| By Kyle
Muzenrieder
Alison, the titular Knocked Up gal, is shown giving birth with a pussy as hairless as Lindsay Lohan's overexposed baby rat. This is the film’s gnarly shock moment that will haunt everyone as they file out the theaters. It totally one-ups any upskirt shot of a loused celeb. Too bad the marketing department at Universal can't brandish and package it with the zeal it gave the hair waxing scene from The 40 Year Old Virgin, last summer’s debut from Knocked Up’s director, Judd Apatow. This time the waxing is forgone until this very R-rated crowning moment. Talkin' about full frontal, full screen— a 40-foot-long vag in full glory.
The scene contains no complimentary screaming of "Sanjaya Malaker, yet, it wouldn't be surprising if it did since Apatow’s blockbuster in lamaze rarely improves on anything on his prolific CV. Paul Rudd and Seth Rogan return from his first film as different characters with the same "you're so gay..." bit. It plays it safe. No surprise as Apatow's humour is currently a license to print millions. He’s formidable enough that "From the director and writer of..." is the main thing marketing this movie, besides every movie blog and what seems like more advanced screenings than any movie ever.
Apatow is preoccupied with comically riffing on dudes snagged in arrested development (about 90% of American males, at last census): from socially awkward outcasts in high school (Freaks and Geeks) to lovable, underachieving stoners (Undeclared) to a socially awkward outcast losing his virginity (40 y/o) to a lovable stoner schlub accidentally knocking a chick up for the first time here. Who can wait for the trail mix of outcasts and stoners rambling about and through marriage, adultery, the work world, retirement and all the other hallmarks of the all too average man-child's life that will make up his next blockbuster or quickly canceled cult TV series? There are at least 2,000 now in development, not counting his friends’ (including August’s admittedly promising Superbad, which he’s producing). Of course all of them will feature Rogan, Rudd, Apatow's wife Leslie Mann, and a scene where a character wears a shirt of some album that was cool when Apatow was in university: check Rudd’s Tom Waits shirt or Rogan's Sonic Youth tee from Virgin. Snappy banter will ensue, going on for a bit too long to please all the new diehards. Apatow also has a tendency to smooth over those controversial, yet inevitable alternatives that present themselves in his movies. Abortion: The Movie wouldn't do any better in the Red States than 40 Year Old Whore Monger, or Citizen Ruth, for that matter. He's worked out a formula for his brand of comedy in only two films. Adam Sandler did this with similar timing and schtick, except his films were PG-13 and didn’t pander to geek web administrators and warming over critics.
Stick to what you know, though. That's what Hollywood has reduced the modern auteur to, even its firsts. Scorsese made a couple of classic hard crime dramas, but the Academy Award never came his way. He later focused his lens on eccentric millionaires and the Dali Llama, and received golf claps. The Departed returned him to “fucks” and guns with a nifty narrative structure and some schlock about loyalty, and he finally swept to dismay of the Weinsteins. Hollywood tacitly reminds filmmakers to do what they do best, and not make everyone sweat with controversial movies about Christ. But it’s easier, more lucrative and less soul-depleting with auteurs of comedy, right?
Comedy directors, Woody Allen aside, don't get much leeway or the chance at redemption. Eighties icon John Hughes recently wrote Home Alone 4 for ABC Family (it was a rip off of Disney Channel's Smart House, by the by). John Landis is directing episodes for a USA Network original series. The Farrelly Brothers' last movie starred Jimmy Fallon and didn’t have a token cum joke. It sank.
Give a listen to Meatus Muder's novelty song “So Hard, But Then,” which laments Will Ferral's golden run of low brow hits set to the tune of Joy Division's “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” Iconic comedy actors, once they’ve landed a silver hammock, are allowed to quietly remake themselves as serious actors with help from suspect Wes Anderson fetishists. But once comedy directors and writers find the need to raise a hand from the pigeonhole, they rarely recover. Obviously, Apatow is nowhere near the bottom right now, and his aggressiveness in the industry shows foresight, but Knocked Up is a serious stunt in growth. If he’s making a comeback film called The Other Hole in ten years with a special cameo from one of his buddies wrapped in a love-worn Slanted and Enchanted shirt, color yourself psychic or another arm-chair executive.
This discourse of Knocked Up is written by Kyle
Muzenrieder
for ignore Magazine, copyright 2007. |
