Savoring the Silliness of 305 and Superhero Movie

One thing I’ve learned working as a pop culture critic over the years is that some things just really are not designed to be seriously criticized. Maybe it’s because my formative years consisted in overlapping parts of classic literature and Mad Magazine, fifties jazz and punk rock, Italian wines and cheap beer, TS Eliot and Lenny Bruce, Michelangelo and Jack Kirby, Richard Burton and Warren Oakes, Stanley Kubrick and Roger Corman and numerous other dichotomies. Or it could be all those scattergun reference points, scrambling for their private piece of brain-wrinkle real estate, finally settle for a time share arrangement. Once that happens, all those pop culture fragmented creatures, like it or not, take on personality fragments of their neighbors.

That’s why, when I think of Star Trek, the first thing I think of has nothing to do with the franchise itself—it’s a Mad satire of the series I read as a kid, and the only thing I remember of that is two word balloons. Spock says, “I can’t believe my ears,” to which Kirk replies, “I can’t believe your ears, either.” I cracked me up then, and it still does.

Along that same timeline, Marvel Comics introduced a new series called Not Brand Echh!, a spoof of their own characters, and a good-natured swipe at DC (who was Brand Echh in the Marvel PR of the time), as well. It was Mad for comic book geeks, especially Marvel geeks such as myself. The Mighty Thor was lampooned as the Mighty Sore, the Hulk was the Bulk, Superman was Stupor-Man, and in any given 8-pager, the characters invariably had billboard messages stamped on their shoe soles.

The point is, Mad and Not Brand Echh! were not satires—they were parodies. There’s a big difference. Satire points out foibles through sarcasm and wit. Parodies go for the cheap joke—they’re supposed to be stupid. Two movies released on DVD this week are parodies—stupid, puerile parodies full of inside jokes, sight gags and juvenile nudges. What makes them fodder for fanboy cliques is that they also step on their sacred cows of the moment, the Spider-Man franchise and the green screen epic 300.

305 is as much a sequel to 300 as it is parody—sorta. It began life as an humble video short on YouTube, and focused on five inept accountant types assigned to guard a goat path against the advancing Persians. Essentially, it was a what if the staffers of The Office were placed in ancient Sparta sort of affair. It became a major hit on YouTube, attracting more than 4 million viewers. What makes it important is that it is the first viral video to be made into a feature film.

The movie takes up after the events of 300, where we find that the five inadvertently caused the deaths of the 300 by leaving their post at the goat path to unsuccessfully join the main battle. The problem was, the goat path was the route by which the Persians entered. 305 expands on the premise of the original viral video, taking up a year later, and follows the exploits of the Five as they try to redeem themselves. Their path to redemption crashes through the fourth wall, ignoring all sense of history or timelines. Consider it a parody of The Office, if that show was set in Sparta. It’s a Mad magazine-style send-up of that sitcom, and a spoof of the over-praised 300, as well. If 305 has any pretensions at all, it’s that it was done in green screen, as was 300. The DVD’s special features even spoof the green screen process.

While 305 strives for the classic Mad spoof style, Superhero Movie takes its cues from Not Brand Echh!, combined with the now all too familiar touches you expect from the team that produced the Scary Movie and Naked Gun franchises. It’s taken a bit of heat in some quarters for—quote unquote—ripping off the Spider-Man movies. That’s a ludicrous criticism. Superhero Movie uses the origin of Spider-Man as a springboard to lampoon the entire superhero genre, in much the same way the Not Brand Echh! eight pagers did. There are references to the Fantastic Four, the X-Men and even Batman, none of which necessarily enhance the story. Nor were they meant to. They’re incidental gags, poking fun at the somber tones comics have taken of late. It’s all a slapstick farce, and to review it as anything more would be an exercise in pomposity.

Superhero Movie and 305 are unlikely to be remembered as comedy classics, at least not by this generation. They are what they are. Both films have a running time of just over an hour or so, more than ample time to scatter gun their way through plots that were never meant to be more than a launch pad for humor that never rises above a collegiate level. Both DVDs have an excess of bonus features to over- compensate for the actual movies’ lengths, including the requisite outtakes, deleted scenes and the obligatory alternate endings.

All that notwithstanding, these two movies offer something we don’t see that often these days. Yeah, they’re silly, stupid, frequently vulgar and puerile to a fault. But they remind us that not everything has to be art, or relevant, or socially conscious. In troubled times, we want nothing more than to step away for a moment, bundle up in our personal security blankets of incongruity. 305 and Superhero Movie are lineal descendants of The Three Stooges shorts of the Depression and WWII era. While they never sacrifice a sight gag for an attempt to make a meaningful statement, both movies have their moments when they inadvertently make a comment. Are they funny? That depends on your mood, or who’s watching the movie with you, or how you feel about fart gags or brawls amongst world leaders of peace.

But here’s the thing. If you don’t intellectualize Superhero Movie or 305, and if you don’t deify the source material, you’re going to find yourself chuckling in spite of yourself.

After all, they’re supposed to be stupid, stupid.

How the Ramones Changed the World

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Tracing the roots of punk rock is a popular pastime among rock critics and genealogists. The usual proto-punk suspects—MC5, the Seeds, Iggy and the Stooges, Patti Smith—are invariably cited. I could go on, but it would be fruitless. We’d end up breaking it down to my favorite obscure garage band when I was a kid, and you’d counter with these guys you knew who were smoking everyone at the time—at least on your block. And finally, we’d have to grudgingly admit to each other that that wasn’t really punk, but it sure as hell influenced it. And we’d both be right, no matter how we knew in our individual heart of hearts that you were wrong and I was right, or vice versa.

None of it really matters. Punk is one of those languages that have existed since our prehistoric ancestors first banged sticks on skulls. It’s the stuff of anarchy, sure, but it’s a tribal anarchy that only found sputtered voices here and there through the years—a stuttered lyric here, a buzzsaw chord there—before those voices opted to pursue loftier ambitions. If not that, the anger consumed them, and they left this world too soon. That’s how rock and roll tosses the dice.

Still, there has to be that one moment where something coalesces, and it can be defined, as anti-punk as that may sound. It happened in 1974 in Queens, New York, and it was called the Ramones. Once Jeffrey Hymans, John Cummings, Douglas Colvin and Thomas Erdelyi transformed into Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee and Tommy Ramone, they unwittingly transformed rock and roll forever. They put rock back into its adolescent roots—Joey couldn’t play drums and sing at the same time, Dee Dee couldn’t play bass and sing at the same time, and Tommy, who was the band’s manager, had to resort to doubling as the band’s drummer once nobody who auditioned for the gig could get the chops down the way the band wanted. Joey ended up being the singer, Dee Dee stuck to playing bass and Johnny continued to play guitar.

That’s how the revolution began. At a time when rock had become bloated and complacent to the point it couldn’t even recognize itself, the Ramones performed an intervention. Playing loud, fast and hard, they bitch slapped the rock establishment from its somnambulistic stupor. The Ramones: It’s Alive 1974-1996 documents the evolution—if you can call it that—from their earliest shows at CBGB in 1974 to one of their last stadium performances, at the River Plate Stadium in Argentina. In those 22 years, they never veered from rock’s primal instinct. They kept it short, they kept it simple and somehow, they kept it relevant. And in all those years, nothing really changed about the Ramones. There were minor personnel changes—Tommy relinquished the drums to Marky in 1978, followed briefly by Richie, while Marky went through rehab before returning to the band in 1987. CJ replaced Dee Dee on bass in 1989, even though the latter continued to contribute songs until the band’s dissolution in 1996.

The Ramones never scored a top 40 hit in America, although they fared a bit better in the British charts. Their legend lies rooted in their live performances—all 2263 of them. It’s Alive highlights some of their more noteworthy (and notorious) performances. Think of them as snapshots in a scrapbook—you won’t find any complete concerts on this package. That’s not a bad thing, either. Ramones concerts were short, particularly in the early days, when they rarely lasted more than thirty minutes. What you do get here are sketches that offer a perspective of the band that a polished documentary could never provide. There are nuggets here—band members arguing between songs, ancient Super-8 videos of their earliest CBGB performances, an extended clip of the legendary 1977 Rainbow concert in London. There are also embarrassing moments—slickly produced TV appearances on Top of the Pops, Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert, even a cameo on the short-lived Sha Naa Naa variety TV series.

At over four hours in length, It’s Alive lives up to its billing as “the ultimate double live DVD.” There is no narration of any sort—only performances separated by simple title cards to give a reference point. The one truth that emerges as a result is the Ramones were the first—and I mean the first punk band. When they played London’s Roundhouse 4 July 1976, they fired the shot heard ‘round the world, and ignited the British punk movement, inspiring future members of the Sex Pistols and the Clash. And all through their career, the Ramones kept the spirit of punk alive. It’s Alive appropriately honors the Ramones through its minimalistic approach. It’s presented in 5.1 Dolby, with a 2.0 Stereo option. Extra features are kept to a minimum, consisting of interview snippets, “rare” videos and various filler flotsam.

Mostly, though, it’s about the music that, no matter how you spin it, altered the face of pop culture forever. Joey, Johnny and Dee Dee have passed on. Tommy is more or less gone, too, though he’s resurrected himself as bluegrass artist Uncle Buck. It’s Alive reminds us that rock was never meant to be pompous or bloated. It was, and is, the voice of the malcontent in all of us. The Ramones weren’t looking for a revolution-- they just wanted relief from the ennui that the rock establishment had come to worship. It’s Alive shows how the Ramones shook that temple to its foundations.