The Weekly Gravy #120

Chickens in the Shadows (2010) – ***

You may have seen a video floating around the internet called “Taste the Biscuit,” in which a musical duo called Toasters ‘n’ Moose perform a song called, well, “Taste the Biscuit” in the middle of a suburban thrift store. Toasters (Estelle Piper) sings the song with a certain verve, while Moose (Tom Shaw) plinks along on his Casio keyboard with a well-practiced weariness. Meanwhile, their manager Don Allen (TM Connolly) wanders around the store, waving a banner announcing their anniversary tour. The lyrics, if you haven’t heard them, are breathtakingly inane:

Taste the biscuit,

taste the goodness of the biscuit!

Taste the honey sauce,

taste the goodness of the biscuit

with the honey sauce!

Don’t get that honey sauce on me,

I don’t like the way it tastes with my chicken wings!

It’s shot and played in such a realistic fashion that you really aren’t sure if you’re watching a bit or if Toasters ‘n’ Moose are, in some sense, for real. That’s part of the appeal.

Well, that clip is part of a longer film, and that film is quite readily available on YouTube courtesy of Vincent Gargiulo, who wrote, directed, and edited the film, and wrote most of the songs on the soundtrack to boot. It’s a mockumentary in the mold of This is Spinal Tap and A Mighty Wind, showing how Toasters ‘n’ Moose, having performed together since the 70s (and having cut one album which seems to have all but vanished from the face of the Earth) embark on a very, very modest 30th anniversary tour, named after what may have been their biggest hit, “Rock Your Body Home.”

Managed by the ever-confident Don, Toasters and Moose find themselves playing the most marginal gigs to the smallest and least invested audiences (although other scenes, like the “Taste the Biscuit” sequence, show bystanders enjoying the music), finally giving up on the tour – but reuniting, sans Don, and playing open-mic nights because, well, making music together is what they do. As Toasters says, “I can’t be Toasters without the Moose.”

There are various other complications, like Don’s niece Natalie (Anna Catherine), whom he has to bring with them on tour and who is as unimpressed with the band as Toasters is unimpressed with her. Or the hippie couple who try and recruit Toasters and Moose (who aren’t a couple) for a foursome. Or the Chopin cover band Moose joins when the tour goes south, whose irritable front man refuses to let his weary bandmate play anything by “Wolfgang ‘Music for Babies’ Mozart!”

It’s the musical sequences that shine brightest; Gargiulo’s songs range from the completely absurd (kudos to Piper for even getting her tongue around “Round and Around”) to being just shy of legitimate Muzak-level pop (“Gotta Get Out” in particular). Piper’s singing has that subtly self-conscious quality of someone who knows they’re talented but is trying to sell themselves as something they’re not, while Shaw’s low-key playing is supplemented with the occasional tuneless vocalization. If you like “Taste the Biscuit,” you’ll like the other numbers.

The rest of the film is something more of a mixed bag. We get only a few tidbits about the lengthy history of Toasters ‘n’ Moose; while I understand why we never actually see the cover of their album and only see one clip of a past performance (which Don sent to America’s Got Talent!), given the extremely low budget (I’d be shocked if it was over four figures), it’s a little frustrating that we don’t learn more about how or why they formed, or get a little more of a feeling for why they keep coming back together.

Really, I just wanted to get to know the characters a bit better, partly to help contextualize the moments of hostility which instead seem rather jarring (Toasters really has it out for Natalie, but otherwise I assume we’re meant to like her) and to help explain how Toasters and Moose got involved with the obviously bumbling Don in the first place. Given the very short running time (61 minutes), I don’t see why a little more time couldn’t have spent on this – but then, part of the fun is how low-rent everything is, how clearly Gargiulo and company put together a feature film with the bare minimum of resources – and for my part, I can certainly understand the creative drive behind such an endeavor. I can even celebrate it.

And I can certainly laugh at moments like the arcade-restaurant employee confusing Toasters ‘n’ Moose for Fleetwood Mac, or when Don tries to show Moose the band’s MySpace page (failing at that as he fails at everything). Likewise, I can be glad that Piper, Shaw, and Gargiulo are still creating Toasters ‘n’ Moose content (they just put out a Christmas song!) and charmed by Piper and Shaw’s responding to my tweet about watching the film. They seem very kind indeed.

For most viewers, “Taste the Biscuit” will be enough; it’s the best scene in the film, the one in which the musical performance is the smoothest, the filmmaking is the most polished, and everything just clicks. But if you want more, it’s there, waiting to rock your body down. For my part, it was a rather fitting way to start my movie year – a film that’s strange, obscure, and sincere.

Score: 65

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story (2022) – ***

From a fake documentary about fictional musicians to a fake biopic about a real musician. I suppose next I should watch Walk Hard (which I’ve never actually seen in full), not least because Weird clearly takes a lot of cues from that film, which fiercely parodied the conventions of musician biopics…to no avail, as it fell short at the box-office and, despite its cult success, did nothing to stem the tide of clichéd biopics – or undermine their frequent success. But then, I suspect it’s the existing affection audiences have for those musicians that really draws them in – and to some degree, that’s the case here.

I’ve never dug very deep into Weird Al’s massive catalog, but I’ve generally liked what I’ve heard, especially his original songs like “Everything You Know is Wrong” and “One More Minute;” his parodies are a bit more hit-and-miss for me (I’ve never been that fond of “Amish Paradise”), but at their best they’re very clever indeed. Moreover, Weird Al himself is such a sincerely silly guy – and by accounts a genuinely decent person – that it’s pretty hard not to like him.

As such, it’s painful to see him butt heads with his father over his music, achieve instant success only to have it go to his head, fall in love with Madonna only to descend into dissipation, alienate his friends and bandmates under her influence, kill Pablo Escobar to rescue her (only for her to take over Escobar’s operation), and finally be assassinated on her orders at a 1985 awards show just when things were looking up. No, none of that actually happened, but hey, Bohemian Rhapsody was guilty of some pretty blatant fabrications, and it won four Oscars.

Weird is a real treat for the devoted Weird Al fan, and even more casual viewers will pick up on a lot of the references and in-jokes on hand – and they’ll certainly pick up on the biopic tropes being riffed on here, from the disapproving father urging his son to choose a “practical” career (at a factory that doesn’t seem to actually make anything) to the doubting-Thomas executives and the tragic low point before the inspirational rebound. They’ll also catch the surfeit of cameos, including Jack Black, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Patton Oswalt, Conan O’Brien (as Andy Warhol!), David Dastmalchian, Emo Philips, Demetri Martin, and so on.

But there’s also the presence of Weird Al himself as Tony Scotti, one of the two skeptical executives who eventually accept Al’s commercial viability (wisely, as he goes quintuple platinum), wearing matching bad wigs with Will Forte as Tony’s more aggressive brother Ben. There’s Rainn Wilson doing a pretty spot-on turn as Al’s mentor Dr. Demento. And there’s Toby Huss as Al’s crotchety father (with hidden depths) and Julianne Nicholson as his sighing mother, who gets possibly the best line in the film: “We agreed it would be best for all of us if you would just stop being who you are and doing the things you love.”

The heart of the film, though, is Daniel Radcliffe’s take on Al (although Al does the actual singing); he plays the mock-dramatic moments straight and even in the overtly comic moments, doesn’t push for effect. It’s a smart choice which mirrors Al’s own dedication to tomfoolery. Wood, for her part, is a fun gum-smacking Madonna (in the “Like a Virgin” phase of her career), deftly shifting gears from seductive manipulation to cold-blooded kingpin in her final scenes. One might even say their performances rise above the material.

See, Weird began as a three-minute fake trailer made my director Eric Appel. And when he and Weird Al wrote the script for the film, expanding it to 108 minutes, they frankly overextended themselves. There are funny moments throughout, but (and others have pointed this out) the film starts to go astray in the second half, as Al loses his own way and the film turns into an action-film parody for several minutes – with, it should be noted, not enough songs. And even when it is good, there’s a throwaway feel to much of it which suggests the script needed a punch-up along with a tightening up.

It also might have helped to get a more cinematically inventive director; Appel does a competent job, but rarely much more than that. There are exceptions, like the pool-party sequence where “Another One Rides the Bus” is born and the mock-epic birth of “My Bologna,” but too often the film feels like the extended joke it essentially is. That’s not to say it’s not a fun, well-meant little film and certainly worth seeing once (and you can see it online for free – you don’t need a Roku Channel subscription), but it won’t stick with me the way Weird Al’s best songs – original or otherwise – will, and I doubt it’ll leave the footprint Walk Hard has.

Score: 75

The Cathedral (2021) – ****

It echoes two of the most acclaimed films of the year (and I am counting this towards 2022). It evokes Aftersun‘s minimalist approach to its story and the faith it has in the viewer to achieve, from subtle and precisely chosen details, an understanding of its characters and their situation. And it evokes The Fabelmans‘ tracing of its protagonist’s journey from early childhood to the first stages of adulthood, focusing as much on the tensions between their parents and amongst their family as on their own developing awareness of the world and the solace they seek in art. And yet, for me at least, it might actually rise above those films, fine as they are.

The film follows the life of Jesse Damrosch from birth to age 18, with an omniscient narrator (Madeleine James) linking the vignettes of his family life over the years. The focus throughout is on the details Jesse notices – a trait summed up when he analyzes a seemingly mundane photograph of his aunts for a class – and on the friction in his family. His father Richard (Brian d’Arcy James) is the focus of much tension – between himself and Jesse’s mother Lydia (Monica Barbaro) and stepmother Judy (Myxolydia Tyler), between himself and Lydia’s father Nick (Mark Zeisler), and between himself and his own fortune, as his personal and professional lives crumble in the course of the film.

But there’s also the tension between Lydia’s mother Flora (Geraldine Singer) and her aunt Billie (Cynthia Mace), an alienation so intense that even the passing of their mother, Josephine (Candy Dato) cannot heal it. And poor Josephine, in her old age, frustrates the children who feel obliged to care for her – and in the case of her son Robert, is treated with utter indifference. And when Lydia remarries, to Peter (Matthew Hammond), tensions arise between him and Jesse, and over the poor health of the child they have together.

What the narrator doesn’t spell out for us – in a generally dispassionate tone at that – is often left for us to infer. We never see the child Lydia and Peter have together; we’re told he was born with many health issues which required extensive care, we’re told Lydia never expressed frustration or dismay about this and that Peter was unhappy with the situation – and that’s it. Later, Lydia sets out several tall candles, opens a window, and we see the lit candles burning on a cabinet in a dark room. We don’t need to be told that the child passed away. D’Ambrose gives us what we need.

The style fits the story of this family, because they themselves leave so much unspoken. Burdens are borne in silence, especially by the women. Richard’s brother dies of AIDS and another reason is given out. Feuds and resentments simmer for years, even decades, and we never do learn why (in particular, Billie seems to have forgotten what wrenched her and Flora apart – if indeed she ever knew). Even Richard’s best friend, Jesse’s godfather Joe Menlo (Steven Alonte), has his secrets; “the sources of Menlo’s income were ambiguous,” the narrator says, and our imaginations are left to run with that.

Even when the characters do speak, they’re often hostile or evasive. Richard and Nick butt heads frequently, worst of all at a party for Jesse’s high school graduation. A ventriloquist at another party tells a joke about Peter – an enormously tasteless joke – coyly professing delicacy before delivering the punchline. Peter is unamused. And when Judy, who married Richard to gain U.S. citizenship (she’s from Trinidad) is confronted over lying about a long-lost daughter and having stolen his money, she unrepentantly says, “I had to do what I had to do.”

It’s not an actor’s film as such, but the cast all fit their roles very well; James gets the most to work with, Dato is poignant, and (Madeleine) James’ narration strikes the right tone throughout without becoming monotonous. And kudos to the four young actors – Hudson McGuire, Henry Glendon Walter V, Robert Levey II, and William Bednar-Carter – who play Jesse throughout the film; in many respects he’s a cipher, but they keep him from becoming a blank.

It’s a haunting film, all the more so for its spareness; the camera rarely moves except to zoom slowly in or out, there’s no music but what the characters play or hear, and D’Ambrose is just as likely to focus on sunlight dancing on the ceiling or a table being cleared as on his characters. It works for me, beautifully so; Barton Cortright’s cinematography is beautifully precise and D’Ambrose’s subtle direction is matched by his perfectly controlled script and editing, particularly when mundane sounds play over images of historical import (TWA Flight 800, 9/11, and the Iraq War are all touched upon).

I didn’t expect to be quite so taken with The Cathedral, but it really is a magnificently executed little film, wasting no time (it’s only 88 minutes long) and packing so much into its seemingly simple moments. The title comes from the book by David Macaulay, which Jesse reads at one point; it depicts the construction of a cathedral over many, many years, and my interpretation is that, just as the construction of that cathedral dwarfed the lives of those involved, the course of history, which is glimpsed throughout, dwarfs our own simple lives. A sobering message – but not a tragic one, just as this sobering film never jerks our tears.

Score: 89