Middle-aged comedians aren’t supposed to make movies like Barb & Star Go To Vista Del MarKristen Wiig, the movie’s star, producer, and co-writer, is about the age of that guy SNL celebrities like Will Ferrell, Mike Myers, and Eddie Murphy were when they decided to dive into more family-oriented comedies, try out more serious roles, and / or step back from superstars maintenance. Wiig, now almost a decade away from her breakout hit Bridesmaids, has reunited with that movie’s co-writer, Annie Mumolo, for something glorious, outrageously silly. Barb & Star throws in sharp relief how rarely does a major comedy star make a gag-heavy free-for-everything that actually works. Wiig even plays a makeup-heavy second role that remembers both Murphy and Myers – especially the latter, as she essentially got her own Sia-esque version of Dr. Evil plays.
Not that Barb (Mumolo, also co-starring) or Star (Wiig) are aware of any archnemese for most of the running time of the film. As a comedy duo, they are sort of a middle-aged Nebraskan version Stupid and stupid ‘s Harry and Lloyd or Beavis and Butt-Head – less for their intelligence level (they are ignorant rather than stupid) than their shared soulmate-level sensibility. Although the film teases a few key differences gradually – Barb is a widow and Star is divorced; Barb is more afraid of new experiences; they each use a slightly different pronunciation of “caramel” despite their Midwestern accents – these women live together, work together, and seem to spend almost any other awake moment together. They share an enthusiasm for baggy mama hairstyles, ‘full jewelry’ and culottes, among other meanings for (caricatural) women of a certain age and socio-economic position.
So when they both lose their jobs and are booted from their only social outlet – a ‘talking club’ run by the tyrannical Debbie (Vanessa Bayer) – Barb and Star decide to go on vacation together. Barb needs some poking, but Star is ready to see the ocean for the first time in Vista Del Mar, Florida, a paradise of warm colors and seashell-themed trinkets. Their modest plans for a week are thrown away by a chance meeting with Edgar (Jamie Dornan), a handsome young man who has become entangled in a mass murder plot devised by a mysterious woman (Wiig again) who operates from what could pass for a hollow in one Spy Kids term. (Again: this movie is very silly.)
It’s a flash of genius, make Christian Gray himself the impetus for the lustful awakening of the main characters, such as one Book club subplot on a mild form of hallucinogens. At one point, Dornan finds himself in something like a Wiigs love triangle, and his candid dedication to this ridiculous character makes some already funny materials absolutely sing, sometimes literally. The emotional barrier that caused it Fifty Shades of grey so laughable is played here for real laugh.
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The Fifty shades connection remains uncommented in the film itself, illustrating the restraint used by Wiig, Mumolo and director Josh Greenbaum. Granted, “restraint” may seem like a strange word for a movie whose thin reality is flexible enough to accommodate people being shot from cannons and a submarine piloted by a puberty boy. In this context it means that Barb & Star trusts his jokes to fly by without turning them into nasty bits. This is especially true of his loopy sight gags. Do you remember sight gags? Funny stuff was expected a comedy audience would ever watch, find funny, and move on, without some labeled dialogue explaining it to the cheap seats? Greenbaum has an eye for it, which is probably why this studio comedy never feels like it has been relentlessly split into a series of listless improvisations and other blocking tactics.
To be clear, some of the intended laughs don’t come true, and every now and then the movie gets a bit measly. Specifically, a few stray moments feel like non-sequiturs or in-jokes inexplicably sent to the big leagues because Wiig and Mumolo had too much fun writing them. Yet this kitschy, weird film has such a bizarrely clear vision of what it wants to do, that a few clipped jokes are almost part of its charm, like the sketch comedy accents and the deliberate defying of logic.
At the center is Wiig, who feels free in a way she’s rarely had on movie screens before – often seemingly by design, given how often she’s opted for supporting parts or indie drama over marquee vehicles. Perhaps that was helpful training for Star, a woman who realizes how hard she’s fought the mid-life slump. The disappointment and longing that Wiig taps into here isn’t as raw as the thirty-something blues of Bridesmaids, and it’s clear she hasn’t really spent the past decade living in a humble Nebraska home with her best friend. But there’s still a sun-shattered authenticity to the day-glo-day of the movie, as if Wiig herself corrects a regret she never made her own Austin Powers or Hot rodWhatever her reasons for embracing this madness, she and Mumolo have brought unapologetic joy.