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The movie industry is, at its core, an industry – which is to say, a business. Celebrities could hug every last tree in the Amazon rainforest, but it would do little to negate the fact Hollywood is not a non-profit entity. Incidentally, major studios aren’t standing around, frothing at the bit for an opportunity to give Bruce Campbell millions of dollars just to screw around in front of a camera.
… but thank the good Lord there were people willing to give him hundreds of thousands of dollars to!
There has been talk (well, print) of My Name is Bruce being a less-than-stellar movie going experience. Of those Ebenezer reviewers, I can only say: they aren’t the people who would break into a full blown Snoopy Dance if they happened upon My Name is Bruce in a video store. This habit of reviewers going out of their way to dismantle films clearly acres away from their wheelhouse just chaps my patoot. By contrast, I know the Cheetah Girls sequel was not made for me. It was made for fourteen year old girls. I am not a fourteen year old girl – therefore, in addition to harboring no plans, whatsoever, to chew that bubble gum for an hour and a half, I would exercise some restraint if reviewing it. I wouldn’t expect to “get it”. Yet, people who are not rabid Bruce-a-holics took up precious seating in sold out shows to review a film that was specifically made for a category of fans, of which, they are not a member – and then had the audacity to rail it!
Non-Campbell-Fans have done enough damage to our products over the years. You might have stolen our Medieval Dead title and ending, you might’ve outright robbed us of the slim window of opportunity that existed for an Evil Dead 4 – but you couldn’t keep My Name is Bruce from escaping into the world (as the man is fond of saying, “Films like Bubba Ho-Tep, they aren’t released – they escape”). Ha! So, go write your snarky reviews, go wonder how anyone would like the film – we’re going to flock to the shows, and then buy it on DVD and then nuke up a microwave’s fill of popcorn as we watch it again, and again. We don’t have to explain ourselves.
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… but I shall, regardless.
My Name is Bruce brings to us Bruce Campbell, portraying a caricature of himself. The bane of every no-budget film set he lands in, he has found himself divorced, exorcised into redundant sequel land, penniless and largely inebriated, when a fan clunks him over the head, stashes The Chin into a trunk, and carts him home. A vengeful Chinese deity has arisen in the teen’s hometown, and the boy is certain – in his gullible fan heart – that only Bruce Campbell possesses skill enough to put an end to the carnage.
As much as I bitch and bellyache over lousy f/x, or (more often) latex and bladders being replaced with CGI, astoundingly (hypocritically) enough, I have no complaints over the… hmm… f/x… work… eh, let’s try that again: I have no complaints over how the Chinese deity, Guan-di appears in the film. It’s not supposed to be scary, you see. So, someone (Bruce?) in a stroke of utter brilliance, made the budget sparing decision not to waste a lot of dough playing up make-up on a character who didn’t need it. I didn’t go to see My Name is Bruce for the Guan-di, afterall – I went for the Bruce!  Ted Raimi as a descendant of Chinese miners -- yet again, proving no matter what role Sam's little bro is given, he always manages to steal the show. | Oh, is there Bruce.
Zany Bruce, cynical Bruce, drunken, clumsy, one-liner-popping, short but unkempt black hair Bruce. Ahhhh. Not the Bruce you’d see too much of on Burn Notice or in Disney movies (in reference to the Cheetah Girls comment, I also won’t be reviewing The Love Bug) – but the very Bruce I’ve so been jonesing for.
That Ted Raimi has three roles is like a mother load beneath the Christmas tree, and in the stockings.
More than any film I’ve seen in recent memory, My Name is Bruce is an effective comedic romp. No current of underlying meanness exists, there aren’t entire plotlines devoted to gross-outs. Yet, there are moments of uncensored truth. Though the dilapidated Air Stream Campbell calls home in the film isn’t really his home, the film was shot on Campbell’s property – quite literally, in his backyard. Questions fans in the movie pepper him with were taken verbatim from his experiences. Did I mention there are ala-Cat Balou-styled musical interludes?* |
At no moment does My Name is Bruce reach beyond its budget. The film knows what it is, and doesn’t compromise the vision to reach a broader audience, or cash stream. That’s a rare find, in these days of Lincoln Log cinema – have to have a car chase, have to have a sex scene… A fabulous experience it was, getting just what I paid for – a film which doesn’t pander to the majority -- and seeing it on a big screen, no less. References abound to every aspect of the Campbell and Co mythos (my favorite being the name of his dog: “Sam ‘n’ Rob”) – but I do hope, deep down in the indomitably hopeful parts of my fan heart, that viewers with the most sparse knowledge of Campbell, and even a minor susceptibility to cheese, will be able to watch My Name is Bruce, and walk away smiling along side the mega-fans, saying, “Oh! Geez – that’s why you like him! I really didn’t know he was that funny.” |  Was going to say something about Bruce getting the girl... but... looking at this photo, I'm thinking: what a remarkably expansive forehead he has! |
There’s something romantic about music made in a garage. Sometimes stories, scenes, just need to be told – to be seen. Bruce and Ted are glaringly more talented than the bulk of the cast. Again, though, I wasn’t expecting to see next year’s Oscar picks when I purchased the ticket…. I was gladly paying to see a movie shot in someone’s backyard.
I can only hope that guerilla-styled zombie flick Peter Jackson is rumored to be working on with his pals, during free weekends, delivers half as much as My Name is Bruce did. | |
*Note on the musical interludes: I really should have taken notes. During the Q&A which followed the film, Campbell explained the origin of the McCain Brothers. Years ago, they met… uh… while Bruce was filming something or other (yes, notes next time – I promise). They were local weathermen (as I recall. It was a few weeks ago, and I neglected to take notes, you see). But they had this fabulous deadpan, which Bruce jokingly insisted would be great in the movies. He was on the money. They have a fabulous lite-Smother-ish deadpan.
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