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Why does a vomiting puppet make me laugh? Maybe Jacques Derrida could explain it if he were still alive. Or Henri Bergson, whose philosophical treatise on laughter analyzed the innate hilarity of human behavior reduced to a repetitive or mechanical level. Whatever the reason, the spectacle halfway through Team America of a down-and-out Gary Johnston, all 22 inches of him, tossing his cookies for the fourth time epitomizes the work of Trey Parker and Matt Stone at its best. There aren’t enough such moments, unfortunately. Not as many as in Parker & Stone’s previous film, South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut, or in the average South Park TV episode, for that matter. Their epic (at one-third scale) lacks some of the anarchic genius that has given us Mr. Hankie the Christmas Poo and put Saddam Hussein in Hell as Satan’s gay lover. Parker and Stone find themselves a little adrift and not at their best in the current turmoil, and this attempt to capture that confusion in a movie only compounds it. Blame Canada. Or rather, blame a post–September 11 world in which every target of satire has rancorous ideological associations and is thus unfunny. Parker & Stone’s answer is to retreat to a world of utter artifice based on the real world of inescapable political conflict we’re all too familiar with. This self-conscious contrivance is evident from the film’s first frame. An intertitle reads "Paris" and a puppet stumbles before a crude paper backdrop depicting the City of Light. The camera draws back to reveal that the puppet is being manipulated by another puppet and that the Paris they dwell in is in fact elaborately and wittily constructed. This Paris also has puppets who look a lot like Osama bin Laden, but before they can unleash their terror, the star-spangled helicopters and humvees of Team America save the day, doing in the evildoers, though laying waste to the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower in the process. So, the point is that the hamfisted American approach to the war on terror causes more harm than good, arousing the world to anger? Well, not exactly. The Parisian survivors of Team America’s largesse look more bewildered than irate. And the Team’s themesong, "America, Fuck Yeah," has the kind of irresistible hook that will make it a hit across the political spectrum. Maybe Parker & Stone’s target is æsthetic. They’ve suggested that one of their satiric targets is the bombast of action directors like Jerry Bruckheimer. As such, the film will appeal to those who can pick up on the cinematic allusions. (The most notorious was the puppet love scene inspired by Armageddon that had to be extensively cut to avoid an NC-17 rating.) Bruckheimer’s æsthetics, however, are political as well. As the Times’ Frank Rich has pointed out, the Bruckheimer style has been applied by the Bush administration not only to its self-promotion but to its policies. That appropriation seems to be at the heart of Team America’s discontent, the suspicion that what passes for real events and policy is only an artificial manipulation of appearances by some cynical, unknown über-puppeteer. And indeed, after the "successful" Paris mission, the Team’s creepy head, Spottswoode, decides he needs an actor to serve as a spy and infiltrate the terrorist cells. He visits the above-mentioned Johnston, an actor starring in the Broadway hit Lease (worth a Stone/Parker film in itself), and cajoles him into joining the Team. Johnston’s acting convinces almost everyone, from the Chechen warlord harboring WMDs in a Cairo bar to fellow Team members Lisa and Sarah, who are smitten by his charms. But he hasn’t convinced himself, especially when the successful Cairo mission results in a terrorist attack on the Panama Canal. (Here the spectacle of puppet carcasses in the floodwater, reminiscent of corpses floating downriver in the Rwandan genocide, elicits at best uncomfortable laughter.) Johnston quits and goes on a bender, leaving the others to the devices of the real puppeteer: North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Il. Or maybe it’s anti-war activist Alec Baldwin, head of the Film Actors Guild. Toward the end, Team America becomes a test of how much you enjoy the sight of Tim Robbins being burnt to death or a gun-toting Janeane Garofalo getting her brains blown out. In better times, I’m sure those of all ideological persuasions might chuckle at such excess and (one hopes) irony. Until then, I for one prefer the comic purity of a vomiting puppet. |
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Issue Date: October 15 - 21, 2004 Back to the Movies table of contents |
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