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My friends and I have always thought of ourselves as having a rather bizarre sense of collective humor. But a few years ago, we noticed that "weird" humor had gone mainstream, to the point where every commercial break contained a comedic moment centered around awkward silence, or simple insanity. GEICO remains one of the chief culprits.
This shift is exemplified by the release of Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters, an exercise in nonsensical randomness based largely on a series of pregnant pauses and non-sequiturs. The characters are a floating box of fries, a talking milkshake, and a shape-shifting meatball. The plot, if you can call it that, revolves around an ancient piece of exercise equipment called the "Insanoflex."
What it does and where it came from aren't really important; what makes most of the gags work is the interweaving of everyday turns of phrase with surreal characters and happenings. A choice example of this is a cybernetic organism with an echo-y, metallic voice dramatically identifying the alleged creator of the Insanoflex, before mumbling "Did I mention that? I think I mentioned that." If that sounds amusing to you, then you'll probably enjoy Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
It has often been remarked that the show is a poor choice for a silver screen adaptation, as it runs a scant 15 minutes per episode. Like the show, the film is more or less an animated game of free association, and there are times when it struggles to justify its length, despite the fact that it's a mere 84 minutes. Then again, a film as manic as this could easily risk burning out its audience if it were to run too long.
Some of the humor, of course, simply doesn't stick. After showing us things we never thought we wanted to see, it was probably inevitable that some of the gags come off as weird and pointless, rather than weird and funny. But the ones that work really work, and they're spread out just enough to keep people interested.
There's plenty here for the fans, too. If the audience you see the film with bursts out into seemingly random applause, they're probably pleased with the appearance of one of the show's more popular recurring characters. This might be the DJ spider wearing the giant diaper, or possibly the "Mooninites," a duo of petty 8-bit thieves who look like something out of an old Atari game and -- despite coming from the moon and boasting of tremendous power -- set their sights no higher than stealing your coffee table.
Also often remarked is that the first five minutes of the film are far and away the funniest. This is entirely accurate, thanks in large part to a send-up of the dancing movie snacks that have greeted moviegoers for decades. Soft pretzels have never been this hardcore. By the time "Frylock" (one of the main characters) emerges from a tomb gasping for air, you might find yourself doing the same.
This shift is exemplified by the release of Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters, an exercise in nonsensical randomness based largely on a series of pregnant pauses and non-sequiturs. The characters are a floating box of fries, a talking milkshake, and a shape-shifting meatball. The plot, if you can call it that, revolves around an ancient piece of exercise equipment called the "Insanoflex."
What it does and where it came from aren't really important; what makes most of the gags work is the interweaving of everyday turns of phrase with surreal characters and happenings. A choice example of this is a cybernetic organism with an echo-y, metallic voice dramatically identifying the alleged creator of the Insanoflex, before mumbling "Did I mention that? I think I mentioned that." If that sounds amusing to you, then you'll probably enjoy Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
It has often been remarked that the show is a poor choice for a silver screen adaptation, as it runs a scant 15 minutes per episode. Like the show, the film is more or less an animated game of free association, and there are times when it struggles to justify its length, despite the fact that it's a mere 84 minutes. Then again, a film as manic as this could easily risk burning out its audience if it were to run too long.
Some of the humor, of course, simply doesn't stick. After showing us things we never thought we wanted to see, it was probably inevitable that some of the gags come off as weird and pointless, rather than weird and funny. But the ones that work really work, and they're spread out just enough to keep people interested.
There's plenty here for the fans, too. If the audience you see the film with bursts out into seemingly random applause, they're probably pleased with the appearance of one of the show's more popular recurring characters. This might be the DJ spider wearing the giant diaper, or possibly the "Mooninites," a duo of petty 8-bit thieves who look like something out of an old Atari game and -- despite coming from the moon and boasting of tremendous power -- set their sights no higher than stealing your coffee table.
Also often remarked is that the first five minutes of the film are far and away the funniest. This is entirely accurate, thanks in large part to a send-up of the dancing movie snacks that have greeted moviegoers for decades. Soft pretzels have never been this hardcore. By the time "Frylock" (one of the main characters) emerges from a tomb gasping for air, you might find yourself doing the same.