Vintage

Tropic takes chances from the very beginning to the very end and for that the comic “booty sweat” of director, writer, actor Ben Stiller should be rewarded.  Most of the chances pay off.  Toss in Jack Black and Robert Downy, Jr., in a comedic performance that could be Oscar worthy, and you are left with a great comedy flick, easily one of the best of the year.

Tropic Thunder revolves around Tugg Speedman (Stiller), a fading action star that seemed to have taken a career misstep by going “full retard” in a movie called Simple Jack.  Speedman needs a hit bad and Tropic Thunder is what he and his agent (McConaughey) are hoping will can get him back to A-list celebrity status.  Speedman had built a Stallone like reputation on a film series called Scorcher.  In fact, the opening credits show a fake promo for Skorcher VI: Global Meltdown. 

Enter five-time Academy Award-winner Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.), rap star Alpa Chino (Jackson), fart specialist Jeff Portnoy (Black), and character actor Kevin Sandusky (Baruchel), and you have a cast for a Hollywood blockbuster war film that could be a huge hit.  The problem is they get all their egos in a bunch resulting in a $4 million explosion going off with no cameras shooting.  Heads must roll.

With filming a month behind schedule only five days into shooting, the media dubs the production "the most expensive war movie never made". Newbie director Damien Cockburn (Steve Coogan) is ordered by studio executive Les Grossman (an unbilled performance by Tom Cruise) to get the production back on track or risk having it shut down. This is when the writer of the so-called book “Tropic Thunder” comes up with the idea to deploy the cast, unbeknownst to them, in the middle of the Jungle.
With inspiration from Tayback, Cockburn drops the spoiled actors into the middle of the jungle, where he tells them he installs hidden cameras and special effect explosions rigged so he can film "guerrilla-style.”

The actors have only a map and a scene listing to guide them to the helicopter waiting at the end of the jungle. There is where the fun starts. Shortly afterward delivering the instructions, the director is blown up by an old French land mine.  Speedman picks up his severed head and much to the horror of the other cast members, starts tossing it around like it was a basketball believing it was merely a special effects prop.  He tells his cast mates they are not used to seeing such special effects but he is. 

Meanwhile, watching from afar, are real drug smugglers, part of an operation called The Flaming Dragon.   They are amazed at how fearless Speedman is, who they believe to be a U.S. D.E.A. agent.  To their consternation he licks blood from the head of the producer, which Speedman believes to be corn syrup but is indeed real blood. 

“They have no fear of death,” says one of the Asian onlookers into a walkie-talkie. 

Yes, there is the criticism that use of the word “retard” is employed too liberally and in poor taste, but I didn’t find it was as malicious as many other critics have opined.  In fact, they are retarded if you ask me. 

This movie makes fun of Hollywood types standing on the shoulders of simpletons, for glory, granite (walk of fame) and gold (Oscar).  Here my use of simpletons refers to stupid celebrities, Hollywood types.  I thought previous films starring both Ben Stiller and Jack Black respectfully made fun of the mentally retarded people much more. 

In Something About Mary, there were repeated jokes about “Mongo” and Mary’s retarded younger brother, which to me served nothing more than a running gag throughout the film.  In Shallow Hal, staring Black, the issue was more with fat people, okay, overweight people, people who have a lot of skin real estate.  Are they too insulted because they are called fat?  I don’t know.  I have a few pounds to loose and am not insulted when I am called fat. 

In my opinion, I have always felt it more insulting to be called something you are basically not.  Likewise, someone calls me “slim” and we are going to roll.  This is the underpinnings of the famous “Got it, Einstein” insult.    

Plus, what if mentally handicapped people assume ownership of the word “retard” and its domain?  What if only they can hurl around the word like many ethnic minorities have taken an epithet and turned it on its heels to be a badge of honor of which members only are permitted to utter. That would be absurd.  That would be stupid retarded (a phrase I once heard a bar patron utter when a running back juked a would be linebacker in an NFL game). 

But speaking of absurd, let’s focus on what this movie did incredibly well.  It made me laugh like a re-re-rejuvenated guy who hasn’t laughed in a long, long time-tard.    
Robert Downey, Jr.’s performance earns high merits too.  As I alluded to earlier, I would not be surprised if he garners the gold but maybe his portrayal of a black guy might be too controversial to deal with, in the wake of Don Imus sensitivity issues.  Additionally, how ironic would it be if Downey, Jr. captures an Oscar for his performance acting as a black guy, whereas Eddie Murphy, whom for years has made a reputation on playing other people, even Asians and Whites, will remain less Oscar redeemable.  I wonder how that will sit with some folk. 

Murphy then might be the Martin Scorsese of black comedic actors, one who will eventually get an Oscar one day for something sure to reflect a career as a whole and not the movie that will finally deliver the award.  I also, while we are on the topic, thought the promo for the fake movie Fatties was a dig at Eddie Murphy’s Klumps movies.  Then I thought Kirk Lazarus made fun of actors who take themselves too seriously like Russell Crowe.  But, I digress.

Tropic Thunder is a great comedy.  Maybe not a classic, but the problem with deeming any movie a classic, is you have to wait until it becomes a classic, unless of course you buy into instant classics.  I am hard pressed to name any movie I watched and said it was an instant classic.    I take that back: Scorcher II was an instant classic.   

Matthew J. DeReno is a writer living in Pittsburgh.