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MTV's maniacal prankster, Tom Green, takes his surreal nonsense to the movies in
Freddy Got Fingered. Playing a Portland, Oregon, goofball who dreams of becoming an animator, Green barely stitches together a rudimentary plot, but he does pile on the kind of agonizing nonsense that is his stock-in-trade: chewing through an umbilical cord, licking somebody's compound fracture, and presenting a sausage-and-keyboard contraption that surely would have delighted early-20th-century Dadaists. Predictably, Green loses something in the transition from television's freeform, microscopic glare to the more formal demands of cinema, and the result isn't pretty. The trouble is, this stuff is largely unsuitable for the broad scope of a movie and, in contrast to the guerrilla tactics of Green's TV show, is prefabricated for the lumbering process of filmmaking. That, in turn, diminishes the effectiveness of Green's grenade-throwing humor and makes
Freddy Got Fingered something of a desperate experience.
--Tom Keogh
The method of the freak-out comedian Tom Green, here directing his first movie, is pretty simple: he takes the things that people regard as sacred-pregnant women, defenseless children, the father-son relationship-and savages them like a cable-comedy-show Buuel. Green gives us burlesque cruelties, put-on sex, ketchupy blood showers, and lots of American cheese in revolting slices. After a while, you know what's coming, and Green's outrages turn out to be shocking not because they're vicious and profane but because they're so badly staged. The film has been described in some quarters as a work of art, but it doesn't have any aesthetic qualities that one could point to: it's madly egotistical, rhythmless, badly lit, terribly edited. Green seems to be daring people to leave, an act of bravado that's not necessarily a sign of talent. With Rip Torn. -David Denby
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker