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Review B

Ben Stiller's 'Tropic Thunder' lampoons Hollywood, but ultimately fights a losing battle

August 13, 2008|By Michael Sragow , Sun movie critic

When the production goes a month behind schedule in its first week, studio boss Les Grossman (an amazingly funny Tom Cruise), communicating via video phone call, tears a brand-new orifice for the struggling Limey director, Damien Cockburn (Steve Coogan). Cockburn, desperate for advice, takes a tip from Four Leaf Tayback (Nick Nolte), the grizzled vet who wrote the movie's source book. Cockburn dumps his five leads into the jungle (they include one nonstar: Jay Baruchel as Kevin Sandusky) and says he'll the shoot the film with hidden cameras. When Cockburn kicks off his new plan of guerrilla filmmaking, he places his troupe right onto the path of real guerrillas - members of a vicious drug clan with a base deep inside the Golden Triangle.

Self-absorbed thespians put in extreme jeopardy produce genuine potential for a comedy of terrors. For a few split seconds, when everything whirls out of control, you experience the rare exhilaration of not knowing where the action will be heading in a Hollywood genre film. The comedy, though, contracts too soon. It centers exclusively on the delusions of actors and the incongruous spread of American mass entertainment. Stiller and his collaborators do color in some cunning turnarounds. At one point, Tugg appears headed for a fate similar to Tony in Evelyn Waugh's A Handful of Dust, who was destined to read Dickens aloud to a loony hermit in the jungle. Yet too many of their choices, especially one involving gruff, hard-bitten Four Leaf, defang the action.

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The movie's strength lies in its affection for all kinds of performers. Inside and out, Tropic Thunder resembles an acting-rehabilitation camp. Nolte gets to demonstrate that he has total control of his stewed machismo; for a while he appears primed to steal the picture. Cruise displays his knack for getting under the skin of egomaniacs with Les Grossman, who dances like a grotesque bobble toy to the rhythm of his own meanness and power. Matthew McConaughey may be the only actor in Hollywood to show his most appealing and vulnerable sides playing an agent: His loyalty to Tugg is almost touching. And as an Aussie actor striving to be a black man, Downey expertly parodies both an actor's self-absorption and an actor's notion of blackness: He's uproariously guttural and bulletproof. It's Downey, as Lazarus, who offers the riotous, controversial analysis of why Tugg failed to win prizes as Simple Jack, unlike Hoffman's Rain Man or Hanks' Forrest Gump or Peter Sellers' Chance in Being There.

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