Before the credits even hit the screen, Tropic Thunder is already skewing mainstream Hollywood culture. As the faux-commercial for the energy drink Booty Sweat ended, my fellow audience members vocalized their bewilderment: “What was that? Was that a commercial?”, “That wasn’t real, was it?”, “No, I’m pretty sure I’ve had Booty Sweat before”, “No, that was fake. Wasn’t it?”, “I dunno, it looked pretty real”, “I’m confused…”
And with that, writer/producer/director/star Ben Stiller’s bitingly satirical romp was in full force. Straight out of the gate, Tropic Thunder is a pure comedic thrill ride. As helicopters cut through the sky and machine guns blast in surround sound, the film has the legitimate feel of a war epic-- a great achievement on the behalf of Stiller, who’s last directorial effort was the much simpler (yet innately classic) Zoolander. But as soon as you’ve braced yourself for a two-and-half-hour epic, there’s Jack Black, hanging from a helicopter; there’s Knocked Up’s Jay Baruchel, his insides helplessly and haphazardly falling out of him; and then there’s Stiller, playing fading action star Tugg Speedman, taking bullet after comedic bullet, as he gracefully falls to the ground in a sarcastic scene that truly sets the tone.
The concept of the film is inherently clever: A band of prima donna Hollywood actors is making the Vietnam War saga "Tropic Thunder" (the movie within the movie) in Southeast Asia when the higher-ups becomes frustrated with the inflated budget and lack of footage. To remedy this issue, first-time director Damien Cockburn (Steve Coogan) and writer John "Four Leaf" Tayback (Nick Nolte) conceive a plan to place the actors in a guerrilla-like atmosphere, in order to capture real-time emotions. That's when they encounter the real guns of a heroin cartel, led by a sawed-off 12-year-old terrorist. And had that been the best thing about the film, it wouldn't be the treat it is. The real fun comes in the characterizations dreamt up by Stiller and his collaborators.
The casting in this film is, for the most part, pitch perfect (though Matthew McConaughey is no Owen Wilson). Matching Tugg in diva tantrums and insecurity is famed comic and dope fiend Jeff Portnoy, played deftly by Frat Pack member Jack Black. Portnoy is best known for "The Fatties," a movie series in which he portrays an entire family of prodigious farters. This is Black’s zaniest performance since School of Rock, truly letting go of any inhibitions. From start to finish he is loud, crude and hysterical. And large props must go to Danny McBride, who seems to just get funnier and funnier in each role. He’s consistently a scene-stealer as Cody, the special-effects techie with an itch to pull the kaboom trigger, despite having almost blinded Jamie Lee Curtis on Freaky Friday. And whoever played the foul-mouthed, egocentric, studio head Les Grossman has a big, big future ahead of him. Oh, wait, that was Tom Cruise -- and whether he's calling his hapless assistant (the invaluable Bill Hader) a "nutless monkey" or indulging in a happy dance that must be seen to believe, he's an absolute riot.
The award for best in show, however, has to go to Robert Downey Jr. as Kirk Lazarus, an Aussie actor who has already collected five Oscars prior to playing Sgt. Lincoln Osiris in "Tropic Thunder." A method actor known for losing himself in his roles, Kirk undergoes a skin pigmentation procedure and alters his voice to better suit the African American sergeant. This Chicken George routine pisses off Alpa Chino (a terrific Brandon T. Jackson), the hip-hop hitmaker hired to bring street cred to the movie. Alpa can't stop Kirk from talking black even when the camera stops rolling. "I don't break character ‘til the DVD commentary," says Kirk. Downey obviously had a ball with the role, and is so off-the-wall, side-splittingly hilarious that you’ll be quoting him for the rest of the night -- his explanation to Stiller about the dangers of going "full retard" if you want to win an Oscar belongs in a comedy time capsule.
Sure, it can be a bit much at points – it’s silly, shallow and way too inside in some respects. But the unflinching skewering of so many taboos, whether they be social, cinematic or otherwise, make Tropic Thunder worth the seven years it took to get Ben Stiller back in the director’s chair. There is a shrewd method to his madness. Every character in Tropic Thunder is delusional. Having given up on truth, they still do their damnedest to fake it. So obviously, Stiller knows firsthand that Hollywood is a microcosm for a world that has swallowed its own marketing strategy, and he has successfully managed to viciously bite the hand that consistently feeds him.
For better or worse, it’s a genius tactic.
5/5
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