"I don't mess around with funny," Steven Gold (Hanks), a budding comic who is thrown out of medical school, warns fellow standup Lilah Krytsick (Field), a budding comic who is just Sally Field, everyone. That's your new George Carlin or Elayne Boosler or John Mayer. Gidget Goes Haha. Places in the Haha. Homeward Bound: The Not-So-Incredible Haha. Now, contrary to Steven Gold's warning, this whole movie is about messing with funny and breaking it down into simple, sad shards, but you have to embrace this thoroughbred absurdity: We're watching two two-time Oscar-winners dish two two-bit comedy acts. So demoralizing and eerie, you have to laugh.
Here are the five most pressing reasons to see Punchline.
Forget that harried mom Lilah's decision to become a comic is senseless and focus on the things we can be sure about, namely that her wardrobe belongs to a church organist played by Edie McClurg. If Lilah just approached the stage and hollered, "Do you like my vest? It's ketchupy brown," she'd have a career ahead of her. Instead, she settles for her jokes. We'll get to those.
In order to capture the air of New York City's '80s comedy scene, Punchline cast notable standups in cameo roles. Susie Essman, who reportedly helped Sally Field prepare for her part, appears as a hairdresser. Cute! Damon Wayans (pictured) shows up as a burgeoning jokesmith named Percy. Cuter! Best of all, the cackling George Wallace appears as a patient in the hospital where Steven Gold performs a raucous set of standup. "You've been a sick audience!" Steven concludes to a roaring audience. George Wallace cheers! And maybe he died thereafter, because he couldn't have meant to do that. Almost certainly an arterial embolism.
3. Steven Gold's sparkling, homicidal insights
Early in the movie, Steven lands a chance meeting with Madeline Urie (Kim Greist), a booker for Johnny Carson who is entranced with Steven's spot-on timing, charisma, and other imaginary things. When they chat at a bar, Steven -- for reasons unbeknownst to this mostly coherent viewer -- launches into a frantic rant that Nikita Khrushchev might call histrionic. "You wanna play games?!" he bellows. "I can play games! I can play games. I can play ventriloquist with my underwear. I can play darts while maintaining an erection. I can gargle dishwater and fart 'O Canada' at the same time! I can play piano without being popular. I once had this dream -- I was dancing on the streetcorner with a jackhammer up my ass -- now that was either a sex dream or I need more fiber in my diet. If any of this is turning you on, just let me know." We'll let you know, Steven.
2. Steven Gold's onstage breakdown
Of course, our debonair star bites it onstage when the doctors who expelled him from med school show up in the audience and glare at him like scorned deer. This propels Steven into a conniption that starts with cogency, warps into delirium, and concludes with extreme melodrama. In other words, it's just like Tom Hanks's Oscar speech for Philadelphia.
1. The awful jokes
Now, the fantastic John Goodman plays Sally Field's blowhard husband, but that's not the kind of cruel joke I'm talking about: The enthralling aspect of Punchline is how the funny material was -- and I'm just assuming, here -- the last and worst addition to the script. I find that horrible jokes put a damper on a movie that's supposed to legitimize the world of standup comedy! Here are just a few gems: "I don't want to be intimate with anything that has a 90-day warranty!" clamors Lilah, just before the crowd weeps with hysterics; "I hate Wilma Flintstone, and I want to talk about it," a random comic deadpans during one montage. "I think she's a fucking bitch"; "I bet his name is Tony or Vinnie," Steven snaps at an Italian man. "How's the bone-breaking business, Tony?" Tell me: Have you heard worse jokes in your life? I can't think of worse, more hackneyed quips than Punchline's, and I swear I've seen Fozzie Bear's gigs and Mind of Mencia and Jeff Dunham's enraging puppetry. I will never forget this movie, even if four Oscars do their best to conceal this drop-dead unfunny, hilariously weird joke.