Klown, or: The worst movie sandwich of my life

Klown (2010)

Directed by Mikkel Nørgaard

***SPOILERS***

She floated through the air, just catching my peripheral vision. I jerked my head around like a buffoon, gaping open-mouthed for a split second before shoving it closed like a Looney Tunes character. I had seen her in the picture...but nothing could prepare me to for the actual embodiment of such a glorious figure. She was the reason I didn't partake in blind dates, or enjoy being set up by friends. "You'll love her!" they always say. And yeah, duh, I fall in love with every woman I meet. But when they're actually this beautiful, what am I supposed to say? What can I do to make her crave me as badly as I crave her? And I did crave her...I hadn't eaten in 24 hours and drank too much coffee on an empty stomach, so I had become a bit delirious. My vision was blurred, I would randomly burst into split-second fits of laughter, and every voice and sound from the restaurant seemed to blend together. My altered state of mind arose some innate desire to explore such a magnificent specimen. Even through my blurry vision I could make out this glorious, otherworldly being, shaking my reality to its very core and injecting life back into my abused body.

So as she sat directly across from me, not making even the tiniest bit of noise, not even screeching the chair on the tile floor, I stupidly pretended that I didn't watch her entire trip through the restaurant to my table.

"Oh...hello," I said nervously. "Didn't see you there."

I fiddled with my fingers, picking dry spots on my face, suddenly completely fucking aware of my surroundings, like a bad actor nervously performing in front of a giant film crew. But cool as a cucumber and airy as a floating autumn fog, she calmly smiled back, soothing my nerves and easing me into the interaction.

Then I was able to stop and remember that, "Hey, she's here. You've been waiting for this, to the point where you inexplicably didn't even eat for 24 hours. And she hasn't left. She's your's for the taking...just don't fuck it up."

So I stopped picking my face, placed my hands back to their proper positions at my side, and looked right back into her. That calming sensation that rushed over me in those moments brought my normal senses back to life, allowing me to intake such a beauty: magnificently toasted brown, lightly buttered crust, perfectly cut in half diagonally. I looked her up and down, letting her know how much I craved her: the sunny-side-up fried egg dripped the tiniest glop of yolk down the side, slowly traveling down past the succulent, impossibly red tomato, passing the ripe, crunchy lettuce, and resting oh so slightly on the single layer of crispy Canadian bacon before finally landing upon the thinly sliced, peppered turkey just protruding from the side. It was, as I had envisioned, the most glorious sandwich known to man.

I was ready to make love to that fucking thing.

"Why don't you come over here?" I asked. The sandwich inched itself along the wooden diner table within my reach. "I've been thinking about you all day," I said resolutely.

"And I'm done waiting." (cue Marvin Gaye)

I grabbed the crust gently, guiding her towards me, commanding the situation. I removed the sandwich stick with my teeth, managing to keep a sly, playful smile, making animalistic grunts that were playful and not too forthcoming. I rubbed the crust along my cheek and bits of toasted bread flew into the air and all over my lap. I laughed because it tickled a little bit, but not too much. She was teasing me! So I moved in for the kill...I brought her towards me, wrapped my teeth around her crust and rested my lips upon her. I could taste the fucking butter. I let it dissolve on my tongue before I clamped down slightly more, now tasting that gloriously buttered toast that was only the first of many wonderful tastes that I was sure would soon flood my mouth. And then I moved past the crust...

And the yolk was cold and gooey. The tomato was so red because it was full of water, which squirted out all over my new shirt. This particular bite of lettuce was hidden beforehand, and now revealing a deeply brown interior that held the texture of damp algae. The turkey was so slick that I felt as though my tongue would be covered in its juices for days. And the bacon was clearly the microwavable crap you can buy in the frozen section at Walmart, managing to be chewy, but not the good kind of chewy, and more like the rubber band kind of chewy.

The pure awfulness of this once promising sandwich made my head spin, which strangely unblurred my vision and brought the formerly indistinguishable sounds into resounding clarity.

"Travis, what the fuck?" someone asked.

"...huh, what?" I responded, plopping the sandwich next to its evil twin.

"What are you doing?" my friend repeated. "You've been ignoring me and making weird come-ons to your sandwich. Then you were doing that embarrassing eye thing where you're trying to wink, and we both know you don't know how to wink. You never have. Then you started rubbing that sandwich on your face and people were staring. Then you spit your food out. What the fuck."

"Jesus," I said, wiping the egg yolk off my face. "I really shouldn't have starved myself for this sandwich."

"You always do that," she said. "You do realize that doesn't change how the food tastes, right? And I told you not to drink two cups of coffee. You're seriously like a toddler. I have to act like your mom to make sure you don't kill yourself."

"Well I'm never doing that again," I said. "Especially when the food is that bad."

"That's too bad," she said, biting into her chicken wrap. "That's what happens when you read reviews on Yelp."

"Actually I got this review from the Chicago Tribune."

"Yeah, like that dipshit knows what he's talking about."

"Man it's too bad," I said, starting on my fries, "because that sourdough bread was fucking delicious."

"Well it's the creme filling that makes the Oreo," she said. "All the ingredients need to be working in unison to make a good sandwich."

"I now appreciate that idea more than ever. Seriously," I said, grabbing one slice of bread, "this is The Samurai Trilogy, and this," grabbing the other piece, "is Late Spring."

"I don't think I'm—"

"And this," I interrupted, grabbing a handful of my mess of a sandwich, "is fucking Klown."

"Was the sandwich really that bad?" she gasped. "And, for the record, still not following. At all."

"Last week I watched The Samurai Trilogy, since my friend recommended it to me. It's all about the commitment of being a samurai. The loneliness. The detachment. And the entire trilogy is dedicated to this idea. And then I watched Late Spring a few days later. While not Yasujirô Ozu's most compelling script, it is a visionary wonder, as Ozu uses carefully placed shots that are dictated by lines, and it's all in this attempt to convey a directionless life under the pressures of society. And in between these two movies, I somehow, for some god-awful reason, as a sort of punishment for a horrible deed I performed in the past, was subjected to Klown."

"Well I was forced to watch it too!"

"Yeah, but what movies did you watch on each side of Klown?"

"Hmmm..." she wondered. "Well, Greg made me watch Jerry Maguire the night before since it's his favorite movie," we both pause to laugh at Greg, "and then I watched Talladega Nights on TBS for the hundredth time when I got home because I couldn't fall asleep."

"OK, so you had some pretty mediocre, slightly below-average bread on each side of your shitty interior. So when you look at your sandwich, it really doesn't look all that appetizing to begin with, so there's nothing to get your hopes up about. But my sandwich looked glorious, and the critics told me it was glorious. And in addition, it was sandwiched between two amazing pieces of bread. This sandwich beckoned me, made me feel all warm and excited inside...and then stole my money. Which is worse?"

"I don't know, they both sound pretty fucking bad. Either way, you still have to watch Klown."

"Very true. But in addition, I was looking for something new and fresh. Something people didn't know about. A new kind of sandwich that was defying sandwich genres and deserved its accolades."

"So you're not talking about sandwiches, for the record, right?"

"Nah, I'm talking about the 79% Klown has on Rotten Tomatoes."

"Well to be fair, Argo has a 95%. What do you expect?"

"Yeah, but those bastards are ready to drop and give Affleck head at a moment's notice. There was an indication that Klown was somehow defying comedy attributes in its awkward moments and symmetrical gags. Like, remember the pearl necklace?"

"You mean when Frank jizzed in his mother-in-laws eye?"

"Yeah that. But before that it was set up as a way of fixing Frank's relationship. 'She'll like that!' his friends proclaimed. But what comedic significance does it carry to have him confuse his fiance with his mother-in-law?"

"But isn't that just farce? You know, like Shakespeare's Dromioes...or something."

"Yeah, but 'The Comedy of Errors' is accompanied by the theme of identity. The mistaking of others allows the characters to question their own identity."

"So Frank should have been questioning his identity for this to work? Can comedy not just exist?"

"You're right to an extent. Maybe there's some sort of semblance remaining in the fact that some moron who's never witnessed classically dry British humor would find Klown the least bit entertaining, but good comedy, like good drama, or good horror, or good 'insert genre here' utilizes its themes and incorporates it into the particular strengths such a genre presents. Without the slightest notion of cleverness, you're just left with awkwardness that doesn't build the characters or even define them in the first fucking place. Awkwardness—THAT'S ALL."

"So you're offended by the dirty humor in Klown?"

"Yes and no. I love dirty humor—don't get me wrong. Bachelorette manages to talk about blow jobs and find humor in bulimia, while also capturing the desperateness of women who have been pressured by the idea of American weddings. Every time one of those bitches is being cruel to her friend, it enforces the film's theme of gluttony, and how they all just take take take. But I was offended that Klown attempted to provide arc with its jokes, bringing them back in as 'significant' gags simply because the joke can be repeated, like some shitty comedian who uses an utilizes an earlier punchline to garner some forced applause."

"But wasn't the movie sort of...sweet? Sorry, now I'm just reading these breezy reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. I like playing Devil's Advocate."

"Please, there's not an ounce of human integrity or honest emotion in Klown. The 'charming' moments are disguised with poorly constructed comedy that critics like to eat up because they can't think of anything substantial to spew into their review. Aside from even attempting to enhance the characters by utilizing comedy's unique attributes, the same laziness is equally limp-dicked in its 'sweet' moments—possibly even more limp-dicky. Nevermind the fact that Mia would never take Frank back after his horrific series of misjudgment, but even attempting to find peace in Frank's life goes directly against the already-inept awkward comedy Klown employs. Mia is questioning Frank's abilities as a father...way before we ever even witness Frank's abilities as a caregiver—or ANY aspect of Frank for that matter. It's all an attempt to rush towards the 'jokes' and create awkwardness around Frank's poor parenting skills, which we haven't experienced on our own, but were instead reminded of by Mia, spoiling the stupid fucking joke before it ever even starts."

"And...a sandwich made you think of all of this?"

"Well...yeah. I mean, movies are just so fucking great. There are movies that have changes my life. And I've had some glorious movie sandwiches in my lifetime. Like a few weeks ago, I watched Man With a Movie Camera, then F for Fake, then Au hasard Balthazar."

"I don't know any of those movies."

"Well fuck you, they're amazing. But I'm witnessing these amazing movies and experiencing all these breathtaking techniques that pertain to the advancement of filmmaking. They're pushing the limits of their respective genres and enhancing their given themes and motifs with respect to the characters. You witness mastery, discipline, heart...and then you witness Klown. And not only do you watch a great movie beforehand that dampens the already depressing experience, but then you're reminded of just how awful that movie really was when watching Late Spring, which is really unfortunate because I want to watch Late Spring—I really like Late Spring—but all I can think about is some shitty Danish television show that got made into a movie. It's a movie that's so bad, that it makes other movies less enjoyable."

"So thanks a lot, Klown, for the worst movie sandwich of my life."