Hello. I want to take a moment to say how honored I am to be part of a program as cultured, humane, and finely-wrought as "Sunday Morning," and to thank its producers for allowing me to celebrate its stomach-churning-sadomasochistic-anal-expulsive-oh-my-God-I'm-going-puke-my-guts-out-opposite-in-all-things, "Jackass 3-D."
It's the third feature based on an old MTV series, a carnival of cruelty in which a troupe of clowns - it's all men, all white - test their masculinity by taking moronic risks and subjecting themselves to disgusting punishments.
Johnny Knoxville is the ringleader - boyishly handsome, vaguely Satanic. And among the others are skinny fan fave Steve-O and Wee Man, a marvel of endurance.
There are R-rated "Candid Camera"-style pranks on civilians, but mostly they hurt only themselves.
Or, they play brutal tricks on one other, the Three Stooges taken to a psychotic level.
Watch them laugh uproariously while their "friends" writhe in genuine pain. And it's a special coup if they can drive one of their own to vomit.
Take this scene where they drink a cocktail of a fat man's - no, I can't show you that.
Take Steve-O shot high in the air in a port-o-potty at capacity - no, can't show that, either.
In 3-D, things get pointed at the audience - no, scratch that clip.
They goad animals - bees, snakes, scorpions, and (my favorites) bulls or angry rams. Call them anti-matadors: Nail me. Ream me.
In an age torn by war and inhumanity, there's something decadent about privileged white Americans hurting themselves for laughs and profit.
Sometimes I look at them, the dwarfish and obese, the unabashedly trashy, and find them irrationally disturbing: I want to see them dead.
Did I say that? I mean, not dead - "exiled from the tribe," because they are, from an evolutionary standpoint, so reckless as to be a threat to our species' survival.
And yet . . . and yet . . . they affirm something, something primitive, reaching back to an age of self-mutilation as a rite of passage. Something defiantly juvenile, even anti-feminine.
Take that, you women who want us to grow up and stop playing with toys!
Most women - the ones I associate with, anyway - are appalled that "Jackass" makes me laugh like an idiot and scream at the screen.
It worries me, too. Is it sick or, in its Freudian-cathartic way, healthy?
I got no clue.
And now, a soothing montage of autumn leaves . . .
For more info:
The Projectionist (David Edelstein's Movie Blog)