God Bless America (2011; Bobcat Goldthwaite) may not be
a perfect movie, but as far as I’m concerned it is certainly a great film: a
pure, undiluted rant; a 200-proof “scream from the heart”—incredibly personal
filmmaking that isn’t about navel-gazing or suburban ennui.
In gentler times, this film would have been an Ealing
Studio comedy, with a dour Charles Laughton sneaking poison into the tea of
various boors and louts.
But since these are the days we live in, Goldthwaite’s movie is a blood-splattered, sick-humor black comedy that
smashes over the head with a brick because subtlety is no longer appreciated. God Bless America is a violent, angry
satire lambasting the current non-existent state of civil discourse in the
US—and I loved it.
Cousin to Idiocracy, They Live and The Year of the Sex Olympics (their linked message: TV is making you stupid), as well
as James Gunn’s underrated Super (violent sociopath and goofy sidekick
take on society’s ills)—all four of these films are highly recommended, by the
way—God Bless America is a fun
fantasy for those like me who are fed up with the corrosion of politeness and
the infantilization of the nation via the LoComDenom of TV greed.
The film’s main character, Frank (played excellently by human
Droopy Dog, Joel Murray), is completely fed up with today’s US cultural
landscape.
Loudmouth shock jocks spew venom, and knuckleheads
around the water cooler repeat the hatred acting as if it’s their own thoughts.
Lizard-brain theatrics have taken over as every “dude” has to be “extreme to
the max,” and if you’re not, you’re a pussy.
Bad taste and crudity is rewarded; yet everyone gets
offended instantly taking the slightest comments as intensely personal, and
people always act before they think, usually in the most aggressive and selfish
way.
And reading books is for fags!
R. Crumb called them “The Ruff Tuff Cream Puffs”
(blowhards that act tough 24/7, but become crybabies and crumble when genuinely
confronted), and they’ve taken over the nation.
This is a film rightfully angry at a country that’s
allowed itself to become so willfully stupid and mean. It’s not that people
don’t talk—they don’t listen. Assholes on steroids—literally.
When Frank is diagnosed with a fatal giant brain tumor
(Austin sniper Charles Whitman had one, too), our protagonist unpacks his old
Army .45-calibre semiautomatic, and contemplates killing himself—but when the
TV shows a 16-year-old reality-show brat berating her parents unmercifully for
buying her a Lexus instead of an Escalade, Frank has a mission: this nation’s
citizens need to be taught shame, decency and politeness again—even if it kills
them.
After his first assassination, like all good
superheroes, Frank gets a sidekick: Roxy, a hyperactive high-school girl, who
at first is almost an id projection, an Imp of the Perverse goading Frank
on—then his sounding board, and an intelligent and angry young voice to counter
Frank’s more conservative beliefs.
Hitting the road in a stolen ugly-yellow sportscar
(like a taxi cab from hell), Frank and Roxy slaughter the rude and
unconscionable, and engage in smart, snappy argumentative dialogs and rants
about their philosophical dilemma: Who gets killed? And why? Where do we draw
the line?
The movie isn’t always laugh-out-loud funny, but I had
such an evil grin on my face the
whole time watching it as the smug yobs are blown away.
Unlike Idiocracy—Mike
Judge’s main characters are always too middle-of-the-road nice-guy for me—the
movie has the guts to be mean (Frank is, after all, an unrepentant cold-blooded
mass murderer), and gorehounds will love that, unlike the similarly-themed Eating Raoul, Goldthwaite’s flick is drenched in blood.
God Bless America’s main character is going
on a killing spree to prevent
the world of Idiocracy from
occurring—but you and I already know it’s too late. [High-Five!]
Yeah, I’d like to see these spoiled, pampered,
narcissistic fame-for-fame’s-sake types, and all the stupid clods who worship
them, slaughtered.
Frank’s victims have shown no shame, or even sense—you
wonder how they could even feed themselves. Maybe the film is preaching to the
choir, but if so, then Hallelujah! ’Cause it’s what I really needed to hear.
God Bless America is a cry in the wilderness,
and it’s greatly appreciated.
Goldthwaite seems to have a sure hand, and he handles
the action and comedy well. It’s not a flashy or obvious style, but an
effective and propulsive one.
Meanwhile, there are some nice compositions in the
directing—in the “quieter” scenes, watch the backgrounds; Bobcat’s got some
interesting things going on. I especially like a scene in a diner with Frank
and Roxy: Behind them is an old couple, sitting in the exact same way they are.
The killers have reached a turning point, and, to me,
the old couple is the director saying if you stay right here, you could grow
old together.
BTW, fans of The Coop will be glad to know that
there’s lots of Alice Cooper on the soundtrack! (Whom you may recall drove
prudes nuts back in the day…)
Honestly, God Bless
America is one of those rare flicks, like 1953’s Inferno that seems
like it was made specifically with me in
mind, that my brain was scanned when I was sleeping and all points of
entertainment and intellectual satisfaction were programmed into the film.
One thing this movie has done is make me want to go
back and check out some of Goldthwaite’s previous films. I saw Shakes the Clown when it was first
released (and don’t remember it fondly); maybe it needs a second chance, as
well as the couple of comedies Bobcat made in-between, especially The World’s Greatest Dad, which John
Waters called one of the best films of 2009.
God Bless America is currently available on NFlix
Streamizing.
And if you really hate the Reality TV phenom, then you
need to check out the 2008 BBC
mini-series Dead Set. Created and
written by Charlie Brooker, and directed by Yann Demange, the series isn’t
available through the usual channels, but can be watched on-line HERE.
In a nutshell, it’s “Big Brother reality TV show meets
zombies,” as a group of contestants in a sealed “house” with tons of
surveillance cameras wind up being the sole survivors as a plague of
flesh-eating ghouls sweeps the world.
Dead Set is a great entry into the Zombie Apocalypse
sweepstakes, and one I prefer much more than The Walking Dead (which I stopped watching after the first season
out of annoyance), or Romero’s last three “Dead” films, which while they had
moments, none of which I completely enjoyed.
While broadcast as a mini-series, on-line Dead Set is about two and a half hours
in length; it’s exciting and pulse-pounding, with plenty of effective gore, but
ultimately depressing.
But be prepared for a BLEAK flick—remember, these
reality TV shows tend to cast—and be run by—the worst sort of modern selfish
dolt. (When some survivors make it to a supermarket, one grabs frozen food.
When it’s pointed out they don’t have a stove, he belligerently takes it
anyway.)
While their aggressive self-preservation instincts may
be good for dealing with the brainless undead, with other humans, problems—big problems—arise.
BTW, I hunted down Dead Set specifically because I had
been reading Max Brooks’ World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War—a
highly recommended sci-fi/horror novel composed in the Studs Terkel style of
unedited verbal interviews. Dead Set
could be seen as happening at the same time as WWZ.
Eloquently said. I really enjoyed Bobcat's latest and you have to see "World's Greatest Dad." Almost makes up for the surplus of dreck Robin Williams has been in.
ReplyDeleteYes, it was Williams' presence that kept me away from WGD initially. The man makes my skin crawl--I'm almost ashamed to admit that as a kid I was obsessed with Mork & Mindy--but after GBA, I trust Goldthwaite, until he betrays me...like they all do...WGD is available on NFlix Streamz, so I'm there...
ReplyDelete