Scott Pilgrim vs the World

Maybe Nita is right. Maybe what she has been telling—warning—people about all these years is true. Maybe I am a completely deranged lunatic. (But it just might be a lunatic she’s looking for . . .) I say this because it is the only rational explanation for having gone to see this movie.
I am a 60-year old man, a child of another generation and culture. What would possibly posses me to think I would like anything about such a strange movie?
First of all, it is another flick based on a graphic novel. Once again, I had no idea. I never read them. Never have. But apparently, I am a crypto-collector, because I end up seeing them all. Ever since Cathy and I saw Tank Girl¬—and loved it, in fact. 15 or 20 years ago.
Second, the story is as emo, indie, and metrosexual as anything could be. Scott Pilgrim is played to a Tee by Michael Cera. (Bleeker in Juno.) If you know who he is, no explanation is necessary. Scott is 22 and dating a 17 year-old high-schooler. He is the wanna-be bass player in a wanna-be indie band. The drummer, Kim, is a cute-as-a-bug red-headed dwarf. And the world’s angriest female. The hanger-on, shy and lurking, the almost-in-the-band kid, is named Young Neil. Now, as if that isn’t a sufficiently low-brow play on words, the lead singer and guitar player, is named Stephen Stills. What chutzpah! I thought I was gonna die, first from choking, then from laughing. Stills plays an old, beat-up acoustic guitar that makes Willie Nelson’s look pristine, and the music is hard and electric at all times. It reminded me of Airplane, in which each shot of the jet on the screen is accompanied by the sound of a prop plane. Every time.
Scott’s roommate, played ably by Kieran Culkin, is openly gay. They share the only bed in their apartment, which is usually occupied by as many as four other people.
A new girl arrives, and Scot is smitten. He is the biggest dork in modern history, but wears her down, and they start hanging out. This is when he discovers that in order to date Ramona, he must defeat her Seven Evil ex’s in single combat . . . to the death.
This is where it starts to get weird.
Somehow, the director manages to make a live anime-graphic- novel-rendition, of a graphic novel about anime. I can’t explain it. Literally. The fight scenes are in the best tradition of the Saturday morning cartoons—except they’re live-action—where heroes can fly and call on mystic powers, and where music summons creatures from a crazed Japanese imagination to do battle a la Pikachu. Seriously, I have never seen anything remotely similar.
It is wildly inventive, creative, and fun. Just fun. It is funny, but so full of angst I was worried the projector might suddenly turn Goth and stop the film because it just couldn’t go on. It is stupid. And smart. And highly original. It was directed by someone named Edgar Wright, who should get a special Oscar for bravery. Either that, or the Ed Wood Lifetime Achievement Award.
Here comes the Wayne is deranged part: I loved it. I could not have gone to a movie with less in common to my life-experience, and it was refreshing, in a masochistic, pathos-ridden way.
I have no idea who to recommend it to. And if I did, I wouldn’t. The tagline for this movie is “An Epic of epic epicness.” And that is about right. It is rated PG-13. One or two instances of profanity. Although one girl cusses a lot, but bleeps herself out with a sound and little black bar over her mouth. Scott asks on several occasions how she is doing that.
With the possible exception of my youngest daughter and her boyfriend, and maybe Grah, and Dredla of course, I cannot think of anyone who would like this film. It may have been made by idiot savants for the severely autistic for all I know. (Hey, they deserve entertainment too.)
When I took Nita to see Napoleon Dynamite, it took two viewing for her to really get it and enjoy it. This one may take five.
But it is a masterpiece. I instantly placed it on my list of favorite movies of all time. Yes . . . with Tank Girl.