Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues

Stay classy, mischief and mayhem! This long awaited sequel to the classic Anchorman is what we've come to expect from Will Ferrell, Adam McKay and producer Judd Apatow, a free-spirited romp through absurd humor, spiked social commentary and generous, madcap hilarity.  What I love about Will Ferrell's comedies is that they are not mean spirited, and they are not dumb. There may be some risque material, but it never descends into vulgarity, and there is a hilarious ribbing of the casually racist mindset. They are mean towards whoever deserves it (racists, fast food joints, news channels, millionaires), but they have a wonderful spirit of bonhomie, quite the opposite from the painfully unfunny The Hangover series. Ferrell and McKay celebrate and send up American foolishness, but they aren't mean.
Ron Burgundy is a pompous idiot, yet he is adorable because in all his fakeness, he is genuine. He is ignorant and close minded, petty, jealous and a fool, but he means well. Quite inadvertently, he invents the 24-hour news cycle of watching car chases in real time while adding wild and clueless speculation to the proceedings. He is the involuntary genius behind mass media idiocy.
In his curmudgeonly review, A. O. Scott claims that only the French take these kinds of movies seriously. Well, the French are correct. These are the only big commercial movies in America that skewer what seriously needs making fun of. This time, it's the demented descent of American news into the gutter. Yet beyond making fun of certain quintessentially American inventions like Nascar, CNN, or political correctness, the Ferrell oeuvre usually and quite correctly presents America at its bombastic wackiest, and, as in all worthy comedy, what it makes fun of is important. These guys are great at mixing social satire with crazy, wacky fun. More power to them.
Anchorman 2 seems game to try everything, whether it lands or not. I love this spirit of playfulness. This time, the filmmakers seem to have gone for the surreal. There is a very funny visual gag of a Winnebago camper rolling in slow motion with the whole Burgundy team inside. And a nonsensical but moving business about bottle feeding a great white shark.
The old cast is back and are wonderful sports, but the one who kills is Steve Carell (in a welcome reprieve from his serious acting gigs) as weatherman Brick Tamland. His obtuseness is something out of Samuel Beckett's worst nightmares. Now he has a love interest, Chani, a like-minded soul (who looks just like Miranda July) played by the fabulous Kristen Wiig. Their shtick together is just bizarre.
I for one really hope that Anchorman 2 trounces The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug at the box office. I could care less about Middle Earth and its gazillion dollar special effects. I'd rather revel in the riotous costumes and feathery hairdos of Anchorman 2. If there is justice in the world, Susan Matheson, the costume designer for this film, should be nominated for an Academy Award. The clothes here are the absolute worst of late seventies couture; hence, they are magnificent.
This movie has even more of a sketch comedy quality than some of Ferrell and McKay's masterworks like Talladega Nights and Stepbrothers, but there are some very inspired set pieces. My favorite, which made me cry with laughter, has to do with Ron Burgundy going blind. Then, if I am not mistaken, this movie actually ends in tragedy. It's almost experimental, and it is lots of fun. 

Golden Globes 2013 Post Mortem

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler ruled. They were funny and charming and we love them. They were totally awesome and better than any male host in a loooooong time. Seth McFarlane may be toast.
The best gag of the night was the channeling of show biz cluelessness by Kirsten Wiig and Will Ferrell when reading the supporting actress category. That was hysterical.
Jessica Chastain wore the bed sheets of the Beverly Hilton. She almost did a Sally Field there with her speech about how hard she has worked. Spare me. Then she talked about defying convention when what she did in that movie is the most conventional stuff: I'm the relentless hero who will stop at nothing to get Osama Bin Laden. Get over yourself. There was nothing original about your character nor the way you played her.
Which reminds me, very few actors (these ceremonies just go to show the kind of narcissistic nutjobs most of them are) know how to be gracious when giving a speech. Hence, best acceptance speech of the night, Daniel Day Lewis, using metaphors about bringing mice to his wife, being faux humble (but believable) towards his fellow nominees, smartly avoiding politics and generally campaigning to get the Oscar by dint of sheer classiness. What he said about Tony Kushner's words was so eloquent....
Ben Affleck too, sweet, smart, mentioning the troops. He should run for office.
Adele was the best. Natural, funny, sincere and delightful.
Everybody else reeked. I'm talkin' to you, Anne Hathaway, trying to pull off a Meryl Streep, in adoration of your fellow female thespians, but I ain't buying it. Like I do not buy that poor Zooey Deschanel was an inspiration in any way, shape or form to Lena Dunham ever. It was gracious, if totally fake of Dunham to include her. Dunham, who looked like a giant Hershey's kiss, should wear comfy shoes next time. I like that she has not yet hired a personal trainer.
At this moment I must interject that I do not give a rat's ass about any of the TV shows. I know it is gauche, and considered totally unhip for me not to be obsessing about television with the rest of you, and I still don't give a fuck. I'll let you gasp, to paraphrase Christoph Waltz: I don't have cable. I only like 30 Rock.
Now, Anne Hathaway at least gets props for articulation, for rehearsing her little speech, committing it to memory and nailing it, something that Jodie Foster, WHO KNEW MONTHS IN ADVANCE she was going to have to stand there and not be cut off by music, could not muster.
What the hell was that? This is my biggest beef with her "coming out/not coming out in front of y'all" extravaganza. She is an actress. She is used to learning lines. She knew she was getting this trophy. It would have had more impact (in the right way), would have been much more dignified and meaningful, if she had decided not to wing it. I have always thought of Foster as an intelligent actress, but she was inordinately aggressive, full of herself and gynormously obnoxious. Obviously, she is still very conflicted about this topic, which she has every right to be. But she had an opportunity to impart some classy words of wisdom and instead she sounded like someone's batty aunt on coke. With all due respect, it was a little bit like Clint Eastwood talking to the chair. And Mel Gibson's bewildered punim... the face that launched a thousand gifs.
As I have said before, anybody who gives any sort of prize to the catastrophe that is Les Miserables, must be deaf and blind. Someone is drinking some very potent kool-aid with this attempt at alternate reality. This movie is absolutely dreadful. I want to understand why it is being celebrated. It's based on an old, dreary musical, based on an even older novel about a revolution that no one cared about. What is going on?
Argo as best film was an interesting upset. I think Lincoln is still going to sweep the Oscars. Which made me wonder about the mysterious, inscrutable ways of the HFPA. Maybe Lincoln is too "hurray for the USA" for the aliens that run that racket. Maybe they just love George Clooney (producer) too much. Who knows. But that was interesting. And in defense of this show: it is more fun than the Oscars, but less involuntarily hilarious. And it sometimes recognizes the work of people that the Oscars don't. Like Jack Black or Ewan McGregor or Marion Cotillard, or other people who were ignored by the Academy. There are no musical numbers and no songs, thank God, and it feels less bloated and self-important. Plus everyone in it is, at the very least, tipsy.

Step Brothers is Meta

I hate Summer movies. But what better thing to do on a sticky day than watch a silly Will Ferrell vehicle?
I was not swayed by the humorless review the otherwise estimable Manohla (I love the spelling) Dargis gave it. It seems to me that Ms. Dargis missed the point. I too, am a bit tired of the immature man genre. I agree with Miss Dargis that it is starting to get boring and stale. However, Step Brothers seems to me to be a parody of the genre. These guys are so Meta! And as opposed to the almost cloying man-sweetness beneath Mr. Apatow's oeuvre, Step Brothers is slightly darker and willing to go to slightly more uncomfortable places (like Americans in general stop being such pop culture retards or hitting children in their little nuts and showing them for the brutal tyrants they can be). Step Brothers is the story of two 40 year old men who behave like 5 year olds. The premise is funny because they are still living at home with their parents, the very sporting and wonderful Mary Steenburgen and Richard Jenkins, who proves to be surprisingly adept at comedy. Of course there is too much gross out humor but there are also very funny digs at the state of affairs of the American man-child today and very funny skewering of the kinds of things that obsess the minds of nerds. John C. Reilly is a perfect buddy for Ferrell, and I like to remember that I saw him shine on Broadway in True West, a Sam Shepard play, and that before he started hitting it big with silly comedies, he was a damn fine actor. And still is. Truly sweet, even when he is super mean.
Yes, Step Brothers doesn't come close to the levels of genius of Talladega Nights, which if you must know is one of my all time favorites, or Blades of Glory, which I found a total hoot, or Anchorman, which is the eminence grise of the Ferrell canon, but it's funny enough.

Mindbottling!

I have become a fan of Will Ferrell.
I loved Talladega Nights: the Legend of Ricky Bobby. That movie I remember as being slightly more intellectual, if you will, less concerned with crotches and gross out humor and more with skewering Nascar nation and Jesus lovers.
Blades of Glory skewers the cheesiness that sports broadcasting has become, particularly so in the inherently cheesy sport of ice skating. Those puke inducing segments where they present the life of the athlete in question with the corny music and the prescribed setback and the triumph of the will and the quest for the gold and all that crap, are taken to town here with such a vengeance that it makes you want to cry out in thanks.
Also, any comedy that begins to the insufferably gooey strains of Andrea Bocelli (which immediately generated hearty chuckles from the audience) lets you know that its sardonic heart is in the right place.
But what I love about these Will Ferrell comedies is the character he creates. Basically it's always a variation on a bumbling, moronic overgrown American baby who deep inside is a good guy but whose excessive self-regard always gets in his way (the brilliant Anchorman, Ricky Bobby, Old School). Here Ferrell, happily overweight, wearing a wig a la David Cassidy, plays Chazz Michael Michaels, some sort of absurd ice skater with the heart and bad taste of a rocker. A perfect take on those male ice skaters that insist on looking manly and skating to Aerosmith, as if that is going to disabuse people of the received notion that figure skating is a sport for sissies.
Ferrell loves to show how out of shape he is. There is always a sequence where he strips and runs like a maniac in his underwear. Here he bares his flabby torso in a scene where he has a serious conversation and you can't take your eyes off the gelatinous, hairy flab of his gut. He is today's quintessential representative of America's everyman. And he doesn't let everyman off the hook that easily. Bless him.
His comedies take some of the rituals of American culture and really show them for what they are, full of hot air, full of unbridled self-regard, of a contented ignorance, at which Will Ferrell excels. There are some really funny bits where he misuses words (it bottles the mind!). What nails the jokes is his utter cluelessness that he is wrong and his sincere conviction that he is right. When he is caught being wrong, he always finds a way to spin himself out of his predicament with super lame excuses. It is no wonder that Ferrell delivers one of the most dead on impersonations of George Bush. Except that Ferrell's characters have a certain innocent charm. He is never a malicious bully, and he is always true to himself. He is not mean spirited.
I have to say there will be no justice in the movie world if Julie Weiss, the costume designer, doesn't get at least a nomination for an Oscar. The ingenious, outrageous costumes generate huge laughs by themselves. The sight of Ferrell wearing Ugg boots and an elastic band on his forehead will not leave my consciousness any time soon, let alone the sight of him wearing spangly unitards with fire motifs.
Jon Heder is great as his deadpan sidekick and their partnership is lovely. Heder plays a virginal, innocent skater, who still believes in getting the gold no matter what, and as you must know by now, the two former rivals end up skating together quite memorably in the pairs competition.
The routines on the ice are incredibly funny, the skating sequences are super well made and the stars do some of their own skating, which is thrilling. There are some really funny, dexterous verbal jokes and much slapsticky stuff that is puerile but extremely funny (such as a chase sequence on skates, yet not on the ice). The movie is a riot.
I love the fact that this is, as should be, the number one movie in America. It is healthy and good that we laugh with Will Ferrell at our pathetic folly.

Miscellaneous

I scan the headlines and I see the usual: Bush insists the civil war in Iraq is not a civil war, as if by sheer force of stubborness and idiocy, reality would actually change to suit him and his petrified brain. It's a civil war, stupid. Ask the relatives of the thousands of Iraqis who've been blown to bits, murdered, kidnapped, etc.

Then, a tiny item in the Theater section of the NYT:

A group of men stormed the stage during a performance in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, of “Wasati Bila Wasatiya” (“A Moderate Without Moderation”), a play critical of religious conservatives, Reuters reported, citing Saudi newspapers and Web sites.

As the play began at a cultural festival at Al-Yamamah College in Riyadh, the men, described as Islamic extremists, ran to the stage in an attempt to halt the performance. Police fired shots into the air to break up a violent brawl that followed, as the Islamists, students and actors threw chairs and attacked one another with sticks. Seventeen men were arrested.

There are no public theaters or movie houses in Saudi Arabia.

The boldface is mine. And these are friends of the United States. Geez.

Yesterday on the plane they showed the movie Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby, with Will Ferrell. It amused me greatly. I have been much misunderstood by my affection for movies such as this one and the 40-Year-Old Virgin (and Old School, and Zoolander and most of the Farrelly Brothers' oeuvre). I have to say: they make me laugh. There is something in these comedies that celebrates stupidity in a generously infectious way. Had I paid eleven bucks for Ricky Bobby, I may not have been so thrilled, but if you are stuck on an airplane at 40,000 feet, it's quite delightful.
Sacha Baron Cohen plays a French race car driver called Jean Gerard, who drinks espresso and reads existential books while he drives laps in NASCAR with his helmet on.

"Why did I come to America?", he asks Ricky Bobby.
"Because of the public schools and the health care system and the water parks?"
Exactly.

Will Ferrell is wonderful at being clueless but with great conviction, sort of like Bush, but funny. The movie also boasts the wonderful John C. Reilly, a master of enthusiastic naiveté, and the excellent Gary Cole, who is as good in serious roles in TV shows as he is doing seriously funny bits for film comedies, like Dodgeball and Office Space.
Ricky Bobby pokes fun at the NASCAR culture, at people who thank Jesus for everything, at white trash culture, at celebrity endorsements, at product placement. It is designed to attract the very people who fit the demographic it is making fun of, yet it is not abrasive. Sort of a gentle satire. I loved it.
And when it was over, I went back to my Marcel Proust (who, when he is not describing the effects of asparagus on his memory and the consequent smell of his pee, among other endless digressions, can also be quite hilarious himself).