What if male best friends were to have sex? Not because they were in love, but because they felt compelled (and dared) to do so.
“Bromance” was the buzzy catchphrase of the moment, late ’08, early ’09. The enjoyable Paul Rudd/Jason Segel buddy comedy, “I Love You, Man,” seemed to capture that zeitgeist for a moment and MTV even quickly launched an eponymous show in late December to seemingly seize the cultural moment. The show was canceled after a month.
Where does that leave “Humpday,” the mumblecore-ish indie comedy that seemingly takes bromance to it’s next logical conclusion? Let’s table that for a second. Backing up a second. Let’s look at the facts in front of us. Seattle filmmaker Lynn Shelton’s “Humpday,” (which she wrote, directed and produced) was a well-received crowd-pleaser and won the “Special Jury Prize for Spirit of Independence,” award at Sundance 2009, which sounds like the glorified, hair tussle participation award, but we suppose that’s neither here nor there. Critics we read seemed to overwhelming enjoy it; Anne Thompson at Variety really dug it, the indie-minded Karina at Spoutblog loved it, and Jeffrey Wells recently said, that while lead actor Josh Leonard may look similar to Zach Galifianakis, there’s no comparison and the former is “funnier,” and more charismatic” (Uhh, no. Not even by a long shot).
By all accounts, “Humpday” is said to be the “mumblecore” picture that moves the DIY genre beyond that marginalized ghetto (admittedly, a horrible appellation that no indie filmmaker wants to be associated with and with good reason), into a more mature, accessible and enjoyable place without the trope baggage (and many will disagree that the film is “mumblecore,” fine, fair enough, not something we care to argue for or against). Well, the low-budgeter is mildly diverting and occasionally laugh-out loud funny, it’s also not particularly remarkable. Sure it says more about trangressive sex than say, “Zack & Miri Make A Porno,” but one that’s not saying a lot and two, only marginally so.
Ben (Mark Duplass of “Baghead,” “The Puffy Chair”) and Andrew (Joshua Leonard) are college-era best friends who haven’t seen each other in years (doesn’t anyone find it strange that Leonard’s only really known for “The Blair Witch Project” has his own Wiki page, while Duplass, an actor/writer/director, practically one of the poster boys for mumblecore does not?). The pronounced schism conceit between them is announced with a literal bang; the buttoned-down Duplass is awoken in the middle of the working day week, but his transient, arty opposite, who arrives from Mexico on a whim unannounced. Like a bull in a China shop, he disrupts his life with news that he’s taking a break from making (nondescript) art projects in Chiapas and on the way back to the U.S. to find funding, decided on a lark to stop in on his bff.
Ben and his wife Anna (an adequate, but simpatico Alycia Delmore) are a bit perturbed and put off by the puppy dog entrance that is the hirsute and fuzzy Leonard —mega-hugs, loudness, abrasiveness and tendency to over-lick your face and sniff your balls — but he’s like a brother to Ben, so he’s accommodated nonetheless.
Leonard’s character wastes no time being himself and the next day, the free-spirited, bonhomie dude picks up a similarly carefree, bi-sexual beatnik (played Lynn Shelton) and is invited over for dinner. The 9-to-5-er in Duplass stops by after work to see bacchanalia in the making. Uncomfortable and out of place, he calls his wife to tell her he’ll be home for supper in a hour. Cut to hours later where much imbibing and doobage-indulging takes place and Anna, the doting wife is sitting at home with cold porkchops around a lonely dinner table. When the debauchery has finally settled into the stupor of every one’s brains, the subject of art comes up and soon, the local amateur-porn film festival in Seattle called Humpfest (totally, true blue).
Stoned and dumb minds finally come up with the envelope-pushing art project: male, straight best friends have sex with each other on camera for Humpfest and this is where the story really begins (the 25 minutes of set up are fine, but rather inauspicious). “Beyond gay!,” they drunkenly declare of their subversive and bone-headed notion.
It is, of course, rather a delicious premise with tons of promise, but premise and potential is all “Humpday” seems to truly boast. Tellingly, later on in the picture the comment between friends, “I think we might be morons,” might be the most insightful thing said about the characters and their true intentions towards making, supposedly brave and declarative art.
Innate, no-brainer ideas of homophobia and closeted homo eroticism are touched upon — the friends get too aggressive in a basketball game the next day, their machismo (secretly gay??) forces them to goad each other into the dare — but much of it feels rather superficial. The application of a social context to their fractious dynamic (“I know in your world, this isn’t something you could really consider,” Leonard’s hippie-ish, art-leaning beardo says to Duplass’ married, home-owner character) seems equally without much depth. But, it is at least rather entertaining… for the most part. Those who simply want some good chuckles and laughs will probably enjoy the pictures, but even tossed-off Paul Rudd jokes feel funnier than most of the moments here give or take a few wild exceptions.
The best friends (and the film) seem too centered on the “shocking” conceit of two straight males having sex (lots of straight male porn stars do this and earn a shitload of cash doing so), instead of the more transgressive, two male best friends ass-tagging together. This abstraction, while fundamental to the art-challenge, still feels like a much more dangerous concept that’s only really flirted with. Also, the words “white picket fence” and “square” are brought up twice and the black-and-white socio-economical posturing feels a little 101 class introductory-like. Is there not something more insightful, and creative, to say that one perhaps is ostensibly uptight because they’re a jobber, and one is more free because they’re an artist? Pretty sure, we heard that in a lame, late-era Woody Allen film more than once (umm, like “Whatever Works” last week).
Sadly, the “climax,” of the film, when the bros finally get down to their challenge in a hotel room is perhaps one of the more tedious moments of the picture and while there were some genuinely amusing and uncomfortable moments earlier on, the pay-off as it were, fails to feel subversive, edgy and or engaging (honestly, we started checking our clocks at this point). There’s one fantastic, tender and amazingly real moment in the film before the deed is attempted. After Ben’s wife accidentally finds out about the misguided endeavor via a late night, get-to-know-each-other drinkfest with Andrew, she flips out and the boys are left to their own devices. They head to the basement where Andrew sleeps, bunk down and share their most intimate, “almost-gay,” thoughts and Duplass’ character admits to a quasi-weird crush on a man in a video store that “freaked him out.” It’s the closest we really arrive to any perceptive observations about male sexuality, fears, inherent homophobia and sexual socializing and conditioning, but most of it is played for laughs that aren’t unfortunately sharp enough to round out the picture. Do they actually even go through with it? We’ll leave you to figure that out.
While far less amateur than most of these DIY films (it’s visually passable, but the acting is largely competent), moderately to mostly funny and sufficiently entertaining, the picture is also a bit of a trifle, or a bottle rocket — a mild flash of fun with little resonance. Perhaps most rom coms don’t reinvent the wheel either and we don’t expect them too, but at least the strong ones have more entertainment and satisfaction value. Perhaps the film will say something substantive to say, Middle America, where these ideas might feel taboo to the point of massive discomfort, and with “Brüno” on the horizon, perhaps a lot of Red Staters are in for a gay ol’ time they can deal with , but ultimately, “Humpday,” says relatively little or anything revelatory about male sexuality and friendship, nor it is as charming and endearing then some recent ventures into similar “bromance” territory. It’s also the typical case of a scrappy, not-bad film festival picture being vastly overrated, which it can’t be faulted for, but you know, jusy sayin’. It’s entirely possible you might enjoy it more. It didn’t do so much for us. [C+]
“Humpday” is currently playing as part of the BamCinemafest in Brooklyn which runs June 17-July 2.
