It’s not entirely clear what co-writer/director Macon Blair thinks about God and Christianity, especially given how much airtime it gets in his new film, “The Shitheads.” What seems like an incidental profession for O’Shea Jackson Jr.’s Davis in the cold open – driving a youth group bus – ends up becoming a thread that runs throughout the story. His Presbyterian faith rears its head on multiple occasions and plays a significant role during the climax.
Whether Blair aligns with the piety of his protagonist matters little. “The Shitheads,” in all its ramshackle glory, reflects that religion’s virtues of loving people through their brokenness and extending grace to the downtrodden. Blair’s inherent artistic sympathy for the outcasts lends itself well to this story of a trip to rehab that goes off the rails in more ways than one. Comfort with loveable loserdom is the glue – or maybe the scotch tape – that holds together a rickety contraption careening constantly toward calamity.
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“The Shitheads” plays like a chaotic riff on the formula from “The Last Detail” as two older men of questionable responsibility complete a mission to ferry a young lad towards his lockup. The aforementioned Davis, in need of new employment following an ill-fated field trip to a Lars Von Trier film, leads the caravan for a sketchy outfit that outsources the transport of patients to rehab facilities. He’s partnered with Dave Franco’s Mark, a new hire who could probably use a stint with professional care himself, to deposit Mason Thames’ teenage twerp Sheridan Kimberly at a cushy center befitting a third-generation heir.
The film’s core trio operates on wildly different wavelengths throughout. Jackson is unflappably earnest as he wrestles with Davis’s inner journey, which leads him to see the trip as a real road to redemption. Thames remains a wild card throughout, resisting easy pigeon-holing into any archetype. His calculating nature remains enigmatic, allowing him to manipulate any situation to his advantage. Franco, meanwhile, dials his live-wire energy up to 11 as the smarmy slacker. The film introduces Mark first as a cloud of vape smoke, and Franco delivers a performance befitting such an evocative characterization every moment thereafter.
The carriers come to learn that Sheridan is heading away not for any substance issues but for a general attitude adjustment. The chaos agent, whose deranged antics have earned him a substantial social media following, continues on his trail of destruction with an impish grin plastered to his face. After all, his family’s wealth has insulated him from any consequences thus far, so why stop now?
Blair’s filmmaking mirrors the odd alchemy of the leads. “The Shitheads” can be erratic, but it’s always entertaining as their simple route goes wildly off-course thanks to Sheridan’s conniving antics. Like a stick-shift vehicle on its last leg, there’s some jerkiness as his script (co-written with Alex Orr) shifts gears between comic set pieces, physical gags, and clever verbal humor.
But Blair’s tonal range extends beyond mere road-trip comedy. Two successive scenes in the heart of the film cut to the heart of Blair’s philosophy. One scene culminates in an explosive bout of toilet humor, and the next concludes with the cold-blooded assault of an innocent person. Every person has the capability for vulnerability and violence alike inside them, and “The Shitheads” reflects this intrinsic contradiction of human nature.
This juxtaposition shifts the film’s stakes, resetting the possibilities for what it can be and where it can go. Blair takes full advantage of the opening from this abrupt slamming of the brakes. The sobering attack offers a tiny gap, and he drives an eighteen-wheeler through it. From there, “The Shitheads” feels like it could turn in any direction, and Blair traverses all over the map.
Some of what follows makes for an amusing aside, like Nicholas Braun’s gangly marauder who dreams of becoming a rapper while clad in werewolf gear. Other casting decisions and plot maneuvers, like the extended presence of Kiernan Shipka’s exotic dancer with a questionable Eastern European accent, strain credulity. The problem when anything goes in a wacky caper is that characters and story are often the first thing to fall by the wayside.
By the time “The Shitheads” arrives at its ultimate destination, the whole enterprise might feel like it’s hanging on by a string. But that string is the heartstring. Despite all the discursiveness, Blair manages to bring it home with the emotional arcs of Davis and Mark. His love for these characters bursts through the screen, and that passion can help smooth over some of the rough patches along the way.
Belief comes back in a big way during the duo’s biggest scene as the nature of salvation becomes palpably real in a new way. Whether Blair means for the moment to play as silly or sincere remains hazy throughout. Yet by this point in the wild ride, he’s successfully made the case that two competing sentiments can coexist even as they clash. [B]
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