Supergreat

There's been so much p.r. on the new comedy from the Judd Apatow factory, Superbad, that I won't go into much detail, but aside from the much-remarked upon sweetness at the core of this raucously foul-mouthed addition to the American Graffiti single-day-into-night end of high school sub-genre, a big reason that it works is because high school guys really do talk about sex in imaginative, knowing terms, even though they may have absolutely no experience with it.

The purpose of such conversational patter is multi-fold. It's a way to release pent-up sexual urges, sublimation into bawdy language that reveals far more of oneself than anyone but a superclose friend should know. It's a form of boasting, a way to prop up one's ego in the arena of most humiliating failure. It's an endless exchange of conjecture, in hopes of reaching some useful truth that will magically unlock the doors to sexual confidence. And it's a way to crack your closest buddy (or buddies) up the only way possible -- with uproarious, over-the-top, hilariously transgressive wit.

Today, the morning after laughing for nearly two hours straight alongside my two teenage guests (and I'm now sure that nearly every single teenager in America who can find their way into an R-rated movie will be catching this one -- it's the seminal comedic work for their generation, or perhaps semenal), I realized that the trick of the movie is that the characters say all the outrageously funny stuff but it doesn't allow any of the friends to laugh at what any of the others say. Back in high school my buddies and I would crack each other up with similar humor all the time, but the movie doesn't allow such reactions as might slow it down or make it seem like it's on a high horse decreeing that those of us in the seats laugh.

It's the right answer. This way, there's no pointing to the funny: the audience fills in.

Later in the day I marveled at the launch of comedic acting talents Jonah Hill, Michael Cera and Christopher Mintz-Plasse (the latter plucked out of MySpace), and wondered about their long future careers. What will they look like at 45? 65? Will they be comedy elders? Will they still be transgressive? Will the reprise their Laurel & Hardy act many more times in the future, bring a television tribute audience to their feet in their golden years?

Will they never lose that McLovin feeling?