Hey, Townspeople!
Last night the G-friend and I curled up on the sofa to watch a movie and wolf down some primo home-cooked chow. She was in the mood for something highbrow, but I was curious about a flick I’d had in the “not sure about this movie” drawer for a couple of weeks. Because she’s such a sweetheart, she let me watch my movie of choice, even though it gave off the distinct limburger pong of idiocy. The movie in question? Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story.
Like the rest of you (I assume), when the trailers for this faux rock biopic came out, I assumed the worst: a couple of decent gags sandwiched between really stupid Legend of Ricky Bobby-caliber scripting. Boy, was I wrong!
Walk Hard ain’t no Citizen Kane, and it would probably fail the Dr. John Elbow Patch Sniff Test — but it’s not a stupid movie at all. The gags (and there are lots of good ones) are scripted and delivered well, the faux rock is actually good, period-correct, and frequently belly-laugh funny, and it’s clever, pretty much from one end to the other. Even the ass/tits/underpants/drugs/poop jokes are funny.
Plus, the writers clearly know their rock, and know just the right way to skewer it. (Wait’ll you see Dewey Cox go through his Dylan and Crazy Brian Wilson periods.)
In short, Townspeople, I strongly recommend this film…for real. It’s a hoot, and I bet it would even tickle the unusually sensitive rock funnybones we seem to have ’round these parts.
Glad to be of service,
HVB