This post is about the movie Jackass I. Normally, I avoid the Jackass show and movies like the plague. The only reason I know to avoid it is that I’ll catch a glimpse or two of it while passing through a television-watching area. To me (at least previously), Jackass has been all about overage adolescence and unadmitted sexual fetishes (I mean, really, applying electrical shocks to one’s erogenous zones can’t be all about getting a laugh). Jackass stunts are what you do when you can’t reproduce the species, the same as starting wars and taking over corporations.
Then I watched it. Why? I was too tired to get up from the couch when it came on. Then I was too fascinated to stop. Then, it got very very funny.
At first, I winced. A mostly-nude man skipping around with a red carbuncle right around the area of his gluteus medius, tormenting polite Japanese people, was exactly what I expected in the adolescence department. Then the car crashes began and I took my hands away from my eyes.
Johnny Knoxville was inside of a small white car, staring up at a spinning tire halfway through his windshield. He was in a destruction derby, and several cars had driven up on top of his. There was something funny to me about that tire, inches away from Knoxville’s face, turning and turning. Things got even funnier when I was told that the car was a rental.
Then this car, smashed down to about a 3rd of its original size, was returned to the rental company. The counter and lot person were nearly speechless. What happened to it? they were asking. Knoxville tells them that at least he’s returned it with a full tank of gas.
At that point, I was in tears of hysteria. At that point I was thinking that Jackass was very cool.
Why? It’s irreverent. It reminds me of my life before the last five years. I played in punk bands. I never did what I was supposed to, and only what I wanted. I laughed every day, because everything was totally absurd, and that’s because no one followed the rules, and that’s because no one was smart enough to know what the rules were. I knew people who would make you laugh to look at them, and that’s because they wore weird clothes and weird hair, (probably because they didn’t brush the hair and had found the clothes in a dumpster), and the joy of that laughter came from the fact that they didn’t care. I know the rush that Knoxville feels when he jumps his golfcart over a hill and crashes. I’ve jumped off stages and not been caught. It hurts, but it’s fun.
I don’t think Johnny Knoxville cares either. And there’s a weird joy in that