To quote the oft-quoted Quentin Tarantino, you can’t unhear what you just heard (he was talking about Luc Besson flattering him and therefore affecting his ‘Basterds’ creative decisions). So with that sentiment in mind, you can’t unread what you just read, we hat tip Anne Thompson with the first idea expressed in her thoughts on “Extract,” which are essentially, Mike Judge can write a mean script, but directing? Mmm… maybe not so much. It’s not necessarily a revelatory thought, but it is on-the-mark.
In his new work labor comedy — which flips the script and evinces sympathy for The Man this time — Judge proves once again that he is a poet of boob-headed banality, the idiot ham n’ egger, and the slackjawed plebian working drone. No one captures the flavor of the regular dumbass, johnny-paycheck everyman better than he does. However, his work behind the camera and in the editing room could use a little flair.
But then again, you’re probably not expecting dazzling camerawork either. Judge’s strength lies in writing and everything else feels like basic TV-like coverage. There’s also an inherent episodic nature to the film which pervades the picture. The stakes and ambitions are low here, which is fine, it it what it is, but at some point the picture feels like you’re watching a movie-of-the-week — albeit one that is well-above average where writing is concerned.
“Extract” follows the congenial and level-headed Joel (Jason Bateman), the self-made man working with nitwits and inepticons at his flavor extract plant. J.K Simmons plays his number two — a competent man, but one who can’t remember any of the employees in his sector 7G. Bateman plays the likable everyman who everyone is trying to take advantage of. In fact, aside from having a protagonist who’s a total moron, this working man’s comedy could be like an early episode of “The Simpsons” — selfish, lame-brained halfwits do a half-assed job and exasperate the good guy boss to the breaking point.
The “plot” basically begins when a work accident — caused by a chain of gripers, slackers and idiots — produces a flying projectile to impale the testicles of the almost-floor manager numbnut (Clifton Collins Jr). Balless, save one, the employee goes on medical leave and insurance seems to take care of the problem. Then, two issues arrive, the potential million dollar sale of the company and the arrival of the hot kleptomaniac con-artist played by Mila Kunis. Upon the news that Collins Jr. has been relieved of one ball, her predatory, money-hungry instincts kick in and soon she is trying to woo the simpleton into a million dollar lawsuit.
Enter a hilarious cameo by KISS bassist and mouthpiece Gene Simmons as an ambulance chasing scamster lawyer who advertises accident lawsuits on park benches and TV. The potential lawsuit jeopardizes the sale of the company, and while we’re at it, Kunis, who has smoothed talked her way into a job at the factory to get closer to the prey, is pilfering wallets and purses left and right.
Meanwhile on the homestead, Bateman’s trusting and genial character is also getting cockblocked. His bored wife (Kristen Wiig), disenfranchised and apathetic, has imposed the 8 o’clock rule on him: if he doesn’t arrive before the required time, the mood-killing sweatpants come on and he’s shit out of luck for nookie. Having not been laid in three months, he retreats to the bar to kvetch to his bartender friend (Ben Affleck, who should perhaps always stay a supporting player, cause he’s great here and works well) who is a walking bad advice generator and overall poor decision enabler. Through the accidental use of Affleck’s copious home pharmaceutical box, an ill-advised plan is hatched: hire some dude to have sex with your wife cause if she cheats, you can too (Bateman is enamored with klepto Kunis who sweet-talked her way into his plant on a temp gig).
So the dilemma at work is a plant that might not sell because of a lawsuit and at home, a wife that won’t put out, but then becomes attracted to the idiot gigolo hired to tempt her fidelity. While Judge is the master of suburban and blue-collar mundanity, sometimes he captures it too well as banality does start to creep in as the fun, but ultimately toothless picture progresses.
“Extract” is a diverting little picture, that’s largely enjoyable and pleasurable with low expectations, but it also has very little bite to it. It’s a mild effort with hints of harmless beige all around, but the thumbs up, feel-good ending doesn’t help with the Movie-of-the-week feeling you get from half of it. There are highlights though; David Koechner as the super obnoxious and intrusively curious and talkative neighbor (sure, he’s another riff on the Milton — Stephen Root — character from “Office Space,” but still very amusing); the infuriating yet funny slacker drones in the plant (how many lazy, “d’oh that’s actually not part of my job description” fucknuts do you know too?) in particular, the moron guy more interested in promoting his terrible death metal band than working. Dustin Milligan, the clueless boy-toy hired to try and fuck Bateman’s wife is also a pretty good comical find (though it must be said: it irks somewhat when a character is so unbelievably dumb it ceases to be funny; there’s a threshold and Judge crosses it occasionally).
“Extract” has flavor, but its more like chewing gum, sweet in the moment, but not exactly long-lasting or memorable. Still, considering this upcoming horrible weekend at the box-office, you could certainly do much, much worse. [B-]
