"Zombieland" might seem like a strange choice for a first ever zombie movie since, from the start and possibly even from the title, the comedy predominantly comes from knowing references to generic zombie movies (in what I would assume, had I seen it, is a "Shaun of the Dead" kind of way).
But that's the power of casting.
Working on the basis that a film involving Jesse Eisenberg, Emma Stone, Abigail Breslin (the girl in "Little Miss Sunshine") and, rather surprisingly, Woody Harrelson must have something going for it, I also gave it a go.
The good news, for those of us not really into the horror half of this unusual genre-combination, is that once you get past the (apparently deliberately cartoonish) gore of the opening sequence, there's not much to trouble those who have come for the comedy.
In fact the film quickly turns into a road movie in which the last few non-zombies in the USA forge an unreliable and unlikely alliance within the confines of a series of very big, and very well armed, cars. The funny thing about Zombieland is that, for much of the film, the zombies themselves become little more than threatening blips on the expansive scenery which surrounds the characters' in-car struggles for control and survival.
However, for me, the funniest part of the film was actually the series of rules which Eisenberg's nervy Columbus character has developed for surviving a world overrun by zombies; rules which, while they are clearly the result of watching too many zombie movies and playing too much World of Warcraft, are funny even if you don't get all the references. My personal favourite was Rule #1 "Cardio"- which simply involved making sure you are fit enough to outrun the zombies (who were generally hampered by their inevitably trailing leg) although the self-explanatory "Seat Belts" rule came a close second.
This film might not have converted me to zombie movies but at least I'd know what to do if I met one.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Bridesmaids: Only one funny step from reality
If you haven't seen "Bridesmaids" yet, I'm guessing it's because (with all that pink on the cover) it looks like an icky rom-com for-and-about girls who want to get married. So if you're not one of those, you've probably given it a swerve.
The line up of mis-matched girls wearing identical dresses on the cover suggests this is going to be about a giggly gang of cartoon caricatures but if you literally look a little closer you'll see there's a hint of real attitude in their faces and poses. That's a hint of what's to come.
"Bridesmaids" is a comedy which is actually only a small step away from being a drama. The intense competition between the bridesmaids for the coveted 'best friend of the bride' title is inelegant and desperate but ultimately rooted in an embarrassingly recognisable reality - and that's what makes it so good.
This isn't a battle between beautiful brides-in-waiting for the chance to be the next to shine - this is a dirty and dogged fight between females over friendship, and it's brilliantly done. The cast is universally strong and seems to be made up of natural and actual female comedians of the highest calibre (check out the "Line-O-Rama" bonus material on the DVD if you don't believe me). Kristen Wiig, who co-wrote the script, is a revelation and her so-real-it's-funny performance sets the tone for the whole film.
A surprise cameo role for Little Britain's Matt Lucas and an even more surprising leading man role for the IT Crowd's Chris O'Dowd adds to the sense that this is a comedy made by comedians who know comedy (watch out for the inspired casting of Matt Lucas' screen sister who steals every scene she's in). It might be hard to imagine a big Hollywood producer spontaneously choosing Chris O'Dowd as the leading man for this film but it's now slightly less hard to imagine them choosing him for their next one.
Arguably, real comedians don't have a great track record when it comes to making film comedy but "Bridesmaids" bucks that trend by cleverly treading the fine line between real life and big laughs. This film might only make you laugh out loud a couple of times, but it'll have you smiling from the (very smutty) start.
The line up of mis-matched girls wearing identical dresses on the cover suggests this is going to be about a giggly gang of cartoon caricatures but if you literally look a little closer you'll see there's a hint of real attitude in their faces and poses. That's a hint of what's to come.
"Bridesmaids" is a comedy which is actually only a small step away from being a drama. The intense competition between the bridesmaids for the coveted 'best friend of the bride' title is inelegant and desperate but ultimately rooted in an embarrassingly recognisable reality - and that's what makes it so good.
This isn't a battle between beautiful brides-in-waiting for the chance to be the next to shine - this is a dirty and dogged fight between females over friendship, and it's brilliantly done. The cast is universally strong and seems to be made up of natural and actual female comedians of the highest calibre (check out the "Line-O-Rama" bonus material on the DVD if you don't believe me). Kristen Wiig, who co-wrote the script, is a revelation and her so-real-it's-funny performance sets the tone for the whole film.
A surprise cameo role for Little Britain's Matt Lucas and an even more surprising leading man role for the IT Crowd's Chris O'Dowd adds to the sense that this is a comedy made by comedians who know comedy (watch out for the inspired casting of Matt Lucas' screen sister who steals every scene she's in). It might be hard to imagine a big Hollywood producer spontaneously choosing Chris O'Dowd as the leading man for this film but it's now slightly less hard to imagine them choosing him for their next one.
Arguably, real comedians don't have a great track record when it comes to making film comedy but "Bridesmaids" bucks that trend by cleverly treading the fine line between real life and big laughs. This film might only make you laugh out loud a couple of times, but it'll have you smiling from the (very smutty) start.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Seven small words
"This isn't going very well, is it?"
Seven small words which can bring forth the end of a comedy set faster than any others.
However badly the set was going before those words were said, saying them will inevitably make it worse.
Because before those words were said the audience may well have been unconvinced about the set but afterwards the audience knows the comedian isn't convinced either. And since comedy is about confidence the revelation that the comedian isn't confident in the show removes any confidence the audience might have in it. In other words, it kills the set dead.
Of course, I can see how a comedian might be tempted to say it.
If the laughs are a little hollow and a little smattered around the room at the start, it must be tempting to acknowledge it, if only as a defense mechanism. The problem is that acknowledging it assumes that the lack of laughs is related to the funniness of the set when, in fact, there may be loads of other reasons for a slow start. The audience might still be digesting the previous set (if there was one) and adjusting to a new style, they may be assuming the initial jokes are building to a bigger pay-off and be pacing themselves (it happens), or they may just be waiting for some material which strikes a particular cord with them. A slow start can precede a staggeringly brilliant gig but a slow start followed by those seven small words will probably precede a sharp exit.
In a weird sort of way, by adding the 'is it?" comedians are also acknowledging the audience's role in the success, or failure, of the show. In a nod to the audience's capacity to create a good atmosphere for comedy (see You can make comedy funnier) the "is it?" suggests that if we can agree the show's not going well, we can do something about it. It's an appeal to the audience for help.
The trouble is that it inevitably tends to be said in the early part of the gig before the audience has had a chance to invest in the comic or the set. And since those words simultaneously suggest that the set's not going to get any better, the audience is going to feel even less inclined to help out. That's why, after those seven small words, the end is often nigh.
Because while I've heard comedians say "This isn't going very well, is it?" during a gig, I've never heard anyone shout back "Yes it is!"
Seven small words which can bring forth the end of a comedy set faster than any others.
However badly the set was going before those words were said, saying them will inevitably make it worse.
Because before those words were said the audience may well have been unconvinced about the set but afterwards the audience knows the comedian isn't convinced either. And since comedy is about confidence the revelation that the comedian isn't confident in the show removes any confidence the audience might have in it. In other words, it kills the set dead.
Of course, I can see how a comedian might be tempted to say it.
If the laughs are a little hollow and a little smattered around the room at the start, it must be tempting to acknowledge it, if only as a defense mechanism. The problem is that acknowledging it assumes that the lack of laughs is related to the funniness of the set when, in fact, there may be loads of other reasons for a slow start. The audience might still be digesting the previous set (if there was one) and adjusting to a new style, they may be assuming the initial jokes are building to a bigger pay-off and be pacing themselves (it happens), or they may just be waiting for some material which strikes a particular cord with them. A slow start can precede a staggeringly brilliant gig but a slow start followed by those seven small words will probably precede a sharp exit.
In a weird sort of way, by adding the 'is it?" comedians are also acknowledging the audience's role in the success, or failure, of the show. In a nod to the audience's capacity to create a good atmosphere for comedy (see You can make comedy funnier) the "is it?" suggests that if we can agree the show's not going well, we can do something about it. It's an appeal to the audience for help.
The trouble is that it inevitably tends to be said in the early part of the gig before the audience has had a chance to invest in the comic or the set. And since those words simultaneously suggest that the set's not going to get any better, the audience is going to feel even less inclined to help out. That's why, after those seven small words, the end is often nigh.
Because while I've heard comedians say "This isn't going very well, is it?" during a gig, I've never heard anyone shout back "Yes it is!"
Thursday, 8 December 2011
The bravest comedy show I've ever seen
I think of myself as a (constructively) critical consumer of comedy but before I go any further with this blog I would like to say something. At a fundamental level, I am in awe of anyone who does stand-up comedy.
I think it is the combination of bravery and vulnerabilty which comedians exude which makes me admire anyone who is prepared to call themselves one.
And the bravest comedy show I have ever seen was in Edinburgh a few years ago. It was a classic fringe festival gig - the kind of gig which established comedians joke about and new comedians have to actually do. You know, the show where there are only three people in the audience (true) and one of them is the son of the comedian's-mum's-best-friend (also true).
The show was free. There were two comedians on the bill. Only one turned up and two out of the three people in the audience had come to see the other one (Benny Boot). The venue was a run-down RAF Club a reasonable walk away from the festival epicentre and the best thing about it was the eighties-priced drinks.
The other comedian (let's call him Luke) arrived to discover the size of his audience. He hesitated and asked if we wanted to hear his part of the show. We said we did, but we didn't really expect him to do it.
I don't know if it was our enthusiasm or the fact that he was performing five minutes in a 'new faces' type show later in the festival but he did it. He set his own lights, adjusted his own mike and performed his part of the show.
We gave him plenty of encouraging laughs back in return (see previous post on giving good audience) but it was still the bravest comedy show I've ever seen. Several years later, an internet search suggests that his actual name was Liam Speirs. I may have forgotten his name but I will never forget that show.
I think it is the combination of bravery and vulnerabilty which comedians exude which makes me admire anyone who is prepared to call themselves one.
And the bravest comedy show I have ever seen was in Edinburgh a few years ago. It was a classic fringe festival gig - the kind of gig which established comedians joke about and new comedians have to actually do. You know, the show where there are only three people in the audience (true) and one of them is the son of the comedian's-mum's-best-friend (also true).
The show was free. There were two comedians on the bill. Only one turned up and two out of the three people in the audience had come to see the other one (Benny Boot). The venue was a run-down RAF Club a reasonable walk away from the festival epicentre and the best thing about it was the eighties-priced drinks.
The other comedian (let's call him Luke) arrived to discover the size of his audience. He hesitated and asked if we wanted to hear his part of the show. We said we did, but we didn't really expect him to do it.
I don't know if it was our enthusiasm or the fact that he was performing five minutes in a 'new faces' type show later in the festival but he did it. He set his own lights, adjusted his own mike and performed his part of the show.
We gave him plenty of encouraging laughs back in return (see previous post on giving good audience) but it was still the bravest comedy show I've ever seen. Several years later, an internet search suggests that his actual name was Liam Speirs. I may have forgotten his name but I will never forget that show.
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