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A tragic realization upon seeing GET HIM TO THE GREEK (2010)

Posted by Daniel Metz

Dir. Nicholas Stoller
Alamo Drafthouse South Lamar, 6/5/10, 11:05am

Well, it’s early June, and that means that comedy fans are at their yearly crossroads. The TV season is over. That means that sitcoms and cartoons are done until September, and the boob tube is a wasteland of nothingness. Where can we, as a nation, get our laughs?

Well, have no fear, for the overlords of hegemonic communication systems have a plan for us. When, due to summer vacations and that dreadful thing we call going outdoors, our schedules are too loose for advertisers to feel secure in having zombie butts ready to feel compelled to buy stuff they do not need, those remaining pommes divan are subjected to either re-runs or, worse yet, summer TV like Bachelor Pad.

For those of you unaware of Bachelor Pad, allow me to explain. This new reality show brings twenty singles from previous seasons of Bachelor and Bachelorette and has them competing for cash. Indeed.

Obviously, we must flee such first-order dreck and seek refuge in dark places. Thankfully, the great benefactors, those constructors of culture who own multi-billion dollar media companies and appliance companies and weapons manufacturers and wig producers have a little system to help us during the oppressive estival heat. When there ain’t nothing on the teevee, well, you can always go to the movies.

Yes, moviegoing is a great pastime, and is indeed much more stimulating and satisfying than any other form of entertainment. Please go consistently to our calendar to see what’s worth going to in Austin. But, my dear readers, you must know that in the summer months, those months without TV in which we need the most excitement, the slate is the most dreadful. As such, with nothing to do at home but build chicken coops or read detective novels, we’re forced to go out and see movies against our better judgment.

And that is exactly what I did this past Saturday when I stumbled in, unshaven and without breakfast, for a matinee of Get Him to the Greek. Surprisingly, the theatre was fairly crowded for such an early show of such a seemingly-late evening picture.

As an Alamo employee and uber-regular, I am fairly sick of everything on the menu. As such, I like to play a little game, imagining ways to order off-menu. When the waitress came over, I told her how hungry I was, but all I wanted was eggs and bacon. “We can do that,” she told me with a smile.

What I treat that breakfast was! Possibly the greatest thing I’ve ever had at the Alamo; the eggs were treated with a bit of thyme and rosemary (I think, but it was dark) and the bacon absolutely perfectly undercooked. My stomach refreshed, my face still unfortunately unshaven, I was ready to sit through 110 minutes of mainstream comedy.

Get Him to the Greek is a unique motion picture, one that is probably two or three years too late. We now know that Apatow comedies have arced and have passed over from the margins of comedy culture into the douchebagg’d mainstream. Here, we have a film without any bite, nuance, subtlety or transgression. It is merely a sex comedy with drugs, alcohol, and cameos.

It is not for lack of trying, however. The star, Jonah Hill, is actually one of our greatest comedians, if only he had a chance to show it. His hosting stint on Saturday Night Live in 2008 was a highlight for that show’s difficult decade.

He steals every scene of every movie he is in, and he holds up remarkably well in this stale yukfest.

Russell Brand, his costar and the spin-off sensation from 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall, is a tamer, less sexual and more sensitive version of his previously viral character. A hard partying rockstar with a soft spot underneath his drunken exterior, Brand’s Aldous Snow is a strutting stereotype that needs no ink (electronic or otherwise) wasted on his behalf.

The rest of the film fulfills its generic and seasonal needs as best it can. There are some belly laughs and awkward situations with just the right amount of third act denouement in order to sell popcorn, soda, and, apparently, eggs and bacon. The cinematography and direction are competent but do not inspire.

Some note should go to Puffy Daddy, who is a terrible actor. He plays Jonah Hill’s employer, ridiculously named Sergio, and somehow comes off as a less cool version of himself. Strangely enough, he delivers some of the film’s best lines. I don’t remember any of them, though, because I am trying to forget this movie.

I guess it’s probably better than MacGruber, and it certainly beats the upcoming Grown Ups and The Other Guys. These are the films that Hollywood and the cultural elite are offering us because they can’t produce enough mindless television for fifty-two straight weeks. Instead, we have to go to the movies for our innocent chuckles during these summer months, to be consistently disappointed.

This, I think we can agree, is our Greek tragedy.