Fucks in a Row

Here's Seth Rogen again, still playing into the overweight loser typecast, giving Kevin James a run for his money as the second American mall ("rent-a") cop to grace movie screens in '09.

Leaving behind the inevitable comparisons between the two films, the next thing that comes to mind is Will Ferrell, whose entire career basically consists of riffs on the same "manchild idiot" concept in different situations. Trailers and promo for "Observe and Report" had at least one of my friends concerned that Rogen was falling into a similar pattern with his career choices- although worried is probably not the best word to use, since most of my cohorts (and myself) are at least amused by Ferrell's body of work, despite its lack of thematic variety.

And finally, of course, comes the man who needs no introduction, whose reputation proceeds even the work he hasn't touched, generation Y's very own Mel Brooks, aka Judd Apatow. It is a fairly interesting but not altogether surprising development that finds theatergoers confronted with a face-off between two comedies featuring Apatow-alumns on Easter weekend 2009. "Knocked Up" alumns, to be more specific, although it is dubious that many non-cinephiles will take the time to realize this association.

For most, the contemporary mainstream cinematic comedy landscape isn't so much about Apatow personally as it is about his style. It is a style defined by rapid-fire, mysognistic dialogue spewed from the mouths of potheads, slackers and generally unproductive, self-involved members of society- but members of society nonetheless.

This style is not at all present in "Observe and Report." For the first time since Apatow came on the scene and defined modern comedy as the struggle of the modern urban male to adjust to his changing social predicaments, we have the precise inverse- the struggle of a man wholly removed from the rest of society refusing to budge, actively trying to bend society to his will. "Bulldoze," is actually the more appropriate verb, as that is precisely the methodolgy employed by Seth Rogen's cop Ronnie Barnhardt.

As the wound-up, power-hungry "Head of Mall Security" at a small (nearly rural) town shopping center, Barnhardt is the very embodiment of unlikeability. He's loud, aggressive, crass, brainless and completely pathetic. There is virtually no redeeming qualities about his character except his firm, unwavering commitment to what he views as his "duty." Problematically - this doesn't just mean the titular mission, nor is it simply contained to the radius of the mall. By the end of the film, Ronnie will have injured more law-abiding citizens, both physically and emotionally, than any actual criminals.

But therein lies the aboslute beauty of this film. Ronnie isn't successful as a character so much as a spiritual representation of many characters. Take every prick in a position of minimal authority that has ever gone out of their way to spread unnecessary misery- all the security guards, teachers, maitre-d's, ticket-sellers and DMV employees- strip them down to their lonely, miserable, self-loathing cores, and Ronnie is the approximate result.

All of this hyperbole makes the film sound much more sinister than it actually is. Don't get me wrong, it's still primarily an enjoyable, laugh-out-loud, slapstick affair that doesn't really take its darkness seriously at all. Even what should be an objectionable scene of date-rape is punctuated by a poignant, redeeming one-liner.

No, "OAR" doesn't swerve so far off the path of comedy to eschew it entirely, like "Sean of the Dead"'s final act, for instance. But what elevates the former film above any of Apatow's or Rogen's previous work is its uniquely clever subversion of the plight of modern working-class white people. This supposedly endangered demographic hasn't really gotten it's proper due in mainstream cinema yet. Apatow's films, and the successive films he's influenced, have made no secret of their escalating favoritism for yuppies- what with the shameless product placement for such urbanite staples as Google, Red Bull, and the Iphone.

But "OAR" lands a square, steel-toed kick in the face of it's predecessors' elitist inclinations, turning the epitomy of empty American consumerism, the shopping mall, into a fucking battleground, replete with firearms and even more fiery personal relations. Sure, sure, it's been done before, most notably by horror-guru George A. Romero in the apolocylptic zombie thriller "Dawn of the Dead." "OAR" eschews the fantastical distancing of that film to bring us, the coddled audience, some profoundly uncomfortable but necessary portraits of the underclass, perpetually pushed down into an American underworld by their economic limitations. Here is a place where cops are criminals and vice versa, where even the genuinely good people are psychologically disturbed in some way. Who, if not the over-commited vigilante Ronnie, is going to make sense of this world, to impose order (albeit his own warped sense of the word)?

In this regard, some might be quick to compare "OAR" to "Watchmen," another story about vigilantism run amok. In actuality, it is closer in ideology and narrative construction to "Taken," which also features a lone, hyperviolent white-male protoganist fullfilling the wildest fantasies of the Bush Doctrine. Ronnie is in many ways a caricature of the former president- desperate to reform the world in his image, even if he isn't quite sure how, and lacks many of the necessary socio-political and intellectual skills.

What else do we learn from Ronnie's story, other than that it sucks to be white, fat, and blue-collar in modern America? Surely, not a cautionary note against the pursuit or abuse of superficial power. And we cannot really say that Ronnie himself learns anything except that the world is more anarchical than even he might have originally desired.

Coming from a philosophical anarchist, I think the ultimate point of "OAR" is that there is something to be said for commitment. There is something to be said for following through on the promises you made to yourself and to others, even if it potentially ruins you in the process. Ronnie's journey isn't one of maturation, self-discovery, or improvement. It might be one of vindication, but I think that's far too simple of an emotion for far too twisted a film. Instead, I propose that within Ronnie's angry, cold, little heart, there remains, throughout all his rejection and failures, a space for self-appraisal. Ronnie can't ever hope to improve unless he proves to himself he is capable of something.

Coming in the weeks before my impending college graduation, that's quite a valuable lesson indeed.

In Sum: An ill-spirited comedy in the best sense of the term. Seek out, observe, and recieve enlightenment immediately.