'Super-OK'

It’s a little-known literary fact that Robert Burns’ poem, ‘Ode to a Mouse’ originally read:

“The best plans of men to get laid do often go awry.”

Burns’ stuffy publisher told him to ‘tone it down’ to make the now-famous little ditty more marketable.

But whatever the translation, either would apply to the plot of “Superbad,” the new comedy from the Judd Apatow camp, which looks to tighten its grip on Hollywood comedies, between this film, the summer’s earlier hit “Knocked Up,” and 2005’s “40-Year-Old Virgin.”

While Apatow did not direct this one as he did the previous two (he passed the responsibility to longtime collaborator Greg Mattola), his fingerprints are all over it.

The film once again follows misfit man-boys on a quest to make sense of the opposite sex. This time, the quest takes place over the course of one high school evening and the leads are two horny teens, Seth (played by the beefy Jonah Hill) and Evan (played by the gangly Michael Cera).

Many have praised this film for carefully balancing its smut with its heart. And, frankly, I don’t buy into the latter, at least in terms of compassion for the females. The treacle tossed in at the film’s finale of both boys respecting the objects of their desires – after everyone thoroughly objectifies women throughout the film’s running time – just doesn’t wash.”I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” got raked over the coals this summer for similar treatment toward gays, but somehow “Superbad” has been given a pass.

This is not to say that the film is not funny. For it is – both feverishly and frequently. But why even try to give a boys hearts when there’s nothing to hang their heart on?

(Speaking of “heart on,” be prepared for one of the most obsessive predilection of male genitalia this side of a porno.)

After all this ribaldry, why do the producers feel that our heroes must Learn Something or Grow and allow them to Get the Girl? Did John Belushi’s Bluto take away a life lesson after his years in Delta House? Did Jeff Spicoli learn to “just say no” by the end of his “Fast Times?”
No dammit. They were hedonistic jackasses. And they felt more real because of it.

Apatow has a very sharp ear for male-male friendships throughout awkward times in their lives (in “Virgin” it’s middle age, in “Knocked Up,” it’s pregnancy and here it’s high school). But what he has yet to find is what draws women to these clueless dolts. Really, only Carell's virgin was deserving of a female companion.

If you thought Seth Rogan (who wrote the screenplay and co-stars as a crazy cop) was an unlikely bed partner for the sexy Katherine Heigl in “Knocked Up,” you’ll have a helluva time trying to figure out what Emma Stone’s hot, hip Jules sees in Hill’s slovenly profane Seth.
In the words of the immortal Dean Wormer (rest in peace), “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life.”

There are two true finds in “Superbad,” and one has already been found by a select few who adored the brilliant, short-lived TV show “Arrested Development” (rest in peace). Michael Cera, who some remember as the stammering straight-arrow George Michael (he who harbored the unholy crush on his cousin), plays basically the same character with awkward Evan. Except here, you get to hear him swear up a storm. Cera’s stock is sure to rise in the months following this film, as his unique dry approach is a throwback to early Bob Newhart, and is sorely lacking in comedy today.

The other standout is Christopher Mintz-Plasse as Fogell. In the pantheon of teen sex comedies, many a one-named co-star has earned immortal status – Booger, Bluto, Meat, Stifler, Spicoli. Be prepared to add another to its hallowed halls – McLovin. For that is the name Fogell arbitrarily decides to rechristen himself upon receiving a fake ID that lists him as a 25-year-old Hawaiian organ donor.

Plucked from obscurity, you can see role of geeky outsider Mintz-Plasse fits very snugly on the actor, making his performance all the more authentic. You wish the same care had been given to the ladies that populate the film, or that they were ditched altogether.

McLovin spends the majority of the time riding in the back of a cop car commandeered by two wildly inappropriate arms of the law (Rogan and “SNL’s” Bill Hader). And as outlandish as the cops’ behavior may seem, the film called to mind similar high school shenanigans a buddy and I had with a sad, lonely night security guard at a port in Virginia Beach. He had no problems volunteering to get videotaped joyfully putting a billy-clubbing, handcuffing smackdown on yours truly.

So I invite the makers to bring on the zaniness – the carefree, empty-headed escapades that accompany adolescence and show us that you care as much for the women as you do for the lads and the, um, equipment. Otherwise, don’t feel obligated to employ tacked-on morals as a result of their ribaldry.

For it only waters down the drinks at what could be one heck of a fun party.