𝐃 𝐗 𝐌 𝐈 𝐍 𝐈 𝐐

There aren’t many fun movies anymore. Most new comedies feel like they’re trying to prove something. They come with a built-in thesis about inequality, politics, or identity, and the jokes are often secondary to the message. The humor is dry. The scripts are self-aware. Everything is a reference to something else.

So lately, I’ve been going back to old-school Will Ferrell movies. The ones that are loud, ridiculous, and fully committed to being dumb in the best possible way. The comedy is thick. It doesn’t pause to make sure the audience is in on the joke, because the joke is everywhere. It’s in the voice, the costume, the absurdity of someone giving an Oscar-worthy monologue about NASCAR or Shake ’n Bake.

But what I really like are the comedies that capture a very specific kind of Americanness. Big cars. Bigger personalities. The kind of exaggerated patriotism that folds into parody before you even know you’re laughing. These films don’t pretend to be deep, but they often surprise you. Somewhere between the pratfalls and explosions, you find a story about growth. The main character messes up. Then they get humbled. Then they get better. It’s simple, and it works.

There’s no obvious virtue signaling. But there are virtues. Friendship, family, loyalty. The idea that someone who’s arrogant and broken can still be forgiven. That we’re shaped by the people who love us, whether or not we deserve it. And honestly, that’s enough for me.

Sometimes I don’t want a clever metaphor. I want a stupid joke told well. I want a character yelling in an American flag jumpsuit. I want something that knows it’s ridiculous and still finds a way to mean something.

Because deep down, those movies are still about how we take care of each other. And that’s the kind of comedy I’ll keep coming back to.