On a mission to rid society of its most repellent citizens, terminally ill Frank makes an unlikely accomplice in 16-year-old Roxy.
After a bracingly dark opening (dead-baby alert!), GBA soon loses its edge, shying away from really testing Frank’s commitment to his outrageous mission.
It's all too predictable and heavy-handed.
The second half loses some momentum, as Goldthwait lumbers Frank with a number of long rants that fail to move the film forward, but this is still a comedy with bite and purpose, from one of the most adventurous directors in American cinema.
God Bless America, cack-handed as it often is, scores for its unabashed B-movie willingness to indulge the cheapest, most pornographic American revenge-fantasy of all: let me just machine-gun my evil, moronic, braindead enemies in the face forever and ever, or until I feel better, whichever comes sooner, amen.
The righteous indignation strikes a chord but the targets are too easy.
A rare example of humour that is both in-your-face and refreshing, this is one for the refuseniks.
God Bless America screams in the face of a sick society, but its cries are drowned out by a sense that, unfortunately, we’ve seen this all before.
Part road trip, part revenge movie, this is a tentative tale of a man who’s not going to take it anymore, sharp on the fallibility of human foibles and sometimes stingingly funny, too.
Reality television, talent shows that belittle their contestants, and fearmongering news anchors are among the film’s many legitimate satirical targets, but Goldthwait’s attempts to fight fire with fire with shock tactics (like the shotgunned baby that opens the film) and unfocused ranting (like Roxy’s abuse of Young Adult screenwriter Diablo Cody) reduce the film to little more than a bitter tirade.
Goldthwait's script, born of a savage moral disgust, makes no distinction between people who "deserve to die" and people who just annoy us.
The satire feels hand-me-down and weak, and Goldthwait is firing blanks.
Goldthwait blazes down Route 66 with the Tupelo Blues but makes a real dog’s breakfast (in America) of it.
It does take a sledgehammer to crack a walnut and eventually falls victim to the law of diminishing returns but it doesn’t pull its punches and is often outrageously funny.
The movie is quickly and cheaply made - so much so the soundtrack clearances probably cost more than the film itself - but it doesn't matter. Goldthwaite's direction is strong enough to paper over his script of often magnificent barbed gags, although there are ultimately few ideas beyond the first hour.
This is a rare and refreshing thing, an American film about despair – and funny with it. You'll chuckle darkly rather than laugh out loud.
It sounds like a funny idea, a sort of satirical Falling Down, but somehow the shoddiness of the film-making and the flatness of the writing dilute the anger and inspire a numbing tedium.
Bobcat Goldthwait's film God Bless America takes aim at pet hates
Bobcat Goldthwait
General release. Check local listings for show times.