DEAL OF THE CENTURY (1983), dir. William Friedkin

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I was under the impression that good, effective satire meant a sly wit and a straight face. “Deal of the Century,” unfortunately, lacks both of those qualities. The movie’s tone is too broad, and the screenwriter practically hits the audience over the head trying to hammer his message home. This likely represented the low point for director William Friedkin, who took the prestige earned from films like "The French Connection" and “The Exorcist,” and spends 100 minutes firing blanks.

“Deal of the Century” centers around efforts to sell the Peacemaker, a remote control drone manufactured by a company called Look-Up. Their CEO believes the pilot-less plane will revolutionize air combat; unfortunately, following a botched demonstration, Look-Up has to try selling the Peacemaker outside the U.S. Enter Eddie Muntz (Chevy Chase), a small-time arms dealer who improbably closed the deal on a contract for the plane with General Cordosa (William Marquez), only to have the South American dictator renege since Muntz wasn’t authorized to make the sale.

It turns out the general will be in Los Angeles for an upcoming arms convention, presenting an opportunity to secure the deal and, for Muntz, earn himself a hefty commission. Complicating matters, however, is Ray (Gregory Hines), his business partner and a foremost aeronautics expert, recently found Jesus and wants out. Another problem is Catherine (Sigourney Weaver), the widow of the original salesman whose death paved the way for Muntz. They meet in South America, but it isn’t long afterward that she’s back in his life, pointing a pistol at his head and accusing him of killing her husband.

Catherine wants part of Muntz’ cut, and proves willing to do whatever it takes to get it. A lot of money does hang in the balance, but director Friedkin and screenwriter Paul Brickman ask, “Is it moral to sell people what they don’t need, especially if it leads to innocent people getting hurt?” Muntz and Ray are portrayed as everyman-types who need the cash to keep their modest weapons-building operation afloat. “If we don’t make the sale, someone else will,” Muntz rationalizes. But aside from these two entrepreneurs and dreamers, America’s weapons industry is mostly portrayed as a means by which large corporations profit from developing nations, or as a big joke, and herein the film’s weakness lies.

Once upon a time, Stanley Kubrick cut a pie-fighting sequence from “Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb” because he and the screenwriter agreed it took the satirical film too far into slapstick. “Deal of the Century” is not nearly as disciplined: it tries hard to be outrageous, and in doing so, loses any resemblance of tonal consistency. There is a scene in South America where a pistol-packing hood jumps Muntz, but after the latter whips out an AK-47, he not only relieves the would-be robber of his gun, he takes his wallet, too. Although one could interpret this sequence as illustrating how the arms industry has pushed inhabitants of Third World nations into desperation, the way it ends on a bullying note neutralizes its initial humor.

Likewise, when Look-Up’s super-plane malfunctions due to computers overheating, the real criticism – that an aeronautics firm spends billions on the plane, but recycles cheap air conditioners to keep its vital parts cool – gets lost amidst endless shots of eggheads in their underwear and sped-up footage of bystanders fleeing. Again, the movie can’t settle on a tone. Finally, there is a running gag about Muntz getting shot in the same foot repeatedly, which isn’t really funny in the first place, and has the secondary problem of bad timing, turning a serious scene into what feels like a laboriously-long improv where Chase whines about getting blood on his carpet.

The filmmakers also forget many people actually think weapons are cool. One would think effective satire about America’s predilection for guns and ammo should, if anything, be extraordinarily pro-weapon, which is not what we get, save for a sequence in which Ray cuts loose with a flame-thrower (against, strangely enough, the film’s repeat target: Hispanics). Early on, Muntz demonstrates a tape recorder that can turn into a miniature machine gun, a device that’s effective, but not cool-looking. Meanwhile, Muntz and Ray may be ordinary Joes the viewer can relate to, but their business looks conspicuously two-bit; their garage makes being in the death instruments industry seem downright unglamorous.

Still, the coup de grace might be the Peacemaker itself, a missile-packing, black-skinned thingamajig that isn’t the least bit compelling visually, and is aided by effects that look dated compared to “Star Wars,” which came out six years earlier. For all of “Deal of the Century’s” pontificating, going so far as to juxtapose President Reagan’s speeches on Russia’s missile superiority over the U.S.’ with shots of an arms convention that looks an awful lot like a car show – thereby implying weapons are really luxury goods, not necessities as the president would have us believe – given the sheer ineptitude at just being reasonably entertaining, it’s the film that’s the real rip-off.

Overall rating: * (out of ****)

POSTAL (2007), dir. Uwe Boll

POSTAL (2007), dir. Uwe Boll

Thank God for Dave Foley. Praise Allah for him, while you’re at it. At one point in Postal, the character he plays, a New Age cult leader and charlatan who owes over a million dollars to the Internal Revenue Service, responds to something one of his followers says with, “That’s a beautifully… retarded sentiment.”

You get the feeling this moment was improvised, and indeed, Foley spent years refining his deadpan style of delivery on the comedy series The Kids in the Hall. Just putting him in a scene results in off-the-cuff moments that feel genuinely fresh – which is a quality sorely missing from most of Uwe Boll’s would-be comedy.

Now, it may seem unfair to pick on Postal, given it was based on a video game, which rarely results in a memorable film. But according to the press notes, the game only supplied the anarchic plot and ultra-violence; it was Boll who turned it into a spoof of contemporary America touching on everything from politicians and religion to corporat culture eand mass consumerism.

Postal takes place in a mid-western city called Paradise, and revolves around Dude (Zach Ward), a much put-upon everyman who hatches a plan with his Uncle Dave (Foley) to steal a shipment of phallic-shaped “Krotchy” dolls, which are the number one toy this holiday season. Unfortunately, the toys have also been targeted by Islamic terrorists led by Osama bin Laden (Larry Thomas). They plan to use the vials of avian flu smuggled inside the dolls to bring about America’s destruction.

The movie is faithful to its video game roots as far as serving up tasteless violence, which victimizes society’s most defenseless first. Sometimes, the outrageousness and Boll’s attempts at satire meet with decent results, such as a scene inside a welfare office. After a crazed gunmen opens fire on unflinching government workers, Dude ends up crawling from corpse-to-corpse looking for a ticket so he can be next in line.

I also laughed when Boll, one of most maligned filmmakers working today, appeared as himself and confirmed one of his critics’ claims, that his movies are financed with Nazi gold. “We have to do something with all that gold,” he says.

The jokes are delivered rat-a-tat-style along the lines of Airplane. But Postal also wants to be a satire, and on that level, doesn’t succeed. The problem is Boll chooses targets that are just too obvious. Haven’t there been enough films within the past 30 years that argued people living in trailer parks have poor grooming habits, corporations are crazy, Americans love their guns, and the media relishes violence?

Granted, Postal does make a claim that religious followers are either bubble-headed dupes or out for their own selfish rewards, and that may be novel, but I didn’t think the movie did enough with that idea.

Attempting to push the envelope, Boll even has his bin Laden impersonator call up George W. Bush about insurance claims on an oil refinery, but really, how daring is making fun a widely-unpopular president?

Finally, I think Boll missed the boat by not satirizing, of all things, video games themselves. On second thought, given how joyless the action sequences are for those who can only sit by and watch, maybe he does unwittingly take a swipe at this form of entertainment, where the only catharsis is for whoever holds the controller.

Overall rating: * (out of ****)