Fanboys

For all the controversy surrounding the release of Fanboys, the Weinsteins inadvertently made it the perfect companion piece to the source of its parody. Die-hard fans waited for the Star Wars prequels for nearly two decades after Return of the Jedi, eagerly awaiting news in a time before the internet. As with Episode I, Fanboys earned itself a fair amount of discussion amongst legions of people who hadn't seen it: news of re-edits, pushbacks and its eventual limited release only riled up potential viewers more and more. It all created a heaping slab of hype and Fanboys, just like Episode I, couldn't live up to the pressure.

Episode I itself plays a major role in the film: set in 1998, Fanboys charts the quest of a group of Lucas-obsessed buddies to make it to Skywalker Ranch and a steal a print of the prequel so that their dying friend might see it, as he will not live to the theatrical release. Apart from the cancer-ridden Linus (Chris Marquette), there's Windows (Jay Baruchel), who spends his time communicating online with a cyberdate who claims to be "a cross between Sarah Michelle Gellar and Janeane Garofolo;" Hutch (Dan Fogler), a Trekkie hating, Rush loving madman; and Bottler (Sam Huntington), the only one of the group who grew up, and who must get in touch with his repressed nerd in the course of the 2,000 mile journey.

Writing the script for this must have come easily for Ernest Cline and Adam F. Goldberg; after all, the entire trek is cobbled together using classic Star Wars lines and clichéd notions of superfans. This of course mimics the actual dialogue of such people, who, as Roger Ebert rightly noted, fall back on scripted conversation when they feel too unsure of themselves to come up with one of their own. God knows I spent my formative years letting George Carlin and Monty Python do all the talking, and I still fall back into pop culture referencing with alarming frequency.

But that sort of communication, as befitting lines stolen from films and comedians, is acting. We're meant to identify with these characters -- and the film paints them in nothing but a flattering light -- yet they can't even identify with themselves. Had this been played up with a bit more of a sardonic edge, this element could have scored some big laughs, but this film is in total service of the fans. The filmmakers clearly wanted George Lucas's stamp of approval (which they got), so they keep the entire thing light, which is strange considering the backbone of the story revolves around a young man dying of cancer.

That reminds me: did anyone on set have any idea what a terminally-ill person looks and acts like? Just because the character was diagnosed too late for chemotherapy and thus never suffered the ravages of that treatment doesn't mean he can be running all over the place with rosy cheeks when he's weeks away from death. In retrospect, the entire controversy over whether or not the cancer plot stayed in the film is moot, as it has no real impact on the story. Sure, without their friend to serve as motivation, the gang would look like self-serving fanboys, but that's how they look anyway. They're trying to keep the tone so light that, apart from delving into these characters to poke fun at them, they omit any moment of potential pathos involving the disease, except for a brief moment in a hospital that barely pauses for breaths before trying for more laughs.

And when the dialogue fails (and it does. Often.), director Kyle Newman trots out every cameo he can muster. Everyone from Billy Dee Williams to Kevin Smith shows up at some point, but few of them have anything to add other than name recognition. One of the few cameos that offers anything of substance is Carrie Fisher's, as it gleefully inverts the famous Han-Leia exchange in The Empire Strikes Back. It's not a blistering send-up or anything, but I'll take what I can get with this movie. But the one cameo that definitively works is a hilarious appearance by William Shatner as the man who gives the group "classified information" to help them break into Skywalker Ranch. The rest of the time, however, Fanboys uses its non-stop stream of nerd celebrities simply to perk up viewers bored by the actual narrative.

The one bright spot in all of this is Kristen Bell as Zoe, the equally geeky female friend who joins the adventure halfway through the film when she has to bail the guys out of some local jail. Bell, who portrayed Veronica Mars, already has geek cred to spare, so she never looks out of place as the dorky-yet-mature (by these standards anyway) girl, though some will doubtless say she's too attractive or some such nonsense. There are plenty of attractive nerds out there, especially when it comes to enjoying one of the most popular movie franchises in history; why can't people who go outside occasionally also love sci-fi?

But she can't buoy this flaccid comedy, because nothing ever really happens. The hijinks are so repetitious they even put Seth Rogen in two of them as entirely different characters. And the lack of any satiric bite makes the parody mundane; I mean, come on, it's Episode I. The fact that a die-hard fan wants his last memory on this Earth to be what would become likely the biggest and most infamous gut punch in the history of cinema is ripe for dark comedy but, apart from a few winking references (the best of which being a man who tattoos Jar-Jar on his back, assured that the character will be huge), they never really lay into the irony because they needed Lucas's approval. Compare this film to that other sci-fi parody Galaxy Quest, and you see why the latter remains such a great film: the filmmakers ultimately pay tribute to superfans, but they don't shy away from teasing these people. Also, it used its cast to play around with the show: for example, Sigourney Weaver is perfect for the role not because she played Ellen Ripley, but because Ellen Ripley helped break women out of the sort of "space secretary" role that she plays in the film. It adds a nice, subversive touch without calling attention to itself. Though it occasionally makes its endless references work and it boasts a great final line, Fanboys is so desperate to underline every moment of cribbed dialogue and every cameo to the point that it only highlights how weak the film truly is.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

A poster on one of the forums I frequent once described Forgetting Sarah Marshall as the "Apatow-produced film most like Freaks and Geeks." That only adds to the laundry list of reasons why I desperately need to sit down and watch that show. Of all the major works of Apatow Productions (and the lesser ones too), I find myself returning to Forgetting Sarah Marshall the most often, as it offers not only a slew of laughs but the most honest romance to ever grace one of the production company's films.

Jason Segel (who wrote the film) stars as Peter Bretter, a television composer who creates not music so much as -- as he terms it sardonically -- "tones." Chiefly, he works on the hit show Crime Scene: Scene of the Crime, and he's dating the star of the show, Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell). Well, at least he was, as she visits him at the beginning of the film to break up, saying that she's met someone else. The break-up sends Peter into a tailspin of one-night stands to forget Sarah, but to no avail. Finally he strikes upon an idea: head to Hawaii for a week or so to get away from it all, only to find himself in the same hotel as Sarah and her new beau, rock star/professional Lothario Aldous Snow (Russell Brand).

From this comedy of errors comes a story about heartbreak, moving on, the awkwardness of relationships, and puppet musicals. Strap yourself in, it's a wonderful ride. As Peter copes with having to face his ex -- and with neither party willing to "run away" to another hotel -- he meets a group of tourists and locals who all get in big laughs and help propel the story. There's the zonked-out surfing instructor (Paul Rudd) who takes Peter out on the waves for the day and doesn't remember who he is by nightfall, the conservative newlyweds trying to consummate their marriage without offending the Lord, the kindly bartender who enthusiastically invites Peter to come snorkeling to watch the turtle mating season. All off-kilter little weirdos on an island just foreign enough to the average American (even though it's a damn state) to make them plausible.

While there, Peter meets Rachel (Mila Kunis), the receptionist, who pities Peter's state and even gives him a room free of charge because of it. The two socialize and even go out on pseudo-dates, and we begin to learn what both of them, and indeed all the characters, seek in this sunny paradise. Rachel, like Peter, came to Hawaii in order to forget a broken relationship, and remained there when it didn't work. Seeing how happy the move off the mainland made other staffers at the hotel only hurts more. Even Sarah, I think, visited Hawaii to squash any lingering guilt over dumping Peter, or at the very least to continue her fantasy getaway with the rock star.

What sets FSM apart from the other Apatow Productions is that it finally gives the women in a voice. Apatow placed Catherine Keener's character on a sort of detached pedestal, and made the women of Knocked Up flat and boring in order to set them apart as "mature." And we won't even get into how ridiculous it was when Jonah Hill somehow got with Emma Stone in Superbad (and that was after he passed out and accidentally smashed her in the head). But Segel lets each character have its own pathos, warmth, and killer humor. Yes, it's still two beautiful women essentially battling for that mountain of a man, but for once the women don't seem like afterthoughts tossed in amidst the improv.

But even without the pathos, this would still be the best film to come out of the ruins of Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared, as it by far the funniest. Superbad and Knocked Up, funny as they are, suffer from excruciating lulls in the middle when the characters head into situations obviously designed for a joke. Now, Chaplin did that and he's the greatest comic director of all time, but that was then and two-reelers aren't exactly the rage anymore. Forgetting Sarah Marshall, on the other hand, features dialogue that rarely plays into its location (save for discussing Hawaii), so the jokes flow smoothly and the story never sags. Not to mention that the lines are almost all screamingly funny and real, mixing awkward humor with Allen/Smith style monologues and even broad moments like the over-the-top brilliance of the Dracula musical (I wish they'd made a full version of this and put it on DVD).

When I revisit the films of Apatow and his ilk, I usually find myself spotting glaring flaws that can be overlooked on a first viewing but grate like missed notes in a recital when you're no longer in a room of people laughing over lines and generally ignoring everything else. The two exceptions I've found to this are Pineapple Express, which works because it doesn't try to be deep, and this film, which tries to be deep and succeeds. It has the power that a great romantic film must have, the ability to carry you along to unknown places you can't wait to visit, just as you do when you first meet someone special. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is simply one of the best comedies in a decade, and one of the most knowing.