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April is the cruelest month for movies: too late for last year's Oscar fare and too early for the big summer blockbusters (even if, like daylight-saving time and presidential campaigns, those seem to start earlier every season). This month's multiplex pickings were pretty wan until (Rogue Pictures), the British cop comedy that was a huge hit across the pond, opened on American screens last weekend. It's easy to be wary of Hot Fuzz at first, because genre parody has become such a tired, derivative form (think Epic Movie or Reno 911!), and really, do we need another dumb action movie to remind us how dumb action movies are? But if the filmmaker is Edgar Wright, who directed the 2004 zombie spoof Shaun of the Dead (and the funniest of the four fake trailers in Grindhouse), the answer is: Yes. We absolutely do.

Hot Fuzz doesn't have the compact perfection of Shaun of the Dead-it's a little long in spots-but it's such a vibrant goof, so full of love both for the movies and for its cast of ridiculous characters that you forgive it the odd soggy stretch. Simon Pegg, the choirboy-faced hero of Shaun of the Dead who also co-wrote both films with Wright, plays Sgt. Nicholas Angel, a by-the-book London cop whose arrest record is 400 percent better than anyone else's on the force. He excels at everything from speed chess to martial arts, and his prowess and dedication are making the rest of the team look bad. He's summoned by his superiors (Martin Freeman, Steve Coogan, and Bill Nighy-every nook and cranny of this film is stuffed with Britain's best comic talent) and ordered to transfer to Sandford, a picturesque village where the closest thing to a public menace is the presence of underage patrons at the local pub. The bumbling police chief, Frank Butterman (Jim Broadbent), spends the day nibbling on pastry with his witless underlings, while Butterman's son Danny (Nick Frost), a dimwitted cop with a passion for Lethal Weapon and Point Break, tries to befriend the humorless, Type-A Sgt. Angel.

Quaint rural hamlets are to British cinema what white-picket-fence suburbs are to Hollywood, so you just know Sandford has a few skeletons in its closet (its name can't help but evoke Stepford, the too-perfect bedroom community of The Stepford Wives). Sure enough, Sandford turns out to be place where gruesome deaths-a young man decapitated by a church spire, a florist who falls on her own garden shears-are routinely written off as freak accidents. That is, until Nicholas Angel reports for duty and starts asking hard questions. Questions about the slick supermarket owner Simon Skinner (a gloriously unctuous Timothy Dalton) and a menacing figure who lurks around town subtly disguised as the Grim Reaper. Questions that just may get Angel killed-or at the very least allow him and Danny, who's become his de facto partner, to burst through a plate-glass window in slow motion, a gun in each hand, in the action-movie climax of Danny's dreams.

Hot Fuzz is like an Agatha Christie novel directed by Michael Bay and adapted for the screen by P.G. Wodehouse. The script is chockablock with absurd puns that somehow become funnier the more you think about them (pointing out a Sandford local who made his fortune off kitchen appliances, Danny observes, "There goes the fridge magnate"). Wright and Pegg don't care if they make you laugh with sight gags, verbal wit, pratfalls, or sheer stupidity-they just want to make you laugh, and even when they don't succeed, the density of jokes is such that you know there's always a good one just around the corner. But the screenplay doesn't coast lazily from laugh to laugh, like the loose bundles of skits that too often pass as comedy stateside. Ridiculous as Angel and Danny are, we truly care about their budding friendship-not least because of the chemistry between Pegg and his real-life buddy Nick Frost, who riff off each other like old vaudevillians.

In a running visual gag, Wright presents the mundane details of a cop's daily grind in the rapid-fire editing style of a Bruckheimer-esque action montage: Bang! Angel whips a pen from his pocket. Kazam! He fills out paperwork. These scenes are funny because they send up the clichés of the crime thriller, but there's also something weirdly moving about them. In the end, like Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz is both a parody of old movies and a parable of everyday life. The lowliest pub crawler can become a heroic vanquisher of zombies; the most banal job assignment can turn into the cops-and-robbers ride of your life. I can't wait to see what played-out genre the exuberant Wright and Pegg take on next.

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Hot Fuzz: Agatha Christie meets Michael Bay.

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April is the cruelest month for movies: too late for last year's Oscar fare and too early for the big summer blockbusters (even if, like daylight-saving time and presidential campaigns, those seem to start earlier every season).

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“Hot Fuzz” a lukewarm comedy – The Denver Post

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“Hot Fuzz” a lukewarm comedy – The Denver Post

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Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost taught us to look over our shoulders for zombies every time we pop 'round to the pub for a pint and a laugh.

Now they want us to look behind the gravestones in every small town, wondering if that smell down in the flowers comes from some particularly rich fertilizer, or another dead body. Actually, mate, come to think of it, what's the difference?

The perfectly pitched Brit comedy "Shaun of the Dead" was flip about the dead and the undead alike. Wright and Pegg as co-writers, and Pegg and Frost as co-stars, showed the world you can learn to live with a zombie in the garden shed, so long as you entertain him with video games and keep him on a very short tether (made of synthetic fiber, not leather, thank you very much).

We couldn't wait to see what the gang would do to buddy- cop movies in the much-anticipated "Hot Fuzz." Would they make Mel Gibson and Danny Glover look like simpering ponces? Would they have us rethinking the Eddie Murphy- Nick Nolte partnership? Does a London police cruiser come equipped with assault rifles or tea cozys?

Alas, this combination tribute and parody shuffles well short of "Shaun of the Dead's" standards. For a movie based on the stunted mental development and perfect action timing of American crime-fighting pics, "Hot Fuzz" has surprisingly little idea of how to get to its point, or when. It prattles on at least a half-hour too long - remember, boys, two full hours of film is Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorsese territory, not the formula for comic brevity.

Wright directs, as he did for "Shaun of the Dead." Pegg is again the unlikely hero, though the joke falls a bit flatter here because for "Hot Fuzz" he is truly supposed to be the action hero, from the first moment.

The setup seems choice: Pegg plays Nicholas Angel, London's flawless supercop. He is professionally unsurpassed, and personally insufferable. His superiors, including Brit star Bill Nighy in one of many cameos, ship him off to rural England so that his competence will stop shaming the London police through unflattering comparison.

Angel finds himself policing bucolic Sandford, "village of the year" for years running. Little to do but chase the teenagers from the pub and brush up on his gardening. His slovenly partner is Danny, played by Frost, who would love to fire off a full clip at a fleeing felon, but spends most of his time eating ice cream treats in his cruiser.

Wright, Pegg, Frost and the entire movie crew are steeped in dubious American exports like "Lethal Weapon" and "Dirty Harry." As with "Shaun of the Dead," they ridicule and celebrate at the same time. Danny is obsessed with "Point Break" and "Bad Boys II," thus elevating Keanu Reeves and Martin Lawrence to a pantheon of crime-fighting competence previously unknown to human kind.

Too bad it's not all that funny. Pegg and Frost have a terrific chemistry, but too much of their comic timing is spent side-by-side in an idling cop car, or watching TV from the couch. By the time we've been proven right in our suspicions that the good people of Sandford disguise unspeakably funny evil, we're long past caring.

I'll rent "Shaun of the Dead" again and hope for the best on the next go-round. No doubt Wright, Pegg and Frost will be on the case again soon, perhaps with a Western next time. "High Teatime," anyone?

Staff writer Michael Booth can be reached at 303-954-1686 or at mbooth@denverpost.com.

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"Hot Fuzz"
R for violent content and language|2 hours|COMEDY|Directed by Edgar Wright; written by Wright and Simon Pegg; photography by Jess Hall; starring Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Jim Broadbent, Timothy Dalton and Bill Bailey|Opens today at area theaters.

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Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost taught us to look over our shoulders for zombies every time we pop 'round to the pub for a pint and a laugh. Now they want us to look behind the gravestones in every small town, wondering if that smell down in the flowers comes from some particularly rich fertilizer, or another dead body.

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VIOLENT 'FARGO' A BRUTALLY UNFUNNY SATIRE - NY Daily News

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VIOLENT 'FARGO' A BRUTALLY UNFUNNY SATIRE - NY Daily News

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FARGO. William H. Macy, Frances McDormand. Directed by Joel Coen. At area theaters. Running time: 95 mins. Rated R. 2 Stars. 'OH, GEEZ!

' EXCLAIMS CHIEF OF Police Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand), as she examines the body of a state trooper alongside a highway in rural Minnesota. This is in Marge's jurisdiction, and not far down the road are two more corpses, witnessess left behind by a pair of bumbling criminals (Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare). Marge is concerned but not visibly upset. Seven months pregnant, she has other things on her mind. But will she track down the perps? "You're darn tootin'," Marge replies, as violent an oath as her Scandinavian soul will permit her. The unstoppable Marge, mammoth and full of life, is one of the few positives in "Fargo," a black comedy by the Coen brothers (Joel directs, Ethan produces, and they share the writing). Though based on a true story, the film turns its characters into broad caricatures. Compassion is not the Coens' strong suit, though they seem to have a sneaking sympathy for Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy), the luckless Minneapolis car salesman who is the film's nominal heavy. Desperate to climb his way out of debt, and get out from under the thumb of his oppressive father-in-law (former musical comedy star Harve Presnell, in an imposing performance), Lundegaard has hired the two out-of-town killers to kidnap his own wife and hold her for ransom. But with the killing of the trooper, the plot goes horribly wrong. "Fargo" uses violent crime as a tool of satire. But it's a blunt one, leaving behind many more victims than Stormare and Buscemi. Everyone comes off badly here, from the kidnap victim (Kirstin Rudrud) to Jose Feliciano, who makes a campy guest appearance as himself. From the camera angles to the set design, everything is calculated to make the viewer feel superior to the cloddish, geeky characters on display. Alas, this is something the Coens do with consummate skill. Every element is perfect, and perfectly devastating so much so that the film starts to feel like shooting not particularly deserving fish in an unfairly tight barrel. (R: Violence, strong language.)
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VIOLENT 'FARGO' A BRUTALLY UNFUNNY SATIRE

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FARGO. William H. Macy, Frances McDormand. Directed by Joel Coen. At area theaters. Running time: 95 mins. Rated R. 2 Stars. 'OH, GEEZ!' EXCLAIMS CHIEF OF Police Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand), as she examines the body of a state trooper alongside a highway in rural Minnesota.

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'Fargo' the Film Returns, and It Feels Like Coming Home | Village Voice

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'Fargo' the Film Returns, and It Feels Like Coming Home | Village Voice

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With 1996's Fargo, Joel and Ethan Coen, established as directors of stylized and densely plotted films, took a big stab at realism, applying their biting humor and talent for sharply observed characters to a venal kidnapping scheme in suburban Minnesota. Though long pegged as icy and disinterested writers, they lovingly mapped this territory using prominent landmarks of culture, language, climate, and geography.

Fargo is an accumulation of tiny, perfect details: ear hats, car window scrapers, Paul Bunyan statues, tan Cutlass Cieras, woodchippers - iconography so singular that you could dangle miniatures from a charm bracelet and people would recognize the reference. The film is a work of brick-by-brick world-building in the service of characters whose ordinariness is just as carefully crafted.

A work of fiction, Fargo (playing in a 4K restoration) nonetheless opens with a title card claiming its story is true. "At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed," it says. "Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred." Many people believed it, which is a tribute to the film's strong sense of place and the weight of its characters. That claim to truth freed the Coens to set a hugely pregnant police chief on the trail of two murderous and stupid kidnappers, to portray ordinary people as a bit more eccentric than might be plausible, and to poke gentle fun at the "Minnesota nice" stereotype.

That regionally specific kindheartedness is embodied by Margie Gunderson (Frances McDormand), who manifests onscreen like an angel of compassion and decency following every horrific act of bloodshed. A smart cop, she's the film's most sensible and competent character, but she isn't spared from the Coens' waggish sense of fun. Their agenda is to depict the banality of good along with the banality of evil. They include tight, ridiculous shots of Margie eating food; they subject her to a cringingly uncomfortable lunch date with an amorous acquaintance from high school.

Fargo 's recurrent theme of fertility is often voiced by the television shows its characters watch, but Margie is the most conspicuous example. She's the explicitly maternal promise of the return of sunshine and hope following a cold, dark winter - not to mention explosions of blood and violence. After two decades of watching the film, I still feel relief and calm whenever she waddles into the frame.

What the well-received FX series Fargo gets wrong about the film provides a good survey of the traits that differentiate the Coens from ordinary filmmakers. In the original Fargo, it's enough to know that Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) is in trouble; the Coens never delve into the origin of his financial desperation. "These are personal matters...they needn't, uh...," Jerry stammers. And that's all you get. Most importantly, they don't reveal what happened to Carl Showalter's buried satchel of cash. Have you found yourself in idle moments over the past two decades wondering what might have happened to the money? That's because mysteries are enduring gifts.

The series avoids mystique, actively dissipating it as though waving off a fart. It likes answers - really dumb ones - and the only questions it leaves on the table aren't offerings to its audience, they're the shortcomings of its writing. It mistakes the quotidian for realism and it reduces Fargo to blood, snow, and Upper Midwest American English. In other words, instead of exploring the territory the Coens beautifully surveyed, the show models its features directly on the film. It's like a map drawn from a map, the absolute clomping boot of nerdism. Its use of the film's preambular claim to truth couldn't feel more ridiculous.

Fargo

Written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen

Park Circus

Opens January 22, Film Forum

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'Fargo' the Film Returns, and It Feels Like Coming Home

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With 1996's Fargo, Joel and Ethan Coen, established as directors of stylized and densely plotted films, took a big stab at realism, applying their biting humor and talent for sharply observed characters to a venal kidnapping scheme in suburban Minnesota.

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Joel & Ethan Coen - Shot | Reverse Shot - YouTube

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Joel & Ethan Coen - Shot | Reverse Shot - YouTube

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Media Victorian Certificate of Education Study Design

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Media Victorian Certificate of Education Study Design

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Edgar Wright - How to Do Visual Comedy - YouTube

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Edgar Wright - How to Do Visual Comedy - YouTube