H. Jon Benjamin – Memphis Flyer

When The Simpsons premiered in 1989, it changed the way animation was perceived. Before then, cartoons were for kids on Saturday morning. After The Simpsons became a massive hit, the idea of animation as a conduit for sophisticated humor aimed at adults became acceptable, even ubiquitous.

The family The Simpsons portrayed was based on creator Matt Groening’s childhood memories of a middle class life in the 1960s: a father who worked a 9 to 5 job which paid the family’s bills, and a mother who stayed home to keep house and care for the three children, who went to public school. In 1989, this was already a self-conscious anachronism. The irreverent Simpsons were meant to be a commentary on the conservative model of the nuclear family found in older sitcoms like The Honeymooners and Father Knows Best. Now, 33 years into its run, the middle class world of The Simpsons is all but extinct.

The world of the Belcher family in Bob’s Burgers looks a lot more like America in 2022. Father Bob (voiced by H. Jon Benjamin) and mother Linda (John Roberts) own a small burger joint catering to tourists in the waterfront area of an unnamed New England town. They live in a cramped apartment above the restaurant along with their three kids, Tina (Dan Mintz), Gene (Eugene Mirman), and Louise (Kristen Schaal), who help out at the diner when they’re not in school. Bob’s Burgers has run for 12 seasons on Fox, and the Belchers’ oft-delayed feature film debut has finally made it to the big screen.

The whole family’s wants and needs are neatly summed up in the film’s opening musical number, “Sunny Side Up Summer,” where they make their plans for what to do once school is out. Bob is nervously making a perfect speciality burger to give to his loan officer in the hopes that they can get a payment deferral. But when the banker is unpersuaded by quality fast-casual food, they have a week to get a loan payment together or risk repossession of the kitchen. Just as they’re brainstorming ways to make up their budget deficit, a sinkhole opens in front of the restaurant, making it almost impossible to attract the customers they need. Favorite regular Teddy (Larry Murphy) pitches in by building a food cart so they can take their operation mobile just as the summer tourist season kicks in.

Meanwhile, Louise’s beloved bunny hat has become a source of teasing from the other kids in her class. To prove she isn’t a “baby,” she ventures down into the sinkhole, where she discovers a skeleton that appears to be a murder victim. When Louise rallies the kids to try to solve the mystery, the answers seem to point in the direction of their landlord, Calvin Fischoeder (Kevin Kline).

Created by Lauren Bouchard, whose series Home Movies is a gem of the early ’00s Adult Swim animation boom, The Bob’s Burgers Movie was produced at just the right time, with the writing staff at the top of their game and the core voice-cast still intact. Of course, it’s easier to keep your voice-cast intact when multiple parts are played by voice acting legend H. Jon Benjamin. He has provided the deadpan voice for everyone from the hapless Coach McGuirk on Home Movies to the dipsomaniac super spy Archer, and his perpetually exhausted but ever hopeful Bob provides the emotional core of the show.

All three of the kids have distinct personalities, but they are believably siblings. Tina, the oldest, is an eighth grader obsessed with boys, but not really sure what to do with them. Gene, the middle child, is the most creative, and the master of one-line quip. Louise, with her trademark bunny hat, is the ringleader, but also the most insecure.

While there are some expanded set pieces and fancier-than-normal animation, the film mostly plays like an extended episode of the show. In this case, that’s not a left-handed compliment. The writers deftly juggle individual story lines for the family, as well as Teddy and the Fischoeder family, which includes Zach Galifianakis as brother Felix and David Wain as cousin Grover. I’m not sure this is a full-fledged musical comedy, but music has played a bigger and bigger part of the show for the last few seasons, and the film leans into the welcome trend with standout songs, including a major number by a crew of carnies from the nearby boardwalk amusement park.

The Bob’s Burgers Movie represents a rare success in translating TV animation to the big screen. It’s universal and big-hearted enough to serve as an intro to the excellent series, but if you’re already a fan, it’s a must-see.

When I first watched the 2001 film Wet Hot American Summer, I only responded to the unexpected pang in Michael Showalter’s romantic plot and the non-sequitur trip-to-town sequence. But my 25 subsequent viewings had a Lebowski-ian effect. Everything bloomed with dry confidence. Mundane teen movie staples turned first from deadpan parody into casual emotional violence, then into reassuring absurdity. The charm was in how the movie knew when and when not to try. There were “rake gags,” where a bit went on so long it became hilariously absurd. There were moments where a key prop, stunt, or exit was left out or drastically undercut, which called attention to the ridiculousness of the actors’ histrionics. (In the update, for example, a toxic waste spill is represented by a Day-Glo green puddle.) There was also the comedic freedom of unrestrained expression without consequence. Horniness, despair, and aggression were deployed for comedic effect and then forgotten a minute later. In addition to playing with tropes, writer Showalter and director David Wain were arguing that human emotions are mechanical, that they come along regardless of whether or not there is a prop or plot to excuse their expression. Teens (and the adults playing them) flail and scream because their conditioning tells them to, then rationalize a grandiose reason later.

Postmodern prequel with an all-star cast

Fourteen years later, as a Netflix series, Wet Hot is very successful at mimicking the beats and rhythms of the original, from the bright grass greens to the absurdist, Brechtian schtick. It is a prequel, set on the first day of the camp, whereas the first one took place on the last day. Showalter, now conspicuously overweight, bewigged, and 45, is playing an even younger teenager, whose lovelorn crushes are even more about entitlement and possession. He is specifically labeled “a nice guy” who can’t deal with the fact his quasi-girlfriend (Lake Bell) wants to sleep with a visiting Israeli (Wain), who has wonderful patter: “The tongue in the mouth, it can mean so many things … This is the true meaning of community, of kibbutz.”

The scope widens to include spies and undercover reporters, but it’s basically the same as other work by Showalter and Wain, like Wainy Days and Stella. The huge cast (Amy Poehler, Bradley Cooper, H. Jon Benjamin) is supported by ringers (Michael Cera, Jon Hamm). The core players from comedy troupe The State are true to form, if less fresh-faced. They still make familiar Hollywood devices feel dumb and unnatural, while grounding them in feelings of longing, rejection, and the sense of otherness.

On first viewing, it’s a little too dry. Comedy that comes from character more than unbridled absurdity is better. I enjoyed another recent online show involving idiots yelling, Other Space, more for this reason. Wet Hot American Summer: First Day Of Camp is a fine example of a postmodern prequel, but it’s still a prequel, with all the expectations and emotional baggage that entails.