Summer LOL-in'

The Fist Foot Way and The Promotion

There’s an important bit of screenwriting wisdom stressing the odd but undeniable truth that comedy is much more difficult to write than drama. Where dramatic pieces only require the tangible minimums of storytelling (scenario, character and conflict) and leave everything else wide open, even the stupidest of comedy scripts ideally involve painstaking attention not only to what is or is not funny, but also how the humor is packaged — after all, miscalculations in tone, pacing or performance can conceivably mean the difference between belly laughs and bad times. (See: The Love Guru.)

(Just kidding, please don’t see The Love Guru.)

Even more difficult is consideration of the comic character, whose development is no less important than those of the more complicated dramatic realms. It’s not quite important that we believe the comedic characters could exist in reality (it’s sufficient to understand how they might), but constructing a story around them requires something more: an emotional connection, however slight, that keeps audiences in the seats even when the jokes start to spoil.

It’s a credit to Jody Hill, then, that his The Foot Fist Way almost manages to succeed as a comedy despite careless disregard for any and all of the aforementioned guidelines. Here is a micro-budgeted film (shot in Concord, N.C.) that remains micro-budgeted in spirit. From the indifferent staging and inert pace to the woefully modest scope of its story, it generally lacks the inspiration and motivation is required to make an opt feature film. Even worse, vulgarity, misanthropy, awkwardness and even misogyny are prevalent throughout its running time.

Ah, but there is also Danny McBride. Perhaps recognizable to some from stolen scenes in David Gordon Green’s underappreciated romance All The Real Girls or the probably-suitably-appreciated Hot Rod, the pudgy, mustachioed McBride plays Fred “King Of The Demo” Simmons, a small-town Tae Kwon Do instructor with a cheating wife, somewhat dubious credentials and few friends beyond the children and smattering of adults that faithfully attend his dojo.

There is a bit (only a bit) more to the story, but it’s fair to say the focus is much more on McBride’s character than on anything to do with the plot, as he gifts the almost-forgettable film with a towering, ferociously deadpan comedic performance that has already facilitated his clean jump into mainstream comedy. (Next up: a supporting role in Green’s Apatow-produced stoner thriller Pineapple Express.) From getting riled up about 2-for-1 crab legs to cornering a pretty student with thickheaded advances, Fred Simmons is a living, breathing (and unmistakably Southern) dumbass, and McBride’s portrayal is the comedic turn of the year so far.

  Until, that is, the film finally collapses under his weight. The amateur cast makes The Foot Fist Way’s sloppy chug that much slower and in the end, the whole thing is done in by its limitations. Though Fred Simmons is an undeniably funny character, neither the filmmakers nor the audience manage to well up anything approaching real empathy on his behalf — being put-upon and cheated on don’t carry that much weight when we’re indifferent to the victim’s plight. The Foot Fist Way will doubtlessly achieve cult longevity (it was distributed by Will Ferrell, who would likely chair the film’s fan club if there was one) but it’s much more of a raw showcase than a comedic film.

  Steve Conrad’s The Promotion, on the other hand, has an embarrassment of riches where emotional identification is concerned. The story of two Chicago men (Seann William Scott and John C. Reilly) competing for the management of their grocery chain employer’s nearest location is ripe enough material for a light dramatic comedy by itself, but Conrad shakes things up by approaching the rivals with equal parts sympathy and intelligence, ensuring in the process that the moment-to-moment between audience and characters will not only shift, but do so independently and unpredictably.

   The film is presented primarily from Scott’s perspective (the narration is among the many tonal debts to Alexander Payne’s kindred Election) but we grow increasingly weary of his white lies and poor impulse control. Reilly, on the other hand, emerges as a shady, Canadian usurper to Scott’s grocer throne, but ends up charming with his innocence. Over the course of the movie each man makes decisions and takes actions that speak alternately well and ill of his character, and we are asked to determine for ourselves the worthiness of each choice.

   The Promotion is nuanced, emotionally intelligent, and above all, humanistic in a way few films are. Conrad (making his debut behind the camera after writing The Weather Man and The Pursuit of Happyness) continues to explore the ways people define themselves by the work they do, for better or worse, and when the dust settles on its titular promotion, it’s hard not to feel simultaneously glad and disappointed in the outcome. There are more hard laughs to be found in Foot Fist Way, but why bother with a caricature when the real thing is so much more satisfying?