[rating=9.00]
It’s funny how much of our interpersonal connections are forged based on what we like. The things we’re into are a kind of code that give away who and what we are. It’s surface level, sure, but how many times in high school or junior high did you say hi to the kid wearing a shirt from a band you love or a show you watched? They’re flags, of a sort, that we wave to identify our larger tribes, and through them we spark the tiniest alliances that have the potential to blossom into full blown friendships.
That’s the premise of Brigsby Bear, with the twist that the entire fandom explored in Brigsby Bear consists of a single, solitary individual. It’s a strange and endearing film, one that moves from dark to funny to sweet with little warning—and often in the same scene. It’s the kind of movie that’s released with little fanfare, but catches you off guard with its charm and heart.
James Pope (Kyle Mooney) lives in an apocalyptic wasteland with his parents, Ted and April (Mark Hamill and Jane Adams), protected from an irradiated world by the underground bunker that’s housed him all his life. His sheltered existence is filled only by his parents and the world of Brigsby Bear, a cheaply made 80s kids show where the titular character solves mysteries and teaches lessons. Week after week, the latest episode is dropped off in their supply delivery, and like most nerds James delights in dissecting and analyzing the show’s every twist and turn.
That all changes when the cops raid the compound. Turns out, James was kidnapped by Ted and April when he was a baby; the apocalypse and Brigsby Bear was all a ploy by Ted, a former toy creator, to indoctrinate James. Now, James must learn to adjust to a new family, a new world, and a life where his pop cultural obsession doesn’t exist.
It would be easy to paint James as an awkward outsider—and to be sure, he is—but Mooney portrays him with the perfect balance of silliness and heart. On the one hand, he is the perfect representation of the stereotypical man-child, the ones who spend their hours obsessing over the minutiae of Star Wars or Star Trek or Doctor Who online and at conventions. Most of us know someone like that, be they movie nerds or Phish nerds who obsess over obscure performances and trade rare recordings.
But it’s hard to disconnect his obsession with the trauma of his life. Considering its sole reason for existence was to indoctrinate and brainwash him into the fringe beliefs of his kidnappers (who, creepily, do seem to hold a genuine love for their victim, inasmuch as you can call it that) it’s often sad to see how deeply his affection for the heroic bear runs.
He’s a man-child, not by choice but by design. In another context, he might have found the same love for pop culture in shows like Star Trek, but a fabricated children’s show is all he had. Which, obviously, makes it difficult for him to connect to people in the larger world—at least at first. The heart of Brigsby Bear comes from his loving attempts to spread the gospel of his favorite show. His attempts at forging connections are painful at first, but one by one the people he meets are turned on to the lo-fi charms of the series, to the point where he garners the support to make a Brigsby story of his own, and complete the chapter begun by his kidnapper.
Call it one part immersion therapy—the plot line he comes up with isn’t at all dissimilar from his own ordeal—and one part loving tribute to his favorite character. Combined, we see the awesome power of narrative and creativity. To the creator, a work can mean one thing, but to the audience other meanings are found. The more he shares Brigsby Bear with others, the more he has a way to connect to new people and the larger world, and their connections to the show embolden his attempts to make it in his new life. Through the process of both creating and sharing, he learns more about himself and the world at large.
It’s easy to make fun of pop culture and its adherents, but for many the act of loving a movie or show or whatever is a deeply immersive and collective experience, one that provides so much more than mere entertainment. It’s an avenue for connection and acceptance; for creativity and self-exploration. Though there’s a certain degree of face value acceptance you have to perform while watching this film—nitpicking for the sake of nitpicking would absolutely ruin the experience of Brigsby Bear—the script from Mooney and Kevin Costello manages to give just enough explanation to make it work while also infusing it with a whole lot of heart.
The result is one of the most delightful and poignant movies to come along in quite some time. Brigsby Bear is a near perfect remedy for the late-summer-movie-going-blues, and a loving ode to what it means to be, simply, a fan.
Brigsby Bear is now playing in theaters everywhere.
