Jackass: Number Two

(2006)

Directed by

Jeff Tremaine

Review by Zach Saltz

The opening credits of Jackass: Number Two remind us that the central figures of the film we are about to see -- Johnny Knoxville, Bam, Wee Man -- are indeed professionals who will attempt, in front of our very eyes, ludicrously dangerous stunts.  But this is slightly deceptive.  If they were true professionals, they wouldn’t mess up their stunts as frequently as they do; as when, for example, Knoxville’s giant red rocket to the moon experiences a major malfunction before takeoff and the tip of it shoots into the sky, or when, while being branded by a hot iron rod, Steve-O squirms and subsequently ruins his new phallic engraving.

But it is perhaps this unprofessionalism -- their capacity to make stupid mistakes during their experiments -- that make them likeable and redemptive characters.  A few nights ago, I was speaking about how no film can be completely escapist -- every film, no matter how lavish or superfluous, employs some element of realism or else there would be no continuity in the picture and subsequent audiences would dismiss it.  What is most alluring about Jackass: Number Two is its brutal, painful realism; this is a film where there are at least six counts of vomiting, dozens of screams of agonizing pain, and one scene of crying.  Yes, contrary to popular belief, there is crying in Jackass and it happens to a character who is terrified of snakes and becomes enraged when his buddies secretly place a snake with him inside an encapsulated cage (a King Cobra, no less).  But only moments later, he’s on a teeter totter getting head-butted by a bull.  Their sheer unfazed compassion is enough to lift anyone’s spirit.

How do you describe a movie like this?  Moreover, how do you make a film like this appealing to prospective audiences?  I’m not quite ready to recommend it (give me at least a few weeks to recover) but the film certainly gives you your money’s worth.  It has laughs.  It has colorful locations.  It has lots and lots of wild stunts, some more inspired than others (the “Firehose Rodeo” has a kind of understated brilliance).  It has noticeable celebrity cameos, which is something the first film couldn’t quite boast: John Waters’ appearance here is a stark reminder of how far into the abyss mainstream films have gone since Pink Flamingos first shocked audiences over three decades ago, and 36 Mafia becomes quite possibly the first group to follow up an Oscar win with participation in something called “Rake Jump”. 

Jackass: Number Two grossed $29 million in its first weekend of release, which seems to say more about the dismal state of American film than the actual cinematic appetites of audiences.  There is an undeniable lurid appeal to the whole thing, and a keen appreciation of post-modern American ethos (as when, in a ball pit with two anacondas, one of the guys ponders precipitously, “Weren’t these the snakes that tried to kill J-Lo and Ice-T?”)  But still, the film perpetuates American vulgarity and extremely short attention spans, the only stunt lasting over two minutes taking place at the very end (and one of the film‘s lamer ones, at that).  As a motion picture, it perhaps fails, but is kind of a success as a sociological survey, and is always stimulating.

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