Ben Stiller (Speedman) – wannabe Rambo.
Robert Downey Jr. (Lazarus) – wannabe Shaft.
Jack Black (Fats) – wannabe John Belushi.
Tom Cruise (Grossman) – wannabe Sumner Redstone.
Nick Nolte (Four Leaf) – wannabe Nick Nolte.
Limp-wristed feeelm crit-teeks are all atwitter about Tropic Thunder. They rave about the film, their voices rise to a fever pitch and their lisping and prancing becomes more even more pronounced than usual. They love this flick. Of course they love this movie, because it’s jam-packed with wee-wee and poo-poo jokes. It’s not as bad as Forgetting Sarah is, but nothing could top that. The problem is Tropic Thunder features three big name Hollyweirdo’s; one of which should know better. Watching Robert Downey, Jr. portray a blue-eyed-whitey trying mightily to play a stereotypical black-exploitation ahk-tor is a hoot – and this is the only reason to see the film. Tropic Thunder could easily be re-titled “Rambo First Blood meets Porky’s Revenge.” This brings a question to mind; has Ben Stiller ever done a movie where he does not make reference to genitalia and body functions?
Here is the plot of Tropic Thunder in an M-16 shell: bad ahk-tors make a bad movie, while being chased by bad guys. Banal badness ensues.
The PC jive jumps out from the very beginning, when we are introduced to the main characters via movie trailers from their former cinematic attempts. This is actually the best part of Tropic Thunder, as it lampoons the movie industry exceedingly well. We see studio rude-dude “Les Grossman” blessed by the Pope. We also see Downey, Jr. as a homosexual monk (with Tobey Maguire as the lust interest – what; Clay Aiken was not available that day?). Imagine the screaming from the left if a wacky, obnoxious character was blessed by a Rabbi. Imagine the caterwauling from the anti-Christian left if Tropic Thunder showed a Muslim in a Queer Nation relationship. Only Christianity is expected to endure such basic insults. Then we see Downey, Jr. going through a surgical procedure to transform from a pasty-white Australian into a black man – a cartoonish angry black-sploitation ahk-tor at that. He sort of morphs from Crocodile Dundee into Jeremiah Wright. This of course cannot stand in Hollyweird without being balanced by a real black character to admonish him throughout the entire film. The NAACP called for a boycott of Tropic Thunder; but then again they call for a boycotts all the time. Notice how the afore-mentioned group was silent when two black comedians made a movie called White Chicks. That movie wasn’t funny, either. Not a bad idea; just not funny.
White people cannot mock race relations, only non-whites can do that. It’s not funny when whites spoof blacks. It is funny when blacks spoof whites. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.
Memo to the NAACP. Thanks to the boycott of South Carolina over the Confederate Battle Flag. It improved tourism substantially. It also showed the world your ignorance of American history. Bravo. Hey Hollyweird, make a movie about that.
Additionally, Asians are only funny when they’re Jackie Chan. Hispanics are only funny when they’re George Lopez – then Carlos Mencia steals his material and does a skit on TV.
More PC pops out when Stiller is taken captive by a jungle-dwelling heroin gang. The Pope-blessed studio exec refuses to talk to the captors; instead, he screams profanities at them. “You don’t negotiate with terrorists!” he snarls. This scene is an obvious swipe at John McCain, George Bush, Cheney, et al, in an effort to explain away Saint Barack Obama’s obvious lack of knowledge on how to deal with real bad guys.
All terrorists need is a good talking to, particularly by Saint Barack Obama. Obama can community organize them into a better life. After the terrorists see Barack Obama walk on water and turn water into wine, then they, too, will believe. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.
Tropic Thunder put the Special Olympics Committee in snit, too. There’s a movie-within-a-movie where Stiller plays an over-the-top mentally retarded boy named Simple Jack. Then the ahk-tors argue about it, using the word “re-tard” over and over. The Special Olympics Committee howled to the media (me included) about this. The SOC missed the point. Tropic Thunder was not making fun of the mentally retarded; they were making fun of how Hollyweird overly romanticizes mental disabilities. I should point out here that Hollyweird was awkwardly silent about how Sarah Palin knowingly gave birth to a boy with Down Syndrome. In fact, Hollyweird hates Sarah Palin, because she is the very embodiment of what the so-called women’s movement has been espousing for decades, and they simply cannot match up to her. Just the other day, a has-been “comedienne” suggested that Palin should come to Manhattan and get, “Gang-raped by my black brothers.” Nice. How’s that for Hollyweird compassion? Neither the NAACP nor the NOW has had a thing to say about this. That is very telling of who these organizations are and what they really believe.
Bad conservative family values women! Bad bad bad!
Further PC pap plops out (say; that was almost a poo-poo joke! Does that qualify me to be in the next Ben Stiller movie?) when we find out that scruffy, dirty, creepy, Nick Nolte (now THAT’S typecasting), who portrays “Four Leaf,” is a fraud. Four Leaf is the supposed author of Tropic Thunder and is a war hero who sacrificed his hands to save his buddies in the Vietnam War. He clacks around with two hooks at the end of his arms. Later we find out that the whole story is bogus, and that he has put the entire film crew in danger perpetrating this sham. This is the Hollyweird view of the Vietnam War and its veterans.
Vietnam was a fake war. There were no communists killing people in Vietnam, and besides the Vietnamese all live a better life now that the Americans are not there. Richard Nixon created that war to set the stage so as to allow Halliburton to invade Iraq later and steal its oil. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.
There are a few funny moments in Tropic Thunder, but far too few and gratuitous. Such as gratuitous toddler-throwing, gratuitous face-spitting, gratuitous panda-killing, gratuitous ox-drooling, gratuitous gratuitousness.
Overall, this flick is a strained mess of body fluid jokes that is brazenly pleased with itself. However, the finished product is not nearly as much fun to watch as it probably was to make. It’s like Full Metal Jacket meets Jackass. On the one hand it’s a social commentary/enema up Hollyweird’s butt, and on the other hand it’s just a series of butt jokes. So why did I review this dumb-arse movie? Hey, there literally was nothing else in the theatre that day.
Tropic Thunder has four of five Bachelor B’s: Blood, Bashes, Bombs and Beasts. No Breasts – unless you count Jack Black’s … and let’s not go there. Well … maybe Tobey Maguire might be interested. Let’s not go there, either.
I give Tropic Thunder two Capitalist Dollar Signs (out of 5)
[Editor's Note: Several million electrons were slightly damaged in the transmission of this article, but I hope you will all find it was worthwhile. Who else but Rocky D would actually go see a bomb movie like this and come up with something entertaining to say about it? ]
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