Eastbound and Down

Take a gander at the sign in the background: "Kenny Powers: He'll sign your balls." If you don't find this at least moderately amusing, then Eastbound and Down will never lodge itself inside your brain (and I probably wouldn't want to have a nice spaghetti dinner with you). Of course, I find it to be hilarious. This is not surprising. Produced by the preeminent comedy writing/directing team of our time in Will Ferrell & Adam McKay (currently upending Broadway in their brilliant You're Welcome, America), the show is an exemplar of their improvisational approach to lowbrow shenanigans.

In Danny McBride, Jody Hill, and Ben Best, they've found their dick joke soul mates. A trio of friends who met at school in North Carolina (David Gordon Green is a fellow traveler, who also directs a few episodes of the show), they collaborated on the indie The Foot Fist Way in 2006. In it, Danny McBride plays a Ferrellian karate instructor, an overweight blowhard who'd rather kick a kid in the head than impart a lesson. Ferrell & McKay loved it, and picked it up for distribution by their Gary Sanchez Productions.

Soon the NC boys pitched the story of a washed up, jackass ex-ballplayer who returns to his hometown of Shelby to be a gym teacher. Thus Kenny Powers (McBride) was born. Probably the biggest a-hole to ever grace the small screen, Powers is monumentally self-regarding, ignorant of his physical degradation and resultant fall from fame. He's shocked when his old bat sells for seven bucks on E-bay. Expecting a hero's welcome when he returns home, he's treated as an afterthought, especially by his ex-flame April (Katy Mixon), a teacher at the same school engaged to the principal (a yuppie glad-hander played by Andrew Daly). The majority of Powers' vanity is focused in her direction, from awkward come-ons to an ecstasy fueled dance of seduction.

McBride utlizes his ungainly frame and curly mullet to spectacularly uncomfortable effect, waddling into every frame with supreme confidence like he's Victor Mature in a swords 'n sandal epic. The show ultimately works because of its cast, which is rich in character work, especially John Hawkes and Ben Best, who play his put-upon brother and coke-fiend best friend, respectively. All play off each other with ease, shown in such small details as Hawkes spitting out his toothpaste into the toilet (while he's on it), McBride's attempt to "dunk" his tray of food into a garbage can, and Will Ferrell's absurd platinum blonde wig. It's this buildup of incidental bits of slapstick that makes the show great.

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*Zachary Campbell shows more love for Termite Art's favorite actress Anna Faris over at Rouge, complete with quotes from Raul Ruiz.

*Spinster Aunt and I contributed to the "Varieties of Cinematic Experience" section in the new Believer. Buy it!

Step Brothers (2008)

Step Brothers was made by free men. Gloriously anarchic, it's the purest distillation of the Adam McKay-Will Farrell aesthetic, which values combative performances above all else, a kind of actorly one upsmanship. After completing the relatively large-scale Talledega Nights, McKay wanted to, as he told The Oklahoman: "do a film that was almost all about characters and dialogue — no action and no '70s nostalgia, just straight-up, nonstop riffing." Enamored with the improvisatory nuggets mined by the team of John C. Reilly and Farrell on Talledega, McKay conceived of a plot that would have them together on-screen for an entire film, hence the step-brotherdom. The movie, then, is a scrim for a feature-length improvisation session, which was how Farell and McKay were trained: McKay at the Upright Citizens Brigade, and Farrell with The Groundlings, before they both teamed up on Saturday Night Live.

Reilly is the outlier, the one with dramatic chops whose id was let loose by the Apatow gang. He's quite wonderful in Walk Hard, probably the most underrated of the Apatow comedies, but there's a peculiar sophmoric magic that occurs when he spars with Farrell, a matter of timing and sensibility. They key off each other's self-absorbed personas, trading insults so absurd it turns into a battle of the non-sequitor ("The last time I heard that I fell off my dinosaur."). Their delight in performing with each other is contagious, spreading to the staighter-laced parents, played by Mary Steenburgen and Richard Jenkins. Steenburgen savors each curse word, while Jenkins turns in a performance that is close to madness. His shit-eating grin while being seduced by Ferrell's yuppie brother Derek (Adam Huff) edges into the grotesque, while his improvisatory (I assume) monologue about his teen T-rex impersonations is pure Dada.

The plot totally falls apart during the sublimely ridiculous ending, at the incessantly repeated "Catalina Wine Mixer". The phrase in itself is rather banal, but intoned ad nauseum by the main players, it becomes pure nonsense, a children's game, until the "fucking Catalina Wine Mixer" had me in tears. This "nonsense" spreads through the whole sequence, incorporating dreams, fantasies, and the solid organizational structure of Enterprise rent-a-car. The film would make a great double-bill with Howard Hawks' (admittedly greater) Monkey Business, another film which reverts to childhood. It's critical of its adults-turned-kids, while Step Brothers revels in the pre-self-consciousness of children. But both films are unafraid to look silly for the sake of a laugh and refuse to condescend to the innocence and destructiveness of youth.

Will Ferrell's Funny Or Die Tour

My favorite celebrity jerk-off session was on the TV this week, but since Blades of Glory was snubbed in every category, I had to reluctantly pass on it this year. Instead, I chose to attend Will Ferrell's Funny Or Die tour at Radio City Music Hall, featuring three cherubic stand-ups and and Mr. Ferrell himself as the debonair MC. It soon became clear that I made the right decision.

The tour is sponsored by Ferrell's upcoming film Semi-Pro and the Funny Or Die website, a YouTube for comic sketches that often features Mr. Ferrell, John C. Reilly, and others of their merry band. This was the last stop on the 8 city tour, and every bit was well honed. With frequent co-writer and director Adam McKay as his announcer, Ferrell's entrance was teased with clips of his greatest work, including Old School, Talladega Nights, Unforgiven, and Platoon. The directors of the last two made curious decisions in having Farrell act in what looked like his own apartment, but his performance was stirring nonetheless. After defiantly entering the stage in a Patriots sweatshirt, he tore it off with the strength of Thor to reveal the Giants logo beneath. The crowd was agog. After a few pleasantries the Mortal Kombat theme song hit, and was Ferrell was soon fending off an array of ninjas with awe-inspiring athleticism. His balletic martial arts moves brought most of the crowd to tears, so powerful was their ascetic grace. Then, with absolute modesty, introduced the first comedian, Demetri Martin.

Martin: Heavily influenced by Steven Wright, but uses a guitar and visual aids to aid the deadpan. I can't remember many of the jokes, and to list them wouldn't capture their charm - it's all in the flat intonation.

Interim. Dark stage, lights go up to reveal Ferrell as one of those silver-painted street robot dancers. Is there a better name for them? Not sure. But, gyrating to Daft Punk's "Around the World", Ferrell made such questions seem meaningless. What are words in the face of such poetry? McKay disgustingly asked him to stop, and I wept. Then we received a few Oscar updates from gal-about-town Andrea Savage, who had earlier interviewed Javier Bardem (Fred Armisen) backstage. We discovered that John Travolta had won best actress for Hairspray, the cast of Falcon Crest was given an unnamed honor, and Carl Weathers had unconscionably been passed over. Such is life. Next stand-up: Nick Swardson.

Swardson: amiable foul-mouth that loves monkeys and old-people. Most memorable bit about a spider monkey in Las Vegas who would high five him for a dollar. He lost $300.

Then: that perfectly coiffed adonis, Ron Burgundy, graced us with his presence, and he soon brought out the one man who could compete with him in the news hair game, Tom Brokaw. The two legendary journalists covered the hot-button issues: that crazy party in Lake Tahoe when Diane Sawyer was topless, whether Brokaw would smoke a vial of crack to save the President's life, etc. Things got testy when Burgundy revealed his book, The Greater Generation: the Story of the '69 Miracle Mets, but luckily things ended amicably.

Zack Galifinakis was unlucky enough to follow that blast of genius, but he acquitted himself superbly. Like Martin, he's heavily influenced by the great Steven Wright, presenting a number of deadpan one-liners ("One thing a woman never wants to hear whispered in her ear: 'I'm going to perform jihad on your vagina'"), and ending in a blaze of Little Orphan Annie Glory, complete with glitter and lip-synching to "Tomorrow".

Inevitably, it ended with Ferrell, with his Capezio dance pants tucked into his Uggs, leading the whole production in a rousing rendition of Alicia Keys' "No One". During the course of this Utopic tune Ferrell was refused a wedding engagement and kissed Woody Harrelson. All the torrid passions of life in one five minute performance. Sublime.

YouTubeArt: Semi-Pro Teaser

Most anticipated film of 2008?