SXSW Review: The Do-Deca-Pentathelon

2012 SXSW INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
90 minutes

***

I just need to get this off my chest. Ten years ago, my husband, then a man in his mid-twenties, came up with the idea of a twelve-event competition. The nature of these events varied from drinking competitions to games of skill or (mild) athleticism. He called it the Dodeca-Cathelon. This competition has taken place every year since then, around his birthday. Fast-forward to 2012, and we come to find out that the old Duplass brothers are festival touring a film called “The Do-Deca-Pentathlon.”

Granted, they shot “Do-Deca” in 2008 alongside “Baghead.” This was way before they “made it” with mainstream audiences. But that’s still six years after the world’s first Dodeca-Cathelon took place in Seattle, WA. Now, maybe there’s a collective consciousness thing at play; also possible that two or three guys just had the same idea. Anyway, as you can imagine, we were definitely curious to see what this film is all about. And while it ended up having a bit more drama and life-lessons than my husband’s birthday parties, it’s still pretty entertaining.

So in the Duplass version, two extremely competitive brothers spent three days of their youth competing in a twenty-five-event challenge to determine which of them was, well… the better brother. The events comprised of games of skill and mild athleticism: everything from laser tag to arm wrestling. Unfortunately, they never finished their Do-Deca-Pentathlon because their dad prematurely ended their tie-breaking breath-holding contest. It’s unlikely that a definitive result would have solved anything anyway. Mark (the responsible family man with some stress-related health problems) and Jeremy (the perpetual manchild with zero responsibilities) have issues that run much deeper.

When Jeremy realizes he’s been left off the guest list for Mark’s birthday weekend at their mother’s house, he decides to crash the party. He doesn’t have any particular designs when he arrives other than to make everyone feel guilty for leaving him out. But when he finds that a video of the original Do-Deca has been taped over, it drives his gaping wounds even further open. Eventually, Jeremy succeeds in goading Mark into a rematch, though it must happen behind his disapproving wife’s back. Never mind the fact that some of Mark’s health problems might stem from his pathological competitiveness which Jeremy awakens in him like lycanthropy on a full moon.

Mark’s pre-pubescent son, on the other hand, is excited to see a more manly side of his father and conspires to help them complete their goal. Cue the hilarious events montages as Mark and Jeremy take to the ping-pong table like their lives depend on it. As the weekend progresses, the competition escalates and it threatens to tear the family apart. Eventually, they must choose between the family’s happiness and determining once and for all which brother is the true champion.

The Duplasses put “Do-Deca” on the back burner when they started working on their career-making film, “Cyrus,” and there is probably a reason for that. At times, it feels like a throwback to their more momentous work. But even though some of the dramatic beats feel a little simple, it’s only because they’re capable of so much more. Or perhaps they are trying to argue that sometimes we can be so stuck with the bad traits we developed in our youth that we don’t always see the error of our ways until it’s reflected in the disappointed faces of our loves ones. Besides, even a sub-par Duplass film is still better than most mainstream comedies. I just wish they’d stop stealing our ideas.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

SXSW Review: Small Apartments

2012 SXSW FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
94 minutes

**

There are a couple of literary character comparisons which are proven to sell me on a movie. One of them is the protagonist of John Kennedy Toole’s novel, “A Confederacy of Dunces.” Unfortunately, these references almost always set up standards that are impossible to meet. When the synopsis of “Small Apartments” compared its central character to the scholarly but socially incompetent butterball, Ignatius J. Reilly, I should have known it would be a stretch.

But I just couldn’t help myself. And now I will never be able to bleach the image of Matt Lucas’ scantily clad Pillsbury Doughboy body out of my mind. You don’t have to make the same mistake. Trust me when I tell you that Franklin Franklin is no Ignatius J. Reilly. He’s much, much worse. This makes him 100% unsympathetic and not the least bit fun to watch.

Franklin Franklin’s eye-rolling moniker is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of irksome traits. He is fat, pale and as hairless as the bowling ball that is allegedly responsible for evacuating his follicles. He’s self-conscious enough about being bald that he keeps a selection of wigs by his front door, but he has no qualms about roaming the streets in nothing but knee socks and baggy whities. He fantasizes about living in Switzerland while he bellows into his enormous Alp horn, much to the annoyance of his neighbors. He consumes nothing but pickles and a specific brand of soda. He neglects his talking dog. Every day, he receives an envelope in the mail from his hereditarily superior, but clinically insane, brother Bernard (James Marsden). This envelope always contains a homemade self-help recording and some toenail clippings. Are you tired of quirks yet? Writer Chris Millis was clearly trying to create a memorably eccentric character. But he neglected to give Franklin any qualities that would make him empathetic.

A lame character begets lame plot points. Millis designed every gag to be either shocking or wacky. In between jokes, he tried to pack in some notes of sincerity. Some of it even works, but the actors deserve most of the credit for that success. You know you’re in bad shape when it feels like Johnny Knoxville and Billy Crystal are being underutilized. Crystal’s jaded alcoholic fire investigator and James Caan as a widower gothic painter have a solid scene together.

Juno Temple is magnetic as an overcompensating teenage girl. At this point, I would watch her in anything. I only hope she achieves enough success to become more selective of her roles. A dramatic scene between her and Johnny Knoxville as a goal-oriented stoner would have made a great short film.

Were “Small Apartments” more the ensemble that the title suggests, it might have been something worthwhile. Unfortunately, the bulk of the film concerns Franklin’s bumbling attempt to cover up the manslaughter of his scumbag landlord. For a film that clearly prides itself on its idiosyncrasies, it sure is predictable.

There are also several elements, which make watching the film borderline insulting for even a remotely astute audience. Take note, screenwriters: Nudity in and of itself is not funny. There has to be a reason for it.

The film ends on a lengthy voiceover summing up the feelings you should have had and the lessons you should have learned throughout. Among the bumper sticker tropes: “Life is what you make it” and “Happiness is a state of mind” (yes, really). Furthermore, why can’t characters learn lessons (especially ones this simplistic) without becoming conveniently, unexpectedly wealthy? “Small Apartments” is standard Hollywood tripe, disguised as something unique. Some people might fall for it, but you’re better than that.

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

SPECIAL EDITION! Hotter With a ‘Stache: Jason Segel

Did you know there’s a thing called “Mustache March”? Well, there is.

Lance Armstrong wisely tapped into the hipster facial hair market by giving men an excuse to let their inner bear out and raise money for (or, rather, against) testicular cancer. Healthy balls is something that most of us can get behind (or in front of). And here at Effed by the Wind, we also love to get behind the growing and subsequent styling of facial hair.

Mustache March’s charity is the MACC, which benefits kids with cancer. This is also an inarguably deserving cause. A friend of mine has been covering the celebrity Mustache March photos on her Facebook page, but they never included this fetching photo of TV and Film actor Jason Segel. He showed us his dong in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall”, but it wasn’t until this that he showed us his truly masculine side. I love mustaches but I have to agree that many people can NOT pull them off without looking like rednecks or sex offenders.

Jason Segel can pull it the fuck off.

When he tweeted this photo, he captioned it, “For the ladies”. He clearly meant it as a joke and I bet he shaved it off shortly thereafter. But before he did, I hope someone told him that he nailed it. He looks like an extra in “Mary Poppins” and I mean that in the BEST possible way. Keep up the good work, Segel. Hope to see the full beard monty in Movember.