Originally published August 6, 1999, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1342
Given how free speech is constantly under assault in this country, it’s somewhat amazing that one virtually never sees any movies on that subject. One would think that Hollywood would be leading the fight to protect the right to free expression, for if any industry depends upon that right, it’s films. Instead, we’ve seen the opposite: Hollywood being the first to bend over and taking it up the tailpipe, and asking “Please, sir, may I have some more” when it comes to everything from the V-chip to the ratings system.
So it’s nothing short of amazing when one of the big summer movies not only revolves around the concept of free expression, but also manages to encompass everything from the American compulsion for laying blame to the end of the world as we know it—all without seeming the least bit muddled or scattershot.
I am speaking, of course, of South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut, a double-entendre title that surely must have slipped past the MPAA (not to mention Paramount) for I suspect that it never would have gotten through.
I still vividly remember, some years back, attending one of Marv Wolfman’s legendary post-San Diego Comic Con convention parties at his house. “You’ve got to see this,” Marv told a couple of us and tossed into his VCR one of the most hotly-circulated tapes at the time: The Spirit of Christmas, a five-minute animated greeting card commissioned from two unknown animators named Trey Parker and Matt Stone. Featuring four unbelievably foul-mouthed tykes residing in a Colorado town called “South Park,” it was fall-down funny as these kids refereed a death-struggle between Jesus and Santa Claus while spouting off a string of horrendous obscenities and—inexplicably—worshipping the advice of skater Brian Boitano.
When it was announced that South Park would become a series on Comedy Central, I was absolutely positive that it would tank, for I saw no way that this demented short could possibly be stretched to half an hour even once, much less on a weekly basis. And I was dead wrong. So when I found out about the film, I conclusively proved to myself that I’m incapable of hugging the learning curve, because I saw no way that this half-hour cartoon could be stretched to an eighty-to-ninety minute feature. And I was dead wrong again.
Parker and Stone are to be commended for not only the subject matter that they have chosen to tackle, but for the fearlessness in the way they’ve gone about it. I also hope that their dental records are being kept on file for identification purposes in the event that Saddam Hussein should ever happen to see the film. Saddam, you see, is depicted as not only dead and residing in Hell, but the cheerful bedmate of Satan. And Satan is—amazingly—the most engaging and sympathetic character in the whole freakin’ movie.
Trying to summarize this film is like trying to gather up liquid mercury with a cheese grater, but I’ll take a whack at it: In a bizarre bit of self-deconstruction, our nominal heroes, Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and the perpetually doomed Kenny, take in the first film effort of their previously TV-bound favorites, Terrance and Philip—which, like SP:BL&U, is crudely animated, rated R so that many members of the target audience can’t see it without adult supervision, and features a virtual barrage of profanity.
When I saw the film with Kathleen, she heard T&P’s opening song, the title of which I can’t even print here, and she positively blanched. “My God, is this on the soundtrack?” she asked, envisioning a bevy of outraged parents storming into the Borders where she works. After all, there are no ticket sellers to keep under-17′s from buying the CD now, are there? (As it happens, the CD sold out and people are storming the place to obtain it, not ban it.)
The sudden spewing of foul language from their wee ones galvanizes the South Park parents—who collectively have the IQ of kelp—to do what Americans do best: place blame. Where do they place it? On Canada, the home nation of Terrance and Philip. (“It’s not a real country anyway,” declares a contemptuous South Park resident during one song.) Lord, what I would have given to see this film on opening day in Montreal. The anger spills over into international war, Kenny dies (again), and Armageddon looms.
Pity poor George Lucas. Here he gets slammed for Jar-Jar Binks and Watto as purported stereotypes, even though they’re alien beings and not black or Jewish at all. In the meantime, SP:BL&U features probably the most anti-Semitic, stereotypical character you’ll see all summer: Kyle’s mom, Sheila. (That Kyle’s father is a litigation-happy lawyer with a yarmulke doesn’t help.) I don’t agree with the relentlessly obnoxious Cartman on a lot of things, but his musical assessment of her (“Kyle’s Mom is a Big Fat Bitch”) is pretty much spot on. I’d be really outraged over it if it weren’t for the fact that I know a lot of women just like her. It’s hard to cry foul when there are Kyle’s moms causing grief in communities everywhere. It’s not that her depiction is unfair; it’s that it’s too true-to-life.
The number of things that Parker and Stone have managed to sub-reference is truly staggering. Disney-esque ditties abound, from the opening number introducing the town’s inhabitants that smacks of the intro song of Beauty and the Beast, to Satan’s wistful desire to get out of hell that’s a direct lift of The Little Mermaid‘s “Part of That World” (right down to the steady pullback and the upstretched arm). Cartman’s musical shredding of Kyle’s mom takes on “It’s a Small World” overtones. Kenny’s journey in the afterlife evokes Jodie Foster’s excursion in “Contact.” The kids ice-skate around in A Charlie Brown Christmas style, but later when they form a resistance movement to protest the impending war, the film goes straight into Les Miserables, including a send-up of Les Mis‘ first act close. Pundits are always claiming that children become “empowered” by the use of profanity; when Cartman literally becomes empowered via profanity, it’s rendered in pure anime style.
To say nothing of an entire number titled “What Would Brian Boitano Do?” that evokes the character’s origins in Spirit of Christmas. I personally would pay serious money to see Boitano skate a routine to that song. They even make a knowing send-up of standard movie formula writing while adhering to it: at a key moment in the film, one of the characters checks his watch and the time readout says something along the lines of “Third Act Ticking Clock,” evoking the frequent movie-writing device of introducing some time-driven element into the “third act” that sends the story racing towards its climax.
And of course, there’s the major theme of free expression. Of how attempts to suppress free speech, and campaigns to stomp out that which people find offensive, can escalate into unreasoning and mindless wars. Considering the number of Kyle’s mothers (and spiritual siblings) there are out there, it’s a lesson that should be attended to.
But I suppose the biggest lesson to be taken from SP:BL&U is that movies aren’t quite as much like comics as some people (including me) had thought.
In comics, when you have a superb story and lousy artwork, the comic is pretty much dead in the water. But you can have a sub-par story and superb artwork, and be universally acclaimed a success.
Lately, however, we’ve been seeing the opposite occur in movies. Godzilla didn’t perform up to expectations, prompting cries of “Story Does Matter.” And although no one disputes that Phantom Menace is glorious eye-candy, and that the effects are brilliant, it’s still a film that leaves one cold, with characters that are largely uninteresting other than visually, and a story that is paradoxically convoluted and simplistic. However, although there are many examples of films with “great art” and “lousy story,” none come to mind that have featured the reverse.
Until now. Because South Park‘s story is so multi-layered, its societal commentary so bang-on target, and its characters so engaging even under the most ludicrous of circumstances (Cartman getting a V-chip implanted in his head so that he zaps himself every time he says something profane is laugh-out-loud funny while at the same time you feel sorry for the little creep; not even Cartman deserves this) that you can’t help but care about them, even though the animation is one step above what you could achieve with a set of Colorforms. (Although I’m probably giving short shrift to it; any animation that engages the eyes for that long without becoming tiresome is doing something right, and has to be tougher than it looks.) And what makes the kids the most charming (yes, charming) of all is that, despite everything they say, they’re still eight-year-olds with huge naïveté who really have no grasp of the meaning of anything they’re saying. They stare perpetually wide-eyed at the world and just don’t understand what all the fuss is about over some “dirty words.” In the face of death, destruction and ultimate evil, they still hold on to their innocence. That’s quite an accomplishment.
A request: After you’ve voted for supporting Parker and Stone’s unique vision with your ticket purchase, give consideration to supporting the type of organization that—in the real world—fights for freedom of speech. Namely, the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund: www.cbldf.org. And I can personally guarantee you that not a cent of the money the CBLDF receives goes into purchasing weapons to attack Canada.
At least, not yet.
(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)