Zoolander 2
(2016)
(SPOILERS) In
which Derek Zoolander is brought out of self-imposed retirement, where he has
become a hermit crab, following personal mishaps including the literal collapse
of his Derek Zoolander Center For Kids Who Can’t Read Real Good (killing wife
Matilda and horribly disfiguring Hansel) and the removal of son Derek Jr into
the custody of Child Protection Services, due to the brainless supermodel’s inability
to cook pasta even marginally good. Spurred by the prospect that gainful
employment will lead to a reunion with his son, Derek Sr returns to the catwalk,
but Interpol, and more especially Penelope Cruz’s Valentina Valencia, want him
and Hansel to help track down whoever is assassinating pop stars. Pop stars who
are dying with one of Derek’s trademark looks adorning their shallow faces. If
the plot sounds ungainly and convoluted, it is, and Zoolander 2 takes the best part of an hour to really hit its stride,
but when it does, and even when it doesn’t, this belated sequel is often very,
very funny, making the resounding slating it has received particularly unjust.
I could perhaps
understand the response to Zoolander 2
if you outright hated the first movie. Or have been taking crazy pills. And, of
course the comedy genre, of all genres, is the one most in the eye of the
beholder. But liking one and not the other seems as odd as rating Austin Powers but despising The Love Guru (I can see I’ve nailed my
colours to the mast there; yes, I found Love
Guru funny, so there’s probably no reason to read any further).
Structurally
then, Zoolander 2 admittedly it isn’t
all there. It stumbles in relation to the original, which had economy, trajectory,
and forward momentum; Zoolander knew
where it was going. This one, pretty much until Will Ferrell’s Mugato returns
to the scene, is a stop-start affair, too often listing from side to side when
it needs clear direction. Of which, having eugooglized Stiller’s comedy
craftsmanship in the first movie, I’ll repeat my declaration and say he’s still
got it where it counts, aided and abetted by Dan Mindel as cinematographer. But,
during these opening sections, one is frequently aware of inertia diminishing
scenes, be it Derek and Hansel statically trading exposition or simply wondering
where this is all going.
There’s a
decent kernel of an idea in Kyle Mooney’s designer-hipster Don Atari seeing
everything in hideously exclaimed, inverted commas, an excruciatingly post-modern
monster spawned with nary a new idea in his head. And it might be that his show
set in a toxic waste dump is intended to riff accordingly on the crassness of
Derelicte in the original, but it actually feels rather repetitive. Nevertheless,
when Mugatu eventually snaps his neck there is a welcome sense of pay-off, that
having to endure the character has been justified. Generally, though, Zoolander 2 works best when it takes the
straightforward approach, such as flat-out to slaying Justin Bieber in the
opening sequence (“You’re asking me why I
killed Justin Bieber?”)
There’s a
danger with such cameos that you end up sucking up to the very person or idea you’re
looking to mock; it does, after all, lend the famous (usually desperately
needed) credibility if they can show they are in on the joke. However, that doesn’t
make Bieber biting the farm any less funny (we learn other expirees are
Madonna, Lenny Kravitz, Miley Cyrus, Usher, the Boss and Demi Lovato).
This is never
more the case than with the coterie of fashion designers attending a satanic
sacrifice, in which a child’s heart will be cut out and they will consume his
blood (“the blood of Steve”, the
first supermodel, played by the first movie’s Alexander Skarsgård). Who would even countenance the idea that fashion designers are evil
incarnate, eager participants in an utterly immoral industry and thus wholly deserve
of Will Ferrell raining insults down on them? I particularly appreciated that
Mugatu has to name them in turn because most of us won’t know who they are on
sight.
Stiller
mostly has a keen grasp for what will or won’t work. Benedict Cumberbatch’s All
treads the fine line of willingness to offend he has skirted to fruitful effect
hitherto (Tropic Thunder) and emerges
more credibly than The X-Files’ recent
attempt to riff humorously on transgender issues, notably in registering the
contrasting reactions of Derek and Hansel. Susan Boyle giving the finger might
be the funniest moment in a picture that also proffers us a pregnant Keifer
Sutherland (“I lost my baby”), the
return of the legendary Billy Zane, and Sting.
Sting,
complete with introductory subtitle, is part of the picture’s inevitable spate
of call-backs to the original, both in terms of being a rock dinosaur substitute
for the sadly departed David Bowie and, as Hansel’s father, invoking the model’s
vacuous appreciation of the former Police frontman’s music (“I don’t really listen to it, but the fact
that he’s making it, I respect that”). Sting’s no Bowie as a screen
presence, but he’s inoffensive enough, albeit required to reference the usual
lamé references to his capacity for tantric sex (Sting will never come close
to his appearance on The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer, a ticklish validation of the almighty power of corpsing).
Other
repeat visits include another Hansel orgy to the reprised accompaniment of Love to Love You Baby, only even more
excessive/absurd, complete with Christina Hendricks, Willie Nelson, a hippo, an
old crone and a chicken (there’s always room for a good chicken gag). Susan
Sarandon delivering a Rocky Horror
line falls entirely flat, alas. The “Who
am I?” scene is rehearsed several times, most preposterously across Rome
rooftops, with Katy Perry being out-cameoed by Neil DeGrasse Tyson. An auto-mishap
with Derek Jr on board comes close to the original’s freak gasoline fight
accident for sustained mirth. And much play is made of Derek’s inability to
summon Magnum at will, leading to significant bodily harm.
Stiller
even pulls off the difficult repeat of the trick of making a tired,
much-spoofed target funny again. In the original it was 2001, here it’s Derek visiting Mugatu in prison, Silence of the Lambs-style. Admittedly, the
scene’s success is largely down to the inimitable Ferrell, although on entering
other fashion criminal inmates MC Hammer and Skip Taylor (John Malkovich), designer
of the Member’s Only jacket can be seen. While Kristen Wiig makes the most of incomprehensible
face-lifted fashionista Alexanya Atoz (revealed as Milla Jovovoich’s Katinka
Ingabogovinanana), Ferrell is the ace in the picture’s hole, an unhinged whirl
of inventiveness, be it revealing the carefully made, not-quite Mission: Impossible face masks with
which he plans to escape, tipping his latte over Todd (Nathan Lee Graham) once
again, carrying around his stuffed dog (or concealing a bomb in it) or resuming
the role of Little Cletus as liquid lard squirts out of a plastic pig’s
nostrils.
I’m not
clear why Christine Taylor only returned for a cameo (perhaps family
commitments), but Cruz fills the straight woman role effectively, with the occasional
whacky spin (the revelation of her swimming skills is a likely dividing line for
whether you’ll appreciate this movie or not; the fight with Katinka
Ingabogovinanana - “They’re sexy fighting”).
Stiller and Wilson return to their roles like they’ve never been away, as Derek
and Hansel comfortingly fail to let parenting and responsibility tarnish their
essential imbecility. Particularly choice is their the horror that Derek’s son
(Cyrus Arnold) is overweight (“Does being
fat mean you’re a terrible person? I’m really asking you, Hansel”). I was tickled
that co-writer Justin Theroux’s Evil DJ is known only as Evil DJ.
Like any
comedy, but less so than your typically mega-successful Paul Feig picture, a
fair proportion of the gags flounder. Repeated references to entering the
Incrediball by the rear entrance are just poor, while Fred Armisen’s 10-year
old VIP (his head CGI’d onto a wee body) is just weird in a bad way. But this
is a movie to be celebrated, a movie featuring Derek Zoolander as a cowtaur,
being milked while gazing rapturously at Naomi Campbell. The chances of a
comedy sequel outdoing the original are even less than for sequels generally,
but this one’s maligning doesn’t reflect that it is a worthy successor. It’s amazingly stupid that Zoolander 2 is so cold right now.
