This clever phallocentric reworking of David Cronenberg's The Brood begs the question of what would have happened had Trey Parker and Matt Stone been at the helm instead. The answer is a crudely-made, but highly relevant parody of a stressful work-a-day world dominated by wanton lust and greed, fueled by large helpings of meaningful scatological humor. It's never subtle, but it often hits home thanks to a barrage of cringe-inducing jokes and some gorgeous Frank Henenlotter style monster design. Rising comedic actor Ken Marino stars as the anal-retentive protagonist, displaying little of his potential screen presence by retreading into the soft shell of a stuck-up yesman, while Stephen Root shines as the protagonist's father in a surprising miscasting. It's not classic stuff, but it's good fun for an evening with friends and welcome proof that it is possible to deliver the goods on such an outlandish premise.
The story revolves around Duncan, a potentially sterile, chronically constipated and jittery man working as a drone for a shady investment broker. Well-known for his excruciating sessions on the stool, Duncan now has more reasons than ever to feel the pinch of anal disturbance. For one thing, he has just been assigned to do layoffs, a job which he inherited because of his mellow attitude and gentle face rather than any form of self-assertiveness and which he accepted out of servility rather than actual volition. Then, there's the issue of his mother, a sex-starved cougar who brazenly flaunts her indiscrete new beau and brutally intervenes in her son's love life by commissioning a cocky fertility doctor to delve into the biological causes of his childless union with blonde bride Sarah. Things take an hilarious turn for the worst during an hysterical dinner party in which the two prominently "virile" men compete to question Duncan's masculinity, hinting at every possible shortcoming from performance anguish to inadequate penis size. This sorry exercise pushes Duncan near the edge, from which he falls after receiving a call from an annoying co-worker who inadvertently erased an important file from his computer. That's when anger takes over, forcing the painful exit of Milo, a diminutive pre-Columbian ass-dwelling deity who leaves his passed-out host on the bathroom floor as he angrily goes after the guilty party. Lunging forward with outstretched claws, Milo does light work of his foe, spraying his blood all over the walls of Duncan's tiled, toilet-equipped office and showcasing the director's knack for visual economy as spurting red goop replaces the need for elaborate latex contraptions.
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| Anal retentive protagonist Duncan would be just your average frustrated chump if it weren't for the pretty bride he inherited from the screenplay. |
Following Milo's first attack, Duncan remains blissfully unaware of his presence, choosing to consult a therapist only to please his worried wife. Said therapist (a quirky Peter Stormare) is the one to bring him up to speed, producing an ancient tome in which the Mayans depict the bothersome creature as a stylized feathered deity sprouting from the asshole of a leaning man. Colorful illustrations aside, the man also provides Duncan with loads of sound advice, prompting him to (literally) bond with his inner demon and reunite with his father as a means to grasp the elusive source of his crippling constipation. In the end, the whole issue is solved through dialogue and the willingness of all parties involved to open up their hearts and share their feelings. It takes a while, and several hysterical tribulations (including hypnosis sessions, sock puppet theater and an unexpected demon fight), but harmony for all is eventually achieved when personal issues are thrown out in the open where they can no longer cause crippling blockages. Obviously, the morale according to which self-confidence and emotional transparency can instantly free someone from qualms is dated and blind to the actual intricacies of the human psyche, but it is always relevant, especially now that "nice guys" really do seem to finish last in the cutthroat rat race we call life.
The symbolism inherent to anal retention is obvious in the present context as Duncan proves to be constipated in both the literal and figurative sense. But the film's true interest lies in the appraisal of the sentient ass demon, especially where it pertains to womb envy and the innate limitations of masculinity. For this purpose, let us first establish a comparison with the source material, namely David Cronenberg's The Brood. In this latter film, Samantha Eggar plays Nola Carveth, an angry woman gifted with an outer womb with which she sprouts sexless albino dwarves who brutally murder the people who have offended her. The manifestation, the "shape" of her rage thus finds physical embodiment through diminutive drones whose sole purpose is to eliminate the source of that rage, much like in the present narrative. Unable to procreate per se, Duncan's only alternative to killer dwarfs rests... in his ass. With recourse to a reversal of gender roles, the film thus playfully mocks man's inability to procreate, further highlighting his subservience to women in the process of child-bearing. And insofar as one accepts that where women have the power to give life, men only produce shit, then the rectum might as well be considered as the male womb. Parker and Stone already proposed the comparaison in a particularly scatological episode of South Park entitled "More Shit", where Randy lovingly eyes the echographic portrait of his record-breaking turd to a syrupy lullaby. The present screenplay makes this association all the more explicit when a panicked protagonist complains at the idea of having to push out a clawed demon out of his ass, to which his therapist replies that the female vagina is constantly faced with such perspectives. The wording lacks subtelty, but the idea is interesting as proof of our previous contention and as a reminder of the unsung heroics of everyday women.
The idea of rectum as the male womb is made even more obvious in reference to the act of fathering and "bonding" with the bright-eyed little Milo, so-called because of Sarah's affection for this name as potential moniker for an hypothetic son. Don't be fooled, the thing is quite cute despite its large claws, fang-filled grin and nasty habit of mauling people to death. And it is quite expressive, too. Like a naive, toddler version of the vengeful Belial. Its first steps back into his anal "home" are carefully chronicled and so is his consuming jealousy over the birth of a meddling new sibling, making his likeness to an actual baby all the more resounding. In turn, his existence allows the film to question another aspect of contemporary male anguish, namely the fear of fatherhood. After all, fatherhood is a stressful new burden for modern man, whom is just starting to awaken to the idea of child-rearing as a shared task. It is a burden for which the wage of inefficiency is jeopardizing the world's future, a nerve-wracking task for which one also sacrifices personal liberties and comfort. A task for which jittery Duncan is not ready. Luckily, his own experience of child-bearing will slowly bring him up to speed, allowing him to grow from a child-like state of uncertainty into actual manhood.
The limitations of masculinity are exposed quite explicitly with Duncan's problematic pregnancy, but they are also conveyed through evolving social mores, which relegate him to a supporting role opposite of his domineering mother and precious young bride. Seen primarily as an economic and organic contributor, the protagonist has a well-defined role within the family order, a role from which he cannot derive lest he becomes obsolete. This perfectly crystallizes male anguish in this era of stiff economical competition and the natural erosion of traditional patriarchal roles. Deprived of his "natural" authority, man now needs to succeed in both the professional and sexual arena in order to carry on to the next generation. As for "losers" and "limp dicks", they are branded for extinction. Never in history have human males been under such pressure. Even within traditional family frameworks, such as the present one, they now need to fight for some form of reverence and toiling at a normal job won't do anymore. Men now need fancy suits, fancy cars and a radiating self-confidence to prove themselves worthy in the eyes of others. And even then, they remain subservient to the more glamorous and coveted females. This is exemplified by the final scene of the film in which Duncan, after vanquishing his demons and completing his quest for self-assertion, stands tall behind his expecting wife, humbled not only by her glamorous white gown but by her god-like ability to procreate. Of course, the parodic framework of the film helps soften the blow by likening it to a sophomoric joke, but there remains a definite source of terror in the film and it stems from man's growing fear of obsolescence.
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| A clever economy of means allows the film to stay afloat. |
The idea of rectum as the male womb is made even more obvious in reference to the act of fathering and "bonding" with the bright-eyed little Milo, so-called because of Sarah's affection for this name as potential moniker for an hypothetic son. Don't be fooled, the thing is quite cute despite its large claws, fang-filled grin and nasty habit of mauling people to death. And it is quite expressive, too. Like a naive, toddler version of the vengeful Belial. Its first steps back into his anal "home" are carefully chronicled and so is his consuming jealousy over the birth of a meddling new sibling, making his likeness to an actual baby all the more resounding. In turn, his existence allows the film to question another aspect of contemporary male anguish, namely the fear of fatherhood. After all, fatherhood is a stressful new burden for modern man, whom is just starting to awaken to the idea of child-rearing as a shared task. It is a burden for which the wage of inefficiency is jeopardizing the world's future, a nerve-wracking task for which one also sacrifices personal liberties and comfort. A task for which jittery Duncan is not ready. Luckily, his own experience of child-bearing will slowly bring him up to speed, allowing him to grow from a child-like state of uncertainty into actual manhood.
The limitations of masculinity are exposed quite explicitly with Duncan's problematic pregnancy, but they are also conveyed through evolving social mores, which relegate him to a supporting role opposite of his domineering mother and precious young bride. Seen primarily as an economic and organic contributor, the protagonist has a well-defined role within the family order, a role from which he cannot derive lest he becomes obsolete. This perfectly crystallizes male anguish in this era of stiff economical competition and the natural erosion of traditional patriarchal roles. Deprived of his "natural" authority, man now needs to succeed in both the professional and sexual arena in order to carry on to the next generation. As for "losers" and "limp dicks", they are branded for extinction. Never in history have human males been under such pressure. Even within traditional family frameworks, such as the present one, they now need to fight for some form of reverence and toiling at a normal job won't do anymore. Men now need fancy suits, fancy cars and a radiating self-confidence to prove themselves worthy in the eyes of others. And even then, they remain subservient to the more glamorous and coveted females. This is exemplified by the final scene of the film in which Duncan, after vanquishing his demons and completing his quest for self-assertion, stands tall behind his expecting wife, humbled not only by her glamorous white gown but by her god-like ability to procreate. Of course, the parodic framework of the film helps soften the blow by likening it to a sophomoric joke, but there remains a definite source of terror in the film and it stems from man's growing fear of obsolescence.
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| Charming monster design is key to the film's appeal. |
Deeper symbolism aside, Bad Milo is a wholly enjoyable throwback to the quirky creature features of yesteryears (Henenlotter's influence is particularly strong here) and it admirably manages to keep a good comedic pace for its forgiving 84-minute runtime. The film hooks you up right away with its quirky nostalgic soundtrack and campy opening credits. And despite a mostly bland protagonist, the supporting cast makes a good job of delivering many quality punchlines. There's ample bloodshed and many inspired, if consistently lowbrow twists including a memorable stint on the stool preceding Milo's first venture into the outside world. Keep an open mind, and you will surely enjoy this timely expression of male angst. That said, the film is squarely aimed at masculine sensibilities and the overbid of ass references will probably be lost on many female viewers, although they might appear tame compared to many Japanese gross-out comedies with similar themes, most notably the films of Noboru Iguchi.
3/5 This timely variation on David Cronenberg's The Brood is appropriately parodic in its analysis of contemporary male angst.
