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Which is Worse, This or Bandits?
Oddly, though, Corky Romano is somewhat
comforting. No, not that it's a distracting comedy in a time
of crisis; Corky Romano, as stupid as it is, is a throwback
to the innocent screwball tradition—it's an anti-Sandler.
Sandler comedies (see Freddy
Got Fingered for more on this) are essentially mean-spirited,
condescending exercises in juvenile world views of life, love,
and peeing yourself. Corky Romano, on the other hand,
is a straight arrow of physical comedy shot at a target of
general goofiness. The premise is simple, the jokes are without
subtext, and this frees Chris Kattan to indulge in the dopey
details of his hero. None of this means that the movie still
isn't very, very bad.
I was mysteriously drawn to Corky Romano
by the acreage of Kattan's forehead. The great physical comedians
all have that high forehead, a canvas upon which to paint
dimwitted frustration, exasperation, and nervous anticipation,
so I found a small chance that this could be an unsuspected
gem. It's true that Will Ferrell is The Man on the current
"Saturday Night Live" cast, but Kattan's specialty
is a reckless abandon of his own body. The anarchy of Mr.
Peepers is the physical equivalent of a Benigni verbal avalanche.
It's apparent that Kattan's studied the stop-go convulsions
of Chaplin and the facial maneuvers of Keaton, and though
he doesn't even approach their genius, he understands what
the old masters knew and the Sanderlites do not: when contorted,
the elasticity of the human face and body best expresses the
shock and frustration of having our innocence threatened.
That's why The Tramp works and The Waterboy does not:
The Tramp has no idea he's waving the flag for a workers'
revolt, and we're sympathetic to his wrongful imprisonment;
Bobby Bouché knows exactly what he's doing when he
inflicts pain, and we're made to cheer his uncontrolled aggression.
In Corky Romano, we have Chris Kattan
as the free-spirited, gentle klutz and fool with a kind spirit
(he works tirelessly in a veterinarian's office), but he's
thrown headlong into a world of strict protocol and formal
danger. Corky just wants to make good with his dad, Peter
Falk, who manages to find some guttural anger that becomes
eye-twitching frustration and eventually warmhearted empathy.
OK, so the performance isn't at all touching, but considering
what usually passes for screwball comedy these days, Falk
is relatively comforting because he's done the role so many
times. He's the head of a mafia family in trouble, and he
needs Corky to infiltrate the FBI. That's pretty much it for
the plot, not that the script is completely Sandler-free:
there are some rather unfortunate ethnic and homosexual stereotypes.
That grades it down, but Corky Romano still scores
a few, very few, modest victories. Kattan riffs on the Chaplin/Modern
Times accidental cocaine sniffing, and he can slip and
fall right out of camera range. Kattan never approaches the
madcap artistry of the original, but he understands the spirit,
which counts for something.
In addition, he drives around in a tragically
adorable orange convertible, belting out the falsetto of "Take
On Me" with the misguided conviction of a late-night
karoke star. Corky is one of those goofball heroes who succeeds
by unwittingly exposing the pretension of formal institutions.
I realize it's a bit disquieting, in these times, to watch
the ease by which Corky defeats the security of the FBI headquarters,
but I get the point. Kattan has also found a signature move:
he raises his eyebrows to the middle of his forehead as he
flails his arms while trying to get control of the chaos in
front of him, as if he's trying to keep a flock of birds from
taking off. Kattan is physically gifted, and with the right
material and director, he might someday make a Benigni or
early-Zucker quality screwball comedy. This isn't it. Look,
I'm all out of pretentious, "film critic-y" things
to say, so I'll just tell you this and expect you to trust
me: Corky Romano sucks. Big Time.
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