Pineapple Express

The latest installment in producer Judd Apatow's takeover of American film comedy, Pineapple Express offers something of a change: instead of being a raunchy romantic comedy, it's a buddy comedy. In fact, it's the second film I've seen in a row that is about the tight bond between a dope dealer and his client. It kind of makes me regret that I never got in the habit, especially when the product itself is described as being like "God's vagina."

The comedy was written by Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, who also wrote Superbad, which I thought was a gas, and this one is almost as funny, but has some serious third-act problems. I say this even though it has to viewed as a live-action cartoon to be enjoyed, we know this from the beginning when Rogen, who also stars, plays a twenty-five year-old loser and burnout who is dating a high-school student who looks like a model (and is played by one, Amber Heard).

Rogen is a process server who seems to be perpetually stoned. He buys from James Franco, in a performance that will remind no one of his turns as Harry Osborn in the Spider-Man films. Franco's Saul is a remarkable creation, a sensitive soul and savant of cannabis who values friendship and loves his grandmother, but appears to not be on good terms with a personal grooming kit. In an opening scene, Franco sells Rogen a variety of pot called Pineapple Express, which is so special and rare that Franco says smoking it is like "killing a unicorn." Rogen is toking on it later when he witnesses a murder in the home of a man who happens to be Franco's supplier, and leaves his roach behind. Later, in a moment of rare lucidity, he realizes that the supplier, Gary Cole, will put two and two together and realize that the rare strain of grass is only in the hands of Franco, and the two frantically go on the lam.

This hour or so of the film is pure enjoyment, as Rogen and Franco make a gifted team that recall all sorts of film comedy teams (in her review, Manohla Dargis makes an almost encyclopedic list of them all). The familiar Apatow touches are there, as the dialogue is a vivid blue and the behavior merrily moronic. Sometimes you just have to surrender to the happiness of watching a man beat another man with a dust-buster, or simply run into a tree. There's also so many bon mots of vulgar hilarity that it's hard for me to remember them all.

There are missteps--a third character, Franco's middle-man, played by Danny McBride, is like one of those guys who forces himself into a witty conversation but brings it to a dead stop with an intense lack of humor. He seems to be trying way too hard. I did like a frantic three-way slugfest that occurs between them all (where the dust-buster comes into play), but when McBride seems to be killed I was pleased to be rid of him. Turns out this is a false hope.

The film really runs off the rails in the final third. Franco and Rogen are now in Cole's massive underground agribusiness, and are joined by Asian drug-lords armed to the teeth and dressed like ninjas. Many guns are employed, and the result is a sloppy bit of gun porn that reflects neither humor nor skill (although I laughed when Rogen uses a tittie twister on an opponent). The movie is directed by David Gordon Green, heretofore an indy minimalist, and I would venture to say he does not have much a future in the action film biz. (I've only seen one of his films, All the Real Girls, which is as about diametrically opposed from this one as possible).

But I still liked this film a lot, and laughed often. I haven't mentioned the two hit men who are chasing Rogen and Franco, one of whom just wants to go home to have dinner with his wife, and the other who is frequently given to emotional breakdown, or Rogen's speech about how making mistakes in this life may make the difference between coming back in the next life as an anal bead or Jude Law. Very funny stuff.