Perhaps the best teen sex comedy ever? Admittedly the competition isn’t too fierce in that category, to the extent that there actually any good teen sex comedies. I guess Heathers counts as a teen sex comedy. And while it’s good, Superbad is better.
In a summer with movies like Sicko, The Simpsons Movie and The Bourne Ultimatum, for some reason this is the only movie that I wanted to see badly enough to spend money on a ticket. Certainly that has something to do with Apatow and Rogen being comedic geniuses. But this is also the perfect movie for where I am in my life right now – the whole thing is about leaving high school and moving on to college. With a little over a week left before I pack my bags and head for the city it practically seemed like a requirement that I go watch the movie before that happened.
It was a little bit of a weird viewing experience. Apparently Rogen and friend Evan Goldberg started writing this script as teenagers themselves, and it shows. These guys know what high school is like and the version of high school portrayed in the movie isn’t even a little bit Hollywood. And the characters in the movie are people I know – watching it was kind of like having a good friend come up to me, saying, “Dude, you will not fuckin’ believe the night I had last night,” and then spend 90 minutes telling me a hilarious, unbelievable yet strangely plausible story.
The row in front of me was filled with collar-popping designer-clad fratboys. I wondered what the hell they were doing there in the theater. They might have found the movie funny, but there was no way they could have gotten the point of it, because after all, this isn’t a movie for them. This isn’t Van Wilder.
It’s almost too bad that this movie is destined to be a cult classic. You’re going to spend the next couple of years hearing it quoted into oblivion until all of the jokes lose their satirical bite and the movie becomes less bittersweet and more a comfortable, predictable kind of funny. If we’re very lucky, the name “McLovin” won’t become as ubiquitous and painfully overplayed as “I believe you have my stapler,” or a Napoleon Dynamite-esque, “Gosh!”