Review of "On the Count of Three," a sad comedy about couples suicide
Standup comedian Jerrod Carmichael invited actor Christopher Abbott to die together.
Shooting "on three" - the parking lot outside a strip club at 10:30 on a weekday morning has never been a busier place. Childhood friends decide to leave with a bullet to the head. Why isn't white light nice anymore? To explain it, the film has to backtrack in flashbacks: Kevin (Christopher Abbott) has been trying to settle a score for a long time, but the doctors at the hospital, a bad mood, or the wrong combination of pills get in the way. Val (Jerrod Carmichael) is fed up with his job at the factory, his coworkers with a passion to hum and a girl who demands attention (either an ex, or not so much). There is no way out, there is only one way out - before the triumphant finale, the brothers decide to live another day to the best of their ability: when all is settled, it's time to do the sweet silliness for last.
The Sundance premiere, coupled with the "have no regrets" concept, promises a rather understandable and compromising dramedy about always having something to lose, and it's never too late to die. A stuffed-up dad, revenge on a child doctor, motorcycle rides up to their ears in mud and the serene landscape of Lake Como (not in Italy, but in Minnesota) are meant to awaken the will and, if not love, at least sympathy for life in radical young men. But the figure in the credits suggests that there will be surprises, and we won't like them.
Standup comedian Jerrod Carmichael made his directorial debut in full-meter (he has a three-year TV show to his credit in addition to the spas) with the support of regular collaborators Erie Katcher and Ryan Welch-they served as the film's screenwriters. As a result, Kevin and Val are presented as the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of our court: the former is an expressive and frustrated jackass who was once deeply traumatized and now fears neither God, hell, nor the cops. Carmichael's alter ego is a hero of momentary despair, fueled by lingering depression without treatment. It's not that scrappy dialogues give birth to new wisdom or spiritually uplifting truths that belong in a frame on the wall, but the stigma of talking about death and longing perishes. Which, in fact, is far more important.
"On the Count of Three" is impulsive and, in some places, devilishly funny. But it is the stand-up artists who understand better than anyone else that humor and tragedy are not antonyms, but half-brother and sister forced to get along under the same roof. Carmichael doesn't betray himself: sad jokes about death interrupt even sadder and more provocative punches about black people, and united by their observations about stereotypes about masculinity and a thing quite outlandish: male sadness. If you imagined shaking your head violently and rhythmically to the bass of Papa Roach in the car, that's what mourning life looks like from the outside.
But in a series of discussions about the value of the individual, the best thing that "On the Count of Three" does is to compose a bromance that would put any lavstory to shame. At times hilariously typical, at other times uniquely tender, friendships are what truly hooks the film. Carmichael and Abbott take the characters' relationship far beyond the boundaries of indie film or stand-up sketch, a unique matter of intimacy that is definitely worth living at least one more day for. It is, however, also worth dying for.
Comments