For most people, there is rarely a time for the perfect punchline. But for some, they can see it miles before it happens. They engineer it. Steer, twist, morph, and turn every moment into an insightful, poignant, well timed dick joke. And by that I mean a person who doesn’t mind being a dick. Or, by that measure, the butt of the joke. A dick butt. Personally, I feel as though I owe these comic minds for opening my third eye, helping me gaze into the absurdity of the truth. Gazing into such a truth is like looking at the sun, something only sick minds and pioneers do. So, with all the funny they could muster, the comics (mostly male for better or worse) of today pull together their most accurate representations of the comics that may or may not have defined them. A truly Futile And Stupid Gesture.

There is so much to say about the timing in this film. It’s probably more important than the actual jokes. Just beneath that is an epic yarn built from the coke-addled memories of yesteryear comics. To be fair, many of them are still working today, somewhere. Or dead. Some are definitely dead. (RIP Harold Ramis, ect., ect.) The story tells of the rise and fall of the National Lampoon and its founder Doug Kenney. A man I never knew. A man I never knew I should know. I found that the most interesting part was in knowing that I am a huge fan of many of the comics who wrote for the Lampoon, while actually not being a fan of the publication itself. In fact, it’s biggest films and accolades are some of my least favorite comedies, before and after Doug Kenney. But, I always knew I was a fan of the talent behind the jokes. This film made me realize how naive I have been about the big names who brightened my tiny 13-inch television. I never thought they were wholesome, how could the be? But I put that somewhere in the back of my mind. This film unpacked it all and threw it in my face, one well timed joke at a time. And with some tits.

At the helm, Will Forte and his dorky, soothing voice walks the line between comedy, comic, and cocaine. He gets to play for laughs and tears. Who ever heard of a sad clown? Traversing an odd tragic comedy, Forte delivers Kenney as an ambitious man with a head for comedy and a heart that was addicted to praise (and cocaine), all with a harsh spotlight on his faults. It’s rare to see a semi-biographical film delivered as a comedy with an even measure of truth. But it seemed that Kenney believed in the truth more than anything else. As long as it was funny. The film spotlights shotty interpretations of comics like Chevy Chase and John Belushi, playing on the stereotypes of their personas, which is probably all we really know about them anyway. Also, god bless Martin Mull, our witty narrator that really pulls the tone in the right direction at every turn. Domhnall Gleeson plays Henry Beard as the wingman with so much deadpan charm, you fall for him instantly. He reminded me of Jemaine Clement from Flight of the Conchords.

Plop on the couch, #NetflixAndChill, and actually chill. It’s hard to explain to your special sex friend why a movie keeps drawing you away from them. So pull out or hop off. Or, do what you want, they can’t see you. Well, some of them are dead, so they might be able to, if you believe in that stuff. Maybe Netflix has been trying to draw you away from sex, lure you into the black mirror, never to return. But seriously, this was a damn fine dramatization of the comic I never knew, who created a magazine I never read, and movies I never really liked. A futile and stupid gesture.