By Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic I’m an unabashed fan of “The Trip” and its three sequels. They’re the British talk-verité road comedies in which Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon, playing heightened versions of their quicksilver acid-tongued middle-aged selves, drive around some lovely European country (England, Italy, Spain, Greece), stopping for lavish lunches at Michelin-star restaurants as they slice and dice each other’s egos with the quippiest of thoughts — a one-upmanship game between frenemies that periodically bursts out into their dueling impersonations of some legendary movie star. (The most hilarious was Michael Caine.
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