"Andy, have you seen my swimming buddy? If I can't find him, I'm telling Beth that you let him drown.”
"I was busy!"
"I was busy!"
The Story:
Summer 1981 is winding down to a close, and it’s the last day at Camp Firewood, which means something a little bit different for everyone. Some campers are still in search of that elusive summer love, while some just want to get laid one last time. Still others are concerned with serious stuff like accepting themselves and overcoming their Vietnam war demons (it’s an eclectic crew!). The common thread amongst them all? Dodging responsibility, partying down, and preparing for the big talent show that‘ll cap off the year’s camp season…if a rogue satellite doesn’t fall from orbit and crush them all first?!
The Review:
The Review:
Dazed and Confused meets Meatballs and dresses up in awesome tube socks and neon headbands in this retro homage that quickly turns into a spoof. It actually begins rather innocuously; in fact, it’s pretty much like most teen/camp movies as the film’s central storylines are established. However, somewhere along the way (probably when some of the counselors ditch camp to drink, blaze, and shoot up in town), Wet Hot American Summer hikes off the beaten path and becomes a kooky, surrealistic farce that haphazardly juggles over a half-dozen sub-plots to varying effectiveness. This is one of those films where pretty much every character (no matter how minor) has some sort of exaggerated quality that causes them to stand out. Some are more memorable than others, and so it follows that some plots fall flat--stuff like Molly Shannon’s breakdown over her marriage in the presence of little kids is limp, and the eventual resolution is creepy and ridiculous, even by the film’s gonzo standards.
But there is some very funny, very effective stuff to be found here, and it’s sort of easy to see how this has become a cult favorite. Wet Hot American Summer has a peculiar, oddball type of humor that oscillates between exaggerated loudness and dry, understated wit (some of the film’s funniest lines don’t really hit you until you hear them again). Part of its appeal is obviously found in the cast; the likes of Shannon, Janeane Garofalo, David Hyde Pierce, and Amy Poehler were known quantities at the time, but the film has become an assembly of all-stars in retrospect, as you’ll see early performances from Michael Ian Black, Elizabeth Banks, Bradley Cooper, and Paul Rudd.
The standout here is Rudd, who is like a tornado in a denim jacket, blowing through every scene with the reckless abandon of an asshole; in fact, he is the prototypical 80s asshole villain and occupies one of the slots in the film’s central love triangle. Though he relentlessly cheats on his girlfriend (Marguerite Moreau), she just can’t bring herself to leave him for Coop (Michael Showalter), the awkward guy who’s had a crush on her all summer but is just now making his move. This is all mostly typical stuff and the cliché qualities are embraced; in fact, Coop works up his courage by engaging in one of the great 80s rituals: the training montage, which is full of synth-pop, electric guitars, dancing, hairy legs, short shorts, cut-off shirts, and running. The only thing missing is Carl Weathers, a beach, and homoerotic frolicking.
Anyway, Coop is assisted by the film’s other great character: Gene, the shell-shocked ’Nam vet who is now the camp chef. He’s got lots of weird fetishes (like fridge-humping), none of which he’ll admit to until he learns to accept himself for who he is: a totally bonkers psycho who gets advice from a talking vegetable can. Hey, at least he didn’t blow the camp to all hell like that asshole Rambo might have done in the same situation. All this stuff is quite funny, particularly in the way the love triangle bounces through all the expected beats before the conclusion completely shatters it.
It’d be a Lemon Popsicle-style gut-punch if the whole thing weren’t so damned irreverent and strangely resonant; sometimes, nice guys do finish last, especially if they’re clashing with Paul Rudd. I really can’t say enough good things about him in this movie; it could just be the decades-worth of good will he’s built up, but somehow he’s so enjoyable in his aggressive disregard for others. If kids aren’t drowning on his watch, then he’s tossing them from a van; if his girl wants to talk seriously, then he’s more concerned about eating or making out with Elizabeth Banks (and you can hardly blame him for that--getting her into a bikini is one of this film’s great triumphs). He’s not the Paul Rudd you’ve come to love, but this might be his most memorable turn.
The standout here is Rudd, who is like a tornado in a denim jacket, blowing through every scene with the reckless abandon of an asshole; in fact, he is the prototypical 80s asshole villain and occupies one of the slots in the film’s central love triangle. Though he relentlessly cheats on his girlfriend (Marguerite Moreau), she just can’t bring herself to leave him for Coop (Michael Showalter), the awkward guy who’s had a crush on her all summer but is just now making his move. This is all mostly typical stuff and the cliché qualities are embraced; in fact, Coop works up his courage by engaging in one of the great 80s rituals: the training montage, which is full of synth-pop, electric guitars, dancing, hairy legs, short shorts, cut-off shirts, and running. The only thing missing is Carl Weathers, a beach, and homoerotic frolicking.
Anyway, Coop is assisted by the film’s other great character: Gene, the shell-shocked ’Nam vet who is now the camp chef. He’s got lots of weird fetishes (like fridge-humping), none of which he’ll admit to until he learns to accept himself for who he is: a totally bonkers psycho who gets advice from a talking vegetable can. Hey, at least he didn’t blow the camp to all hell like that asshole Rambo might have done in the same situation. All this stuff is quite funny, particularly in the way the love triangle bounces through all the expected beats before the conclusion completely shatters it.
It’d be a Lemon Popsicle-style gut-punch if the whole thing weren’t so damned irreverent and strangely resonant; sometimes, nice guys do finish last, especially if they’re clashing with Paul Rudd. I really can’t say enough good things about him in this movie; it could just be the decades-worth of good will he’s built up, but somehow he’s so enjoyable in his aggressive disregard for others. If kids aren’t drowning on his watch, then he’s tossing them from a van; if his girl wants to talk seriously, then he’s more concerned about eating or making out with Elizabeth Banks (and you can hardly blame him for that--getting her into a bikini is one of this film’s great triumphs). He’s not the Paul Rudd you’ve come to love, but this might be his most memorable turn.
I think the love triangle stuff is the cohesive glue holding this thing together, as it’s one of the few elements that’s thoroughly realized as great satire. Scraps of other cliché stuff is littered about--the dorky outcast kids who eventually save the day, the horny guy who probably would walk 500 miles to get laid, and the super saccharine nature of some of the resolutions. Interestingly, the film does tackle homosexuality, which is a clever way to undercut the usual “get your buddy” laid routine; no grand statements are made here, but its mere presence leads to some of the film’s few genuine moments.
This is not to say Wet Hot American Summer doesn’t have heart--it’s very earnest and committed to its characters and its oddball, slapdash sprit. It originated from the minds of Showalter and David Wain, a couple of guys with sketch comedy backgrounds. This sometimes feels like a sketch comedy show stretched out to feature length and connected by its central “spoof the shit out of camp movies” theme. It’s much more offbeat and (thankfully) much less obvious than the obnoxious Friedberg/Seltzer spoofs we’ve been saddled with for the past decade. There’s a part early in the film where Cooper’s character muses that everyone should get reunite ten years down the road to see what everyone’s up to. A potential sequel missed that date last year, but, hey, better late than never, right? (Brett G.)
This is not to say Wet Hot American Summer doesn’t have heart--it’s very earnest and committed to its characters and its oddball, slapdash sprit. It originated from the minds of Showalter and David Wain, a couple of guys with sketch comedy backgrounds. This sometimes feels like a sketch comedy show stretched out to feature length and connected by its central “spoof the shit out of camp movies” theme. It’s much more offbeat and (thankfully) much less obvious than the obnoxious Friedberg/Seltzer spoofs we’ve been saddled with for the past decade. There’s a part early in the film where Cooper’s character muses that everyone should get reunite ten years down the road to see what everyone’s up to. A potential sequel missed that date last year, but, hey, better late than never, right? (Brett G.)
Tale of the Tape:
8 out of a possible 10 inches.
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