Laff-a-minute comedy, perhaps the best one yet from golden producer Judd Apatow and his repertory players. Delightfully surprising from scene-to-scene, FSM mints three movie stars – two beauties and a charming beast: Mila Kunis, smolderingly beautiful, possesses the best voice since Kathleen Turner; Russell Brand, a one-man British Invasion; and, of course, writer-star Jason Segel, the big lunk we come to care about as he proceeds through an orgy of self-deprecation.
Three of the four leads are irreplaceable in this perfect comedy. Oddly, only Kristen Bell as Sarah Marshall fades into the picture rather than jumping out.
Jason Segel – playing the Seth Rogen role – ably fulfills the shlumpish dreams of semi-studs everywhere. Segel brings height, length and a strong chin to the physical attraction game, the rest of him being doughy and sleepy. Nonetheless, he’s a triple threat when it comes to the funny game: his timing is spot on (of course he wrote the jokes), plus he brings physical and musical comedy talents into the picture.
Mila Kunis doesn’t have to stretch to play the girl of any thoughtful guy’s dreams. The rare heartthrob who conveys intelligence and character as much as sex appeal, she brings to mind Angelina Jolie as an apt comparison. Like I said, we’ve got a new movie star on our hands.
Russell Brand is too perfect and too much fun as The Rock Star boyfriend. His biggest challenge going forward will be to avoid typecasting. Then again, he doesn’t seem to worry much, so perhaps typecasting will be just fine. I can see it now, in the Year 2025 (if man is still alive…) Russell Brand in “The Rock Star Chronicles V: The Groupies Strike Back!”
The supporting cast are equally stellar, with a motley crew of native and haole Hawaiians who give the movie texture and even more laughs.
Not to mention Jonah Hill, who delivers his obnoxious twerp act to good effect in a small dose.
Comedy – when it works – trumps everything. Oh man, does the comedy ever work here. This movie slays. We’re talking Superbad funny. Say no more, say no more.
Apatow productions reliably push the raunchiness envelope, but get away with it because they are equal opportunity offenders that never fail to get the laughs. FSM upholds the tradition, with gratuitous swinging dick nudity being the most notable addition to the canon.
The movie is ridiculous, but its situations, predicaments and self-serving desires are entirely recognizable, without which it wouldn’t be remotely as funny.