Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Bucky Larson: Born to Be a Star (Tom Brady, 2011) -- F
Bucky Larson: Born to Be a Star is one of the most repulsive films I've ever seen. There's almost an abject fascination to be had from its terribleness. Did human beings make this film? Certainly no one from planet Earth could have viewed the final product, been amused, given a thumb's up, and said: "I HAVE to attach my name to this." No. Any rational, even moderately psychopathic individual would go to great links to disassociate themselves from having their remaining filmmaking career resting upon the shoulders of a film this regressive. To possess a view of sexuality that draws "humor" wholly from grown-manchild Bucky (Nick Swardson) having no conception of his own physicality, secluded and repressed (with a miniscule dick, no less), seeing his parents fuck in a porno, then deciding he wants to follow in their footsteps, represents the most puerile sensibilities conceivable - the sort of self-hating confusion that breeds sexual deviants. Yes, it's true - Bucky Larson propagates a brand of humor that, seen by anyone without sexual experience, threatens to twist their anxieties towards shame and away from celebration, the body as a source of self-doubt, Bucky's perpetual adolescence the obsession and fascination of truly disturbed individuals, a retardation of the highest order. Fuck this movie; it's a social cancer. It's as misguided as they come, the absolute converse to the greatest film ever made about human sexuality, Dusan Makavejev's WR: Mysteries of the Organism. Nothing (and no one) in Bucky Larson resembles humanity.