduced to playing the disapproving girlfriend. It feels less a departure than a regression. 

And, of course there are the obligatory outtakes during the end credits, apparently intended to prove that the actors, at least, found the proceedings hilarious.