Tag Archives: Paul Blart

Spy

Spy is the best comedy I have seen since 22 Jump Street.

by Callum Petch (Twitter: @CallumPetch)

spy 1I assume that you have all seen the trailers, posters and such for Spy by this point and have this movie figured out.  There will be a lot of swearwords, because swearwords are funny, Melissa McCarthy is fat and not twenty-something so therefore will fall over a lot and be the butt of ten-hundred jokes about how undesirable she therefore is, it’s two hours long and as such will be padded to hell and back, and it’s an action-comedy so the action will be cheap-looking, flatly directed and mostly just an afterthought to endless pointless sequences of characters riffing on one gag until it’s long-past being entertaining.

Well, you’re wrong.  You’re dead wrong, primarily because you’ve been sold the wrong film.  Writer-director Paul Feig, and his immensely talented mostly female cast, has actually crafted a brilliant, subversive, and hilarious movie that wastes not a second of its two hour runtime, is really intelligent in its silly comedy, and, thanks to its self-belief message and a whole bunch of conscious and unconscious design choices, is quietly feminist.  What appears to be cheap and mean-spirited out of context builds up to make a heartfelt point in context, and what sounds sophomoric and juvenile out of context ends up quietly clever and character-driven in context.

To wit: Spy follows the exploits of Susan Cooper (Melissa McCarthy), a lowly analyst at the CIA who, despite making an incredibly effective team with ace field agent Bradley Fine (Jude Law) whom she has an unreciprocated crush on, is treated like complete garbage by almost everyone at the Agency, either willingly – in the form of loose cannon field agent Rick Ford (Jason Statham) – or unwittingly – by Fine himself, mostly.  When it turns out that Rayna Boyanov (Rose Byrne), the daughter of a recently-deceased terrorist who has come into possession of a nuclear bomb, knows the identities of every single one of the CIA’s field agents, Susan steps up and volunteers to be sent into the field, aided back at the Agency by her only real friend, the anxious and slightly bumbling Nancy (Miranda Hart).

Again, this is probably the point where you’re expecting Susan to klutz her way through the operation, discovering leads by mistake, and generally proving Rick Ford right when he keeps insisting that “you’re gonna f*ck this up” to her face.  In a lesser movie, this would be the case for all of Spy’s two hours.  Here, though, that does not happen.  Susan is an immensely capable field agent, as the film bold-facedly demonstrates before she’s even sent out when the CIA’s head (Allison Janney, who is exactly as brilliant at being alternately inspiringly nice and hilariously cruel as you’re thinking she’ll be) brings up footage from her training days.  Susan is an excellent field agent, all of the skills are right there… she just doesn’t believe in herself because everyone, quite literally everyone, has told her that all she can be is a bumbling fat middle-aged woman.

Those demeaning cover identities?  Provided to her by an agency that only sees her as an ugly middle-aged woman.  Her directive to follow the targets and never directly engage?  The agency refusing to believe that she is capable of taking the lead.  Fine is a guy who can butter her up one minute by thanking her for her invaluable help and then, the next minute, treat her like a secretary and order her to fire his gardener for him; equal parts oblivious to his demeaning treatment of her, out of some misplaced fear as to what might happen to her, and perfectly aware, as he uses these stealth snipes to ensure that she can’t steal his glory by doing his job.  And Rick… well, Rick is just Fine without the veneer of obliviousness, a walking pompous macho-man who brags excessively about his undoubtedly made-up accomplishments but in practice can barely make a dramatic entrance without falling on his arse.

So when the film does provide a fat joke, and I counted maybe three in the entire movie, or dresses Susan up in hideous clothes and has lecherous men ignore her totally, Susan is not the target of the jokes.  The joke is instead on everybody else for being so unrepentantly awful towards her and the laugh coming from just how terrible they are.  Susan herself is always treated with respect and always shown to be legitimately capable, with her early-film klutzes coming from nerves more than anything else.

Compare this with a Kevin James movie.  In those, the target of the joke is nearly always Kevin James.  There is no subversive intent to Paul Blart fat jokes.  Paul is fat, he is doing things that he is supposedly not physically in shape for, and the punchline is always “fat man fall down go boom”, which is why the moments where he does display competence don’t resonate, because the film never asks you to take him seriously because he is always the target of the gag.  In Spy, though, Susan is not the target of the joke, everyone else is, and her competency is just a fact of her character.  And once she understands that she is, in fact, damn good at what she does, there’s basically no stopping her.  She’s even better than her male counterparts who are either utterly useless, lecherous, or heavily reliant on her support.

Relatedly, then: the swearing.  Believe it or not, there is actually a point to it, which may surprise you since that first Red Band trailer relied a lot on the idea that swearwords are inherently funny.  As you might have gathered, the spy world is considered a man’s game so, in Spy, the men are obsessively masculine caricatures who fill most sentences with a vocabulary akin to that of a drunk pirate who’s just stubbed his toe.  Susan and Rayna, though, are women in a man’s world, women constantly underestimated and not taken seriously by their male counterparts, so one of the ways in which they try fitting in is to awkwardly launch into sweary tirades over everything – Rayna taking to it better than Susan since she’s basically a spoilt child resentful of the fact that her father clearly wanted a son instead of her.  It’s swearing with a point instead of swearing for swearing’s sake.

And yet these gender politics and messages don’t overtake the film.  Susan’s tale of self-confidence is the primary arc and underpinning, but everything else is subtext that one doesn’t have to get to enjoy the film.  After all, Spy is more than very enjoyable on its surface terms.  It’s funny, for one.  Incredibly funny.  Paul Feig’s other similarly brilliant female-driven comedies, Bridesmaids and The Heat, were very funny but also seemed to creak under the weight of their 2 hour runtimes, unable to keep up the pace for their entirety.  Spy is somehow able to remain consistently funny throughout, as Feig’s propensity for running gags and well-defined and established characters pays off a relatively slow beginning by mining endless material from the world and characters that he’s created instead of endless non-sequiturs and improv.

He’s even able to sustain the comedy in the film’s final third, the point where the plot should take over and the jokes normally vacate the premises.  But because the script is so tight, and he does such a good job at building up the film’s various running gags and character quirks, the jokes work themselves seamlessly into the finale, as they do most other action scenes.  Yes, this is an action-comedy in the truest sense of the word, where the action sequences are equal parts funny and thrilling.  A pre-title prologue with Fine out on assignment is shot just like the action and staging in a spy thriller then contrasts that by cutting back to the mundanity of the CIA and their constant infestations, a chase to capture some would-be assassins is genuinely exciting but also knows just how much to undercut its seriousness with a joke without completely robbing the scene of tension.  But the standout is undoubtedly a one-on-one fight in a kitchen that utilises excellent fight choreography and clear camerawork to create a fight that works brilliantly and equally on both the comedy and action levels.

Then powering the film is the exceptional cast.  Jason Statham is going to get most of the attention, since he is going so against type by playing his excessive machismo for ridiculous comedy, and he does deserve that praise because he is phenomenal here, but that’s doing a disservice to the rest of the cast who are just as good and in some cases even better.  Miranda Hart is delightfully charming as Nancy, managing to infuse a genuine warmth and personality into a role that could have just been stereotypical, while Peter Serafinowicz goes the complete opposite as the sex-crazed Italian agent Aldo, playing up the character’s deranged sexual deviancy to such extremes that he manages to cross from being offensive to just plain hilarious.  Rose Byrne, meanwhile, is clearly relishing the opportunity to play Rayna and commits totally to being a stuck-up petulant child, and her dynamic with Susan is pure gold.

But the true star, unsurprisingly, is Melissa McCarthy.  McCarthy is one of the comedy world’s fastest rising stars for a reason, not even Identity Thief and the underrated-but-still-mediocre Tammy could damage that, and Spy is where even her staunchest critics will have to finally give up resisting her charms.  She seems to connect with the script in a way that goes beyond just ‘getting’ the character – which, since one can also read the film as a meta-commentary on how Hollywood sees McCarthy and other women like her, makes sense – and so every facet and every change in Susan Cooper works totally.  McCarthy gets to stretch her range, going from timidly quiet and awkward to excessively boisterous and sweary to self-confident and self-accepting, and nails all of it, hopefully finally breaking out of any potential type-casting for good.

I’m five days removed from Spy as I write this, folks, and I’m still surprised that this film is this good.  I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, Paul Feig has nearly always been at least great and the cast is so strong that it would have taken a minor miracle to turn in a mediocre or worse film, but I’m shocked that Spy is this good.  That it has had this much thought put into it, that it would still work if you stripped out the “comedy” or “action” part of the “action comedy” equation but wouldn’t work as well as it does with both, that it bothered to have legitimate emotional and thematic through-lines propping up the comedy, that it is so well-paced, that it is just so goddamn funny…

Pessimists and cynics could see this as a damning observation on the state of the American feature-length comedy today.  That wouldn’t change the fact that Spy is the real deal and the best comedy I have seen since 22 Jump Street.  Do not miss this.

Spy is due for release on June 5th.

Callum Petch has been waiting hours for this.  Follow him on the Twitters (@CallumPetch) and listen to Screen 1 on Hullfire Radio every Monday at 9PM BST (site link)!

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Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2

A semi-comprehensive guide to the 23 times that I gave Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 the middle-finger salute.

by Callum Petch (Twitter: @CallumPetch)

Fair Warning: there are minor spoilers, if you really care about this sort of thing with regards to Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 of all goddamn movies.

I

Nearly 30 seconds into this utterly atrocious and pointless sequel to the inexplicable sleeper hit of January 2009.  That’s how long it takes for the first of these to occur, because I know you’re curious.  Since Jayma Mays decided that she had better things to do than appear in a sequel to Paul Blart: Mall Cop, the film has to figure out how to write her character out of the series, since she married Paul in the closing credits of the last film.  Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2’s solution is to have her divorce Paul six days later through post because, as the film explicitly notes, she apparently “came to her senses”.  Also there was apparently projectile vomiting.

It’s an incredibly cruel send-off, one that goes entirely against the paper-thin character she was given in the first terrible movie, and feels very much like spite from the film’s producer, star and co-writer Kevin James.  Look, I realise that it probably hurts to be rejected by somebody who voluntarily served tours in two goddamn Smurfs movies, but this still feels like a mean-spirited and childish “FINE! I didn’t want to play with you anyway!” situation.  Not to mention the fact that Paul’s prior wife was explicitly noted as only using him for a Green Card.  This doesn’t paint a very good picture when it comes to your gender politics, friend.

II

About 20 seconds later, his mother is ran over by a milk truck and killed.  You know, I was under the impression that family entertainment isn’t supposed to be incredibly mean-spirited, but I guess I was wrong on that front.

III

Paul Blart’s daughter Maya (Raini Rodriguez) has just found out that her long shot application submission to UCLA has just been approved, at the same time that Paul has been sent an invitation to attend a National Security Guard Convention in Las Vegas.  Paul tells his news first, drops some spiel about how he’s glad that she’ll always be around because every woman in his life – because Paul only has female acquaintances in his life for some reason – leaves him, and then asks what her news is.  She opts to keep it hidden from him and I proudly raise my middle finger high.

Why do films keep doing this?  Sure, the act of having a character purposefully choosing to withhold information from another is as old as time and is basically the backbone of a literal tonne or seven of great stories.  But I’m not talking about those, I’m talking about instances like this which typically lead to drama of the laziest goddamn kind and a whole bunch of irritating Idiot Plots.  How hard is it for a film to actually try, dammit?  Then I remember that this is a film that barely 5 minutes ago dispatched two female characters by sudden divorce and random death respectively, and I realise that nobody involved in this production has ever heard of the concept of effort.

IV

One of Blart’s friends (Loni Love) introduces herself as he’s in line to get checked into the hotel and I prepare for her to reveal herself as nothing more than a sassy black stereotype because that’s all black women are good for in comedies, I guess.  I am proven right almost immediately.  Yay, me.

V

Paul is acting quite the insufferable egotistical jerk whilst trying to check in.  The first Paul Blart very much had the problem of not knowing whether Paul should be a lovable loser who’s a bit of a sad-sack because he realises the apparent futility of his job, or whether he’s a self-absorbed jerk who takes his job way too seriously.  This film’s one scene in the original mall seems to lean towards the former, but then this scene and pretty much everything else in the film swings the pendulum decidedly the other way.  It still wants you to feel sorry for and like him, though, which I can’t do because he’s played by Kevin James and I just do not like Kevin James.  Hence why douchey Paul Blart earns another middle-finger.

VI

The hotel’s general manager (Daniella Alonso) is now apologising to Paul and Maya for the mix-up with their room and makes the mistake of touching hands with Paul Blart.  He interprets this as her having a thing for him and spends the next minute rebuffing her and explaining how he knows that she just has to be into him.  Initially, it seems very much like Paul being the overblown egotistical jerk that the movie is oblivious to him being, but then it lingers on her looking at him from a distance as the scene ends and I proceed to raise the bird high and proud because I know exactly where this is going.

VII

Blart sees Maya planning to head down to the pool in a swimsuit where, we are all led to believe, a boy that she is sweet on will be waiting for her.  Paul proceeds to “You’re not going out like that” her and forces her to take an armoury’s worth of protective devices as precautions.  I know exactly where this is going and I am sick to death of the “if only you silly women had just listened to and stuck by your man/father then none of this would have happened” sub-genre of films, so out comes the vitriolic finger, once again.

VIII

Paul spies one of his friends being loudly rejected by a woman at a bar and resolves to intervene and resolve the situation.  It turns out that his friend, who is incredibly drunk, had propositioned her at the bar and is refusing to take “no” for an answer and just leave.  Paul turns the situation around on the woman, claiming that she was asking to be approached and/or hit on by a guy because she was sat alone at a bar drinking, and insists that she should be thanking the guy for harassing her.  And she agrees!

This movie, this family movie, really did just do a straight-faced sequence of Mansplaining.  Middle finger goes straight back up.

paul blart 2 2

IX

The hotel general manager is back and, exactly as predicted, she’s falling for Paul Blart for reasons that are inexplicable even to herself, almost like she realises her horrible situation and the merciless gods from upon high who are forcing her to act this way.  The bird gets another flight.

X

Can we all agree that relatively inexpensive CGI is the worst thing to happen to Happy Madison Productions in their history other than, you know, them still producing films?  Paul Blart is now spending an inordinate and painfully long time fighting a CGI bird that pretty much never looks like it’s in the same plane of existence as Kevin James is.  I respond by displaying my own bird, which is only a bird in the metaphorical and colloquial sense but is still more convincing as a real bird than the one on film ever will be.

XI

There’s a Mexican security guard as one of the secondary characters.  He’s the only one asleep during Blart’s big keynote speech because lazy Mexican stereotypes.  This was supposedly funny to someone.  I give a middle finger with an equivalent amount of effort.

XII

Maya accidentally stumbles into the bad guys’ suite and is captured.  “See!  This wouldn’t have happened if she listened to her dad and went to his keynote instead of going out and partying!  Father always knows best,” the film implicitly speaks.  This middle finger comes out of reflex more than any actual disdain as, like I said earlier, I’m just completely sick of this subgenre by this point and can’t muster up anything more than a half-hearted acknowledgment of “yep, that’s crappy”.

XIII

Paul’s hypoglycaemia kicks in as he’s trying to threaten the villain (Neal McDonough, of all sodding people).  I’ve always been annoyed by this aspect of these terrible, terrible goddamn films because they’re almost always played for “fat man fall down go boom” comedy instead of anything serious.  You could use this aspect as a legitimate piece of drama, a stakes-raiser during the action and something that can severely set Paul back if it kicked in at the wrong time.  Instead, and barring the one time that he fakes it at the end of the first movie, it’s almost always played as “fat man fall down go boom”.

And not even a funny or well-constructed “fat man fall down go boom”, either, which makes it even more insulting.  I send that finger up into the air for wasted potential.  Come on Kevin James, have some goddamn self-respect.

XIV

The hotel general manager is back again.  You know, I’m starting to get the feeling that Kevin James is just using this series as an ego-stroking vanity project more than anything else.  Not quite sure what’s giving that impression, though…  I still despise everything about this plotline, raising that middle-finger in the air as if it will actually do a goddamn thing.

XV

Paul Blart has just shoved a woman into a pool for pretty much no reason.  Our hero, folks.  Cue the middle finger.

The next five entries have been skipped as they constitute proper spoilers, I guess.

XXI

You know that sequence in the trailer where Paul hits on a horseback Sherriff?  The one set to West Coast Rap because white guys doing things whilst Rap music plays is apparently just that goddamn funny?  In the film itself, the scene is set to what basically amounts to Bro-Country.  I would rather listen to the collective sound of a hundred Crazy Frogs being mutilated than listen to Bro-Country.  This middle finger occurs due to abysmal musical standards.

XXII

The CGI horse joke sucked in the trailer and it still sucks now.  I middle finger to represent all those hard-working visual effects artists whose craft is being continuously pissed upon every time a Happy Madison film uses this stuff.

XXIII

The credits are now finally rolling.  I’ve managed to survive an interminable and somehow-even-longer-feeling 94 minutes of terrible jokes, dreadful performances, direct-to-video-quality direction – which is actually an insult to direct-to-video films, in all honesty – a surprising amount of sexism, and just general goddamn misery.  I feel like I have gained nothing except a completely wasted 94 minutes, and that fills me with anger.  I am angrier at this than I am at the film I watched beforehand, which is one that tried to play a scene of forced rape between two men for legitimate comedy!  This was a bad, bad, bad film with no redeeming qualities that actively wasted my time.

So I do the only thing that is fitting in this situation.  I stand up, I proudly give Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 the middle finger salute, let it hang there for a few seconds, then I gather my things and leave the cinema screen.

Callum Petch never thought he’d ever meet someone.  Follow him on the Twitters (@CallumPetch) and listen to Screen 1 on Hullfire Radio every Monday at 9PM BST (site link)!