Dark comedy is probably the hardest cinematic genre to deliver successfully. With science-fiction, you can sometimes skate by on technology; with a western, on horses. But the dark comedy requires precise balance and timing; it’s like hard-boiling an egg while juggling lemons.
When we first meet Eisenberg’s milquetoast character, Casey, he’s learning French by practicing such phrases as “I don’t want any trouble; I’m just a tourist.” His workmates don’t respect him. Even his answering machine gives him sass: “You have only one unheard message,” it informs him. “No one else left you a message.”
Casey gets mugged one night while out buying dog food for his Dachshund, by a motorcycle thief who has the good sense to first ask if he’s carrying a gun. There may be an anti-gun message lurking in the script, or perhaps it’s pro-gun; the comedy was so dark it was hard to make out the morality. Casey throws himself into his studies, quickly moves from a white belt to a yellow, and celebrates by buying all-yellow food that night. Sensei reminds his students that the dojo’s former grand master wore a rainbow belt, a designation above black that he created and then bestowed on himself. He was killed by a hunter who mistook him for a bird.
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