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The
Laughing Boy (2000)
Imagine yourself a swaggering, smug smartass who thinks
he's really funny and likable. Imagine yourself an antihero.
Imagine yourself desperate for attention and thinking
that making a film would be a wildly inventive way to
show off your glorious personality to the world while
also, as if by mere accident, proving to all the naysayers
in your life that you are indeed a genius. You'd throw
a party, invite all your friends, invite obvious objects
of ridicule like religious zealots, tie-fucks and old
ladies, and then spend all evening whipping off one
piece of witty repartee after another at their expensive
thereby proving easily just how glorious and worthy
of accolades you really are.
This is pretty much what Brazil J. Grisaffi does with
"Laughing Boy." Sure, it's not such "backyard" production
that it's a improvised piece. In fact, it's based on
a stage play by George Douglas Lee (which Grisaffi riffs
off of in improv throughout the running and then allows
himself co-scripter screen credit). But the body of
the film is a lousy party sequence where Grisaffi, as
our leading actor here (as well as producer, editor,
co-scripter and director), sits around and pokes fun
of all the stereotypes in attendance. It's masturbatory
tomfoolery at best, vapid conceit at worst.
Grisaffi imagines himself Graucho Marx when he is,
in fact, at best, a sort of khaki wearing Joe Piscapo.
And mostly "Laughing Boy" is just a plotless, pointless
exercise in one man's self-important tedium. I don't
think I'm judging the man (Grisaffi) by the character
he plays her either. Grisaffi would have to have most
of the elements of his on screen character's egocentric
attributes in order to make the film in the first place,
especially since he also takes on the tasks of star,
director, producer, co-scripter and editor.
Of course, Grisaffi as a director doesn't do much accept
insist the camera is on him. The film's setting, which
is basically one bland suburban house during a party,
often becomes claustrophobic. Grisaffi tries to open
up the piece with fantasy sequences, including some
cheap animation, but these are generally pointless excursions
into the netherworld of tangential ideas and often stick
out like sore thumbs. One of the most repulsive of these
involves a lesbian who masturbates with a jack hammer
and then a chainsaw. Yuck.
If there is anything worthy in the film it's two of
the female leads. Grisaffi's character, Cody's, wife
and boss. The latter is particularly well played. Therese
Kotora as Elizabeth delivers what is, without a doubt,
the best 10 minutes of the film at it's finale. Imbued
with honesty and quiet emotion, she pulls us into the
story here and makes us fall deeply for her character.
It's a brilliant 10 minutes of film that comes, unfortunately,
after 70 minutes of Grisaffi's mind-numbing plot and
heckle-worthy heckles. Anne Quackenbush ("if she wants
a quacken the bush...") meanwhile, as Grisaffi's wife,
makes us truly believe that she loves her husband, even
if he is the most obnoxious, self-centered, juvenile
asshole ever to exist. Now that's acting!
Films are like spending 90 minutes in someone else's
life. Or with someone else that you might otherwise
not get the chance to meet. Why anyone would want to
spend 90 minutes with Grisaffi is beyond me. This film
is one annoying scene after another and the only payoff,
which is an awesome final scene with Kotora, is, unfortunately,
not worth the asking price of admission.
Note:
Filmed in Houston using many of that cities fine theater
actors.
Music by Jeff Walton, formerly of 80's Houston new
wave band, The Judys.
Report
Card
Script:
F
Acting: D+
Cinematography\Lighting: D-
Special Effects\Make Up: F
Music: C
Final
Grade: D-
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