As the credits rolled on Zoolander 2, I found myself asking a question that I’m guessing will be on the minds of many moviegoers this winter: why, again, did David Bowie agree to be in the original Zoolander? Where was once the spark of life in this now-deadened franchise, such that one of the most creative and revered figures in 20th century pop culture agreed to participate?

Though it did fairly well in its original theatrical run, Zoolander feels like a sleeper hit because of the cult status it’s accrued in the decade and a half since its 2001 release, becoming ubiquitous in home video libraries in the last years when those are still a thing.

There was something plucky about the original movie, which grew out of skits Stiller created with the late Drake Sather for VH1 Fashion Awards broadcasts in the ’90s. At that point, the brainless bimbo female model was such a hoary trope that creating a male version felt refreshing, and Stiller was reaching the height of his cultural cachet.

The gags in Zoolander were dumb (of course), but on their own terms, they worked — from the spontaneous cavort in a shower of gasoline to the physics-defying runway walk-off. As a satire of the fashion industry, the film wasn’t without barbs: the plot turned on a plan to assassinate the prime minister of Malaysia because he opposed child labor.

The closest thing to a barb in Zoolander 2 comes when an actual fashion icon is accused of profiting from “white privilege.” At that point, my girlfriend leaned over to me and whispered, “That’s this whole movie!” She was right: Zoolander 2 is an elaborate vehicle for three now-middle-aged white male movie stars whose thuddingly out-of-touch humor presumes they have as much goodwill as they did in 1996. They don’t — or, at any rate, they soon won’t.

What started as satire has turned into bullying — and it doesn’t make things any better that among the first targets of that bullying are co-stars Stiller and Owen Wilson, who are promptly and repeatedly mocked for their age. (Stiller is 50, Wilson is 47.) At that point I was hoping that 51-year-old Paul Mason (a.k.a. Fashion Santa) would show up to wither someone with a Silver Tinsel stare, but no.

Instead, Stiller and Wilson just turn around and bully others — most notably Zoolander’s son (Cyrus Arnold), who the model is chagrined to discover is “fat.” In true fashion world style, “fat” just means not-skinny, but again and again, we see this kid being mocked by his father, and it just gets harder and harder to watch. (When the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue is more empowering than your would-be satire of the fashion industry, it’s time to go back to the drawing board.)

As with so many gags in Zoolander 2, the fat-son joke lands with utter lifelessness. Stiller’s direction is without charm or precision; it’s a classic example of letting a big production (with no fewer than four screenwriters) suffocate a comedy. Instead of being throwaway bits, the bits are just thrown away — because Stiller doesn’t bother to set them up effectively, doesn’t allow his cast room to invest them with any personality, and doesn’t even, seemingly, think at the most basic level about how the jokes are going to land.

A dad calling his son fat doesn’t become funny just because the dad happens to be Ben Stiller with Zoolander hair. A swimsuit model who can swim super-fast doesn’t become funny just she has Ben Stiller on her back. A guy riding the propeller of a helicopter doesn’t become funny just because he’s Owen Wilson, and a celebrity guest star isn’t funny just because he’s a celebrity guest star.

You have to actually make those things funny, and Stiller fails so systematically that you forget this is a guy who’s actually been very funny in the past and should know better. That’s where you start to wonder how David Bowie ever became associated with this steaming heap of a franchise.

The piece de resistance of unfunny bits in Zoolander 2 involves Benedict Cumberbatch as the new hotness: an androgynous model named All. Could the encounter between All and Zoolander have led to a funny situation? Sure. In the movie, though, all we get is Stiller giving Cumberbatch an incredulous look — and then the camera stays with Zoolander as he looks away in shock, and we’re supposed to do what? Laugh?

That scene makes Stiller look older than any of his own self-consciously ageist jokes, because it makes him look like your dad who appalls you in front of your friends by acting like androgyny is in and of itself funny. Not sexy, not interesting, not even so much as simply human — just funny ha-ha, because is that a hot dog or a bun? (Yes, Zoolander 2 actually goes there.) Didn’t David Bowie, of all people, help us to move beyond that offensive bias?

(Here, Bowie has been replaced by a bearded Sting, who gets asked about his tantric sex just to make sure the jokes stay as obvious — and heteronormative — as possible.)

Really, we should have seen this coming — when Zoolander and Hansel (Wilson’s character) returned with IRL runway appearances that were simply that, appearances. The presumption was that we’d all be delighted and amused just to see a mere reappearance by Stiller’s iconic character. The Internet accordingly went nuts, but then, the Internet goes nuts about a dozen times a day. Zoolander’s hot second is over, replaced by 102 tepid minutes.

– Jay Gabler