The best (“Ferris Bueller” is a shining example) and worst (“She’s the Man” is one of many that probably never should have been made) of this subgenre preach that, for those hindered by some real or imagined weakness for four torturous years, all it takes is one (often drug- and alcohol-fueled) day or night to slay those demons.

Some of these movies are enjoyable. None of them truly captures the awkwardness of adolescence in a realistic way. Luckily, over the past few years Judd Apatow and Seth Rogen have come along and single-handedly reinvented the genre of vulgar movies written for and about awkward adolescent (and post-adolescent) males.

“Superbad,” written by Rogen and Evan Goldber and produced by Apatow, is the ultimate realization of what they started with “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” and “Knocked Up.” The three can now be seen as a trio (dare I say canon?)—the evolutionarily superior offspring of Hollywood’s earlier graduation stories. These movies are much funnier, more sharply written, and emotionally resonant than their predecessors—and they accomplish this without giving up on the hilariously vulgar content we’ve seen so many times before.

“Superbad” may be the funniest movie of the year (“Knocked Up” is the only other candidate). The plot (that is, the excuse to have the characters talk about sex and do off-color things) is simple: It’s a spring day near the end of their senior year, and Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Cera) are nervous about college. The two are best friends who spend little time with anyone else in their class, and an obvious codependence has developed. Unfortunately, because Evan got into Dartmouth and Seth did not, separation is inevitable.

Seth and Evan are also frustrated about their lack of success with the opposite sex. Each has his eye on a classmate: Seth is into Jules (Emma Stone) and Evan is interested in Becca (Martha MacIsaac). Neither Seth nor Evan has a clue as to how to make a move, but they do sense a glimmer of hope after they are invited to a party thrown by Jules.

Into the mix steps their sort-of friend Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse, in his screen debut), quite possibly the most awkward character in recent cinematic history. With thick glasses, a voice that sounds like it’s coming from borrowed vocal cords, and herky-jerky, overly angular movements, he is a caricature of a caricature of teenage awkwardness. And his problem isn’t just awkwardness—he also tries far too hard and contains nary a trace of self-awareness. Fogell got into Dartmouth, and this is a sore spot for Seth. He is, however, Seth and Evan learn, in possession of a fake ID. Seth immediately hatches a plan—one unlikely to win accolades from the National Organization for Women: offer to buy booze for Jules’s party, get the girls and themselves drunk, and let nature take its course.

Though Fogell is, admittedly, a scene-stealer throughout—particularly once he accidentally joins forces with two fun-loving cops, Slater (Bill Hader) and Michaels (Rogen), who are so corrupt they make Bernie Kerik look like Serpico—this is definitely Seth and Evan’s movie. Many of the film’s funniest moments come during their rapid-fire conversations, and, as near-opposites, they play off each other beautifully. Seth is a hilarious depiction of hormone-fueled tension. His rotund, overbearing physical presence matches his attitude: every disappointment is a monumental catastrophe, every bit of good news a revelation. One can’t imagine him in any state other than hyperactivity. He’s only likeable during the moments when his obliviousness and insecurity (both about girls and the prospect of losing Evan) overshadow his sarcasm and vulgarity, but he’s so funny that he can get away with being the angry, abrasive fat kid. Much of his ire is directed at the most likely nearby target: Fogell. After each of Fogell’s numerous missteps in his attempts to secure a realistic fake ID and alcohol, Seth unleashes upon him a brutal stream of opprobrium.

Evan, on the other hand, is a complete nebbish. Whereas Seth goes to great lengths describing the ins and outs of everything he’d like to do to the girls around him, Evan, at times, clearly finds this sort of bluster off-putting. What’s wrong with just getting to know a girl? In Evan, Rogen perfectly captures the peculiar male awkwardness that comes from being young and having no idea how to interact with girls. Case in point: Evan and Becca are talking after class. The conversation wraps up and they say their goodbyes, but then it turns out they’re walking in the same direction. For a panicked moment Evan isn’t sure what to do; then, he speed-walks off, leaving Becca in his wake.

As Seth and Evan wend their way toward the party via a stop at Evan’s, a trip with Fogell to the liquor store that doesn’t go as planned, and several other unexpected detours, the film remains funny—and sometimes hilarious. But there isn’t quite enough of the rapid-fire, hyper-sexed banter that makes the first 20 minutes so brilliant. Given how funny Seth and Evan are when they’re doing nothing more than walking to or from a 7-Eleven, Rogen should have let them do their thing a bit more.

[Warning: Spoilers below. Bookmark this page, race to the movie theater, come back, and finish reading.]

This minor complaint notwithstanding, “Superbad” is a fantastic comedy. What puts it over the top, however—as was the case with “Knocked Up” and “The 40-Year-Old Virgin”—is that a solid core of sweetness and truth is clearly visible under the many layers of bodily fluids and ribald guy talk. The film doesn’t patronize us when it comes to transformation. Adolescent awkwardness and sexual inexperience, it turns out, are not the sorts of things that can be vanquished in one legendary night. So just as Seth and Evan finally arrive at the party and appear headed toward a clichéd, heroic (well, “heroic” by their standards) finish—Rogen pulls back.

In the morning, neither of the two has accomplished what he set out to do. The last scene says it all: en route to picking up a comforter for Seth to take to college, they run into Jules and Becca. Immediately, we see before us four awkward teenagers. They’re facing a strange future with unfamiliar rules. It’s the sort of scene we’re supposed to witness at the beginning of a movie like this, not the end. But in reminding us that these kids are, after all, pretty damn young, and that it may take years for their full transformations to occur, Rogen brings a new level of honesty and maturity to a tired genre.

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