Brandi has been shaken to the core by the full frontal sight of the passing flasher.
Have you ever been glad you saw a movie but not glad enough to recommend it to
your friends? That’s “Observe and Report.” This is Seth Rogen’s fair enough
attempt to add a dimension of sorts to his slacker sex comedies (“Knocked Up”).
To darken things up a bit, he plays a bi-polar security guard at an all-American
mall. Ronnie Barnhardt (Rogen) has not just delusions of grandeur, but an
absolute determination to become an action hero who saves the mall from a serial
flasher.
For some
unfathomable reason, I began to laugh in the opening scenes when writer/director
Jody Hill zooms in with big close-ups of such sights as two hands lovingly
creating a pizza, or gently forming a wrap, or polishing the inventory. For all
the world you would think we were being prepared for a five star restaurant
instead of the Food Court. But in its own convoluted way, it’s quite an
introduction to the culture of the mall. Every kiosk is a special contribution
to the whole proud concept of the American mall. I just hadn’t thought of it
that way before.
Ronnie’s real
ambition – to be a policeman so he can carry a gun and lay waste the evildoers
of the world (skateboarders, pot smokers, and thieves) – is fueled by his
determination to pr otect Brandi, the bimbo blond at the cosmetics counter who
has just been shaken to the core by the full frontal sight of the passing
flasher. For Brandi, Ronnie repeatedly walks right past the tender attentions of
the counter girl at Dunkin’ Donuts.
When the mall
summons Detective Harrison (Ray Liotta) of the real police, Ronnie’s jealousy
overwhelms him and he launches an interminable turf battle with Harrison. There
are some good laughs when Ronnie goes for an entry interview at the real police
department. His manic responses to questions about the police mission, “I blow
everything away; it’s God’s work” doom his dreams.
You should
know, in case you are easily offended, that you will endure backseat sex, sex
with a vomiting drunk, and the ingestion of pot, cocaine, and heroin. The F-word
is front and center as is the flasher’s equipment as he jiggles his way through
the mall.
After Ronnie
finally performs the deed that wins the admiration of his mall peers, he drives
off in his security golf cart with an attached umbrella, his tasers, and his
Mace. “This is my world,” he says lovingly of the kiosks hawking wares unneeded
by the world. It would have been a lot easier to rejoice in Ronnie’s success
without the final thunderous violence used to prove his worth. Baseball bats,
shovels, guns, blood, and rage didn’t seem necessary in what otherwise might
have been a simpler story of a guy finding a girl and rising above his own
mental problems to accept that he is after all good enough to be a real part of
something he loves.
Copyright (c) Illusion