Butter| C
Why
Harvey Weinstein kept this wannabe political satire on the shelf for so long is
a mystery. Butter debuted at last year’s Toronto International Film
Festival to mixed reviews and is only now coming up for air. Unfortunately, for
the film (but thankfully for the rest of us) we’ve pretty much entered the
post-Sarah Palin, post-Michele Bachmann era. Oh, their inanities continue unabated,
but the American public and, most importantly, the media have mostly moved on.
Heck, Bachmann may actually lose her congressional seat in November (and, no
doubt, get hired by FoxNews soon after).
It’s
not that first-time scribe Jason A. Micaleff’s premise doesn’t hold promise,
it’s that his execution is haphazard, often crude, and only occasionally witty.
That Butter was clumsily directed by TV veteran Jim Field Smith (She’s
Out of My League) doesn’t make it any better.
Iowa trophy wife Laura
Pickler (Jennifer Garner) is a brittle, ruthless, Tea Party dilettante. Her
husband Bob (Ty Burrell) is the “Elvis of Butter,” a butter-carving hobbyist
who has racked up 15 years of first-place trophies for his creamy yellow
depictions of “The Last Supper” and Schindler’s List. As the annual
contest approaches, the judges ask Bob if he’ll retire in order make way for
new talent. He agrees but Laura sees red. The Picklers are entitled to their
trophy. And so the would-be dairy queen picks up a spatula to compete in her
husband’s place. Her main rivals include the lap-dancing stripper (Olivia
Wilde) Bob owes money to, and Destiny (Yara Shahidi) — a 10-year-old
African-American girl who’s a butter sculpting prodigy.
Sociopolitical
satire is tough to pull off, requiring a firm comedic hand and an intellectual
point to be made. Alexander Payne’s Election probably stands at the top
of the heap when it comes to recent efforts. Over the last 13 years, nothing
has topped the movie’s brilliant dissection of ambition and personal agenda in
the political arena. Butter aspires to be similarly funny and relevant
but ends up trading in broad caricatures, broader comedy and vague messaging to
sell its red-state condescension. There are a few chuckles along the way
(mainly sight gags involving butter), but the commentary is obvious and
toothless. Where the movie finds modest success is in its formulaic yet
energetic treatment of small-town competition.
Equally
bad is the way Smith pitches his cast, relying on the juxtaposition of shrill
ambition (Garner stomps and sneers in her power suit and pearls) and
sentimental virtue (Shahidi is earnest and eloquent) to generate comic sparks.
The approach fizzles. The leads don’t register as human beings and so we’re not
invested in their rivalry. More tragically, Hugh Jackman, playing Garner’s high
school sweetheart, is wasted in a role that’s grotesquely cartoonish.
The
unexpected surprise is Wilde, who embraces her low rent, foul-mouthed trollop
with gusto. Sexy, silly and shameless, she steals the show every time she’s on
screen. Whether Wilde is dressing in Little House on the Prairie garb
and name-dropping Jesus in an attempt to thwart Garner’s victory, or responding
to her rival’s motherly virtues by spitting, “I get pregnant, like, once a month!”
— it’s a wonderful departure from the hot-babe-in-distress roles she’s played
in Tron: Legacy and Cowboys & Aliens. A clever gag that
places her on a mountain bike almost fooled me into thinking the filmmakers
were wittier than their film suggests. But then the inevitable “blame the
liberal media” joke rolls around to remind me that, no, Butter is as
cheap and uninspired as the artificial topping on my popcorn.
Opening
Friday, Oct. 5, at the Birmingham 8 (211 S. Old Woodward Ave., Birmingham;
248-723-6230) and the Michigan Theater (603 E. Liberty St., Ann Arbor;
734-668-8463).
This article appears in Oct 3-9, 2012.