Losing your virginity is a pretty
fucking important thing. Far more important than car keys or an
unwanted dog in the woods. Maybe I'm weird but it's something
I still think about. Every now and then I'll be sitting around
drunk, watching Elimidate Extreme in my bathrobe and think,
"Shit, I still gotta pop my cherry." Then I remember, oh damn,
I already did. Sweet. And it makes me feel better. Hell, I'm married.
I can have sex pretty much any time I want, so long as the dogs
aren't in the room watching. I don't exactly remember my first
time, but the doctors said you can't get warts like those just
Not being a virgin is something
I cherish that they can't take away from me. Like they did with
the TV I bought using a stranger's credit card, or my record on
Deer Hunter Revolution Extreme at the Tavern. I never played
that game, but Worm said I held the record for vomiting on it
the most in one night. They took the TV away, and the Harelip
broke my record the night she ate the black fungus under the bathroom
sink on a dare. Actually, she dared herself.
Once you've had sex, nobody can
ever say you haven't, despite what the weirdos who believe in
secondary virginity say. Those jackasses say you can have as much
bone as a carp and then pretend you haven't if you save yourself
for marriage from that point forward. The advantage in claiming
secondary virginity, as far as I can tell, is a ten percent discount
at Christian bookstores. Well, shit, why not steal a TV and return
it yourself? Besides, the point of saving yourself for marriage
is so you won't know how shitty your virgin partner is at sex
on your wedding night. If you've already been fucking around,
then you'll know and you'll be lying in a hotel bed in Hawaii,
listening to the ceiling fan whir while crying yourself to sleep
and wondering, "I saved myself (the second time around) for this?"
So, I got that non-virgin thing
going for me. It's something Steve Carell can't claim at the beginning
of The Forty Year Old Virgin. You probably figured that
out from the title, though, didn't you? Except the virgins. They're
too busy thinking unsexy thoughts to do anything else.
The Forty Year Old Virgin
is pretty damn funny. In fact, it's a damn good movie right up
until the last half hour, when it's sort of okay but also plotted
as clumsily as Candy Bottoms' porn version of Crime and Punishment.
As hard as the poor woman tried, she could never really explain
why Raskolnikov kept yanking out his dick.
Steve Carell is the virgin, a
man living in an apartment with his massive collection of action
figures and video games. He works as a stock boy at an electronics
store. He rides a bicycle, always making sure to tuck his pant
leg into his sock to keep grease off it. His coworkers discover
he's still a virgin when he tries to brag about his prowess by
describing the way women's breasts feel like bags of sand. I'm
not sure if that's a dead giveaway, though. I have felt breasts
like that. Yeah, the women were dead, but still. Although, maybe
that one girl really did have sand bags under her shirt. We were
making out during a river flooding.
Once Carell's coworkers discover
his secret, they make it their mission to get him laid. Fuck,
I wish I had had friends like that. When we go out, my friends
are too fucking busy shoving toothpicks in my ears. Regardless,
isn't this the plot of every teen movie, just transposed to a
Carell plays along until he meets
Catherine Keener, a woman his own age, who has kids and owns one
of those weird stores that sells your shit on eBay. Since Keener
has kids, she's either the Virgin Mary or she's done the nasty
before. And if she's the Virgin Mary, one of the kids might be
Jesus. In which case, Carell should kidnap him and sell him on
the Internet. I bet Jesus would be worth a shitload. Carrell is
afraid of being so bad at screwing that he scares her away that
he convinces her that they should wait. Hey, Carrell, I got news
for you: you can have sex thousands of times and still be afraid
you're bad at it.
After some crappy, mechanical
plotting such as corny misunderstandings keep the lovers apart
(Carrell in despair almost has sex with another woman, Keener
finding a porn collection his friend left at his apartment), The
lovers are separated until Carrell has the courage to swallow
his pride and tell Keener that he's a virgin. This is the crappiest
part of the movie. It's the least original and most contrived.
Like a lot of movies, this one feels like the writers (Carell
and Judd Apatow) had a great idea, piled on the funny jokes and
then in the last half hour said, Oh, shit! how do we end it? Lacking
for anything better, they rely on outdated formula more heavily
than a welfare mom with a baby.
Why do so many writers never bother
to think of an ending before they start writing the beginning?
Fuck, you're making millions; put some time into it. And for fuck's
sake, don't end your movie with a wedding. How fucking cheesy.
To top it off, The Forty Year Old virgin follows that with
a campy cast singing of a dopey 60s song. It's just further proof
of a major brain fart where an ending should be. Hell, maybe there
are enough people weaned on Saturday Night Live who think
comedy never isn't required to have endings. To those: SNL
doesn't; good comedy does.
What is truly terrific about this
movie is Steve Carrell. He overcomes the slow pacing by creating
a virgin who is more than a single gag. The movie actually gives
a shit about this guy and injects with humanity. And Carell is
a damn good comic actor. the kind who puts the joke ahead of his
own ego. Sure, his character is naive, but he's not the walking
punchline you'd expect. The joke isn't that he's a virgin. The
joke is that he's human and insecure, shy and a immature. But
he's real, and really fucking funny. When he follows his friends
advice and gets his chest waxed the pain is palpable and the reaction
is the funniest gag in the movie. I once tried waxing my nuts
with an ex-girlfriend and I dribbled urine for two weeks.
The rest of the cast is the typical
Greek chorus playing the typical roles of giving comically bad
advice they can't even follow themselves. Paul Rudd plays a soft-headed
dope all spiritual since his girlfriend split. The awesome Seth
Rogen plays the dude in every stock room with the tattoos, back
support belt and the fuck-it attitude girls love, and Romany Malco
is the philandering black guy. Instead of foul-mouthed grannies
there are a pair of swearing Pakistanis. Same result. The gags,
though, are more humane and funnier. For example, the ex-girlfriend
that Rudd pines for is average-looking, not an impossible supermodel.
And everyone seems to actually care about each other. There aren't
any desperate attempts at the grossout. Thankfully, no pathetic
duplications of a nut stuck in a zipper or spooge hanging from
an ear. Also to its credit, there is no sassy gay guy.
Poor Catherine Keener has a thankless
role. I can see how a girl would like Carell's character, but
she likes him too quickly, and is forced to react in unrealistic
ways in order to propel the plot ahead. She hefts the weight while
the boys act goofy.
Three Fingers for The Forty Year Old
Virgin, a movie that saves itself from by being smart and
humane under its own filth. And, God damn, I can appreciate that.
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