Since the directorial oeuvre of Robert “Bobcat” Goldthwait has thus far consisted of films including alcoholic children’s entertainers, trans-species sexual hijinks, and teenaged auto-asphyxiation gone bad, it shouldn’t be surprising that his newest is another boundary-pusher. What might seem unexpected is that the mind behind “Shakes the Clown,” “Sleeping Dogs Lie,” and “World’s Greatest Dad” has crafted a moralistic diatribe against the coarsening of American culture. Of course, that’s not entirely a fair critique—at their best, Bocat’s other movies have attacked hypocrisy with acerbic jabs of uncompromising vulgarity while retaining (barely) a core humanity. Still, it’s a paradox “God Bless America” never quite treats in a satisfactory way.
It also doesn’t help that the target of Goldthwait’s satire is about as broad as can be. Basically, he (or, rather, his protagonist-correlative Frank) has had it up to here with the relentless degradation of American manners and intellect, as brought about by the avalanche of putridity which is our pop culture today. After fantasizing about murdering his insensitive, moronic co-workers and neighbors, cubicle drone Frank gets out his old Army sidearm and sets his sights on the spoiled teenage star of a “Sweet Sixteen”-style reality show. He eventually teams up with one of her schoolmates, the morbidly inclined Roxy, for a cross-country, kill-crazy rampage targeting anyone rude and/or stupid enough to deserve it. And that’s pretty much it. “GBA” is basically a tongue-in-cheek (but not very far) wish-fulfillment fantasy for anyone who has ever stared in disbelief at the idiocy on their TV screens or in their offices and stores. Thinly veiled references are made to “American Idol,” Fox News, and explicit ones to Michael Jackson, Lindsay Lohan, and Tea Party protestors.
But there’s no real critique going on here, Bobcat/Frank is essentially screaming about how terrible all this stuff is. While there’s certainly some satisfaction in that, and in some of the early mayhem committed here, it’s a pretty thin skeleton for an entire movie. Criticizing a Goldthwait film for lacking subtlety may be a fool’s errand, but it’s appropriate. What made “World’s Greatest Dad” such a darkly fascinating comedy was its ability to get under the skin of its characters, to make the reprehensible actions of Robin Williams’ character seem, if not excusable, at least understandable. Joel Murray plays Frank with a spot-on Robert Forster voice (and you could easily imagine Forster in the role), but too many of his monologues are screenwriter speeches, and he never seems to cotton to the obvious fact that his lethal intolerance of those he deems unworthy is little more than a funhouse mirror of the attitudes he’s set himself against. Tara Lynn Barr is the potential breakout star, imbuing Roxy with a wryness that’s Wednesday Addams-meets-Zooey Deschanel, but she’s not given much to do other than try (unsuccessfully) to entice Frank, and come to his rescue , guns blazing. Any shock value at seeing a teenaged girl stone-facedly gun folks down has been exhausted by the antics of Chloe Moretz.
I don’t think Bobcat should have chickened out on his thesis and made the whole thing a dream (which I suspected at one point would happen), but to depict so uncritically this serial killer behavior is a little bit icky. I guess I’m not entirely convinced that Bobcat doesn’t think something like this massacre would be a good idea. And even though there are moments I’m tempted, in the abstract, to agree, it’s obviously not. In other words, it’s both less creepy and less funny than Crispin Glover’s essay a few years back about whether or not it would be morally justifiable to kill Steven Spielberg. (5/10)
