Reynolds rises above dog testicles
The Stanford Daily
March 8, 2002

By Marika Knowles 

Bawdy bathroom humor redeemed by an uplifting moral message seems to be the gist of “National Lampoon’s Van Wilder,” which opens nationwide on April 5. Ryan Reynolds, the star of the film, who I interviewed last week in San Francisco, says that the film makes time to be “broad.” It is telling that when I first listened to my tape-recording of the interview, I thought that by “broad,” Reynolds was referring to a particular type of expansive sexual humor in which women are termed as “broads,” a term that connotes coarseness and crudity. 

However, this was not the case. Reynolds used “broad” to refer to the film’s “broader moments,” in which the movie supposedly departed from such ticklish jokes as a dog with gigantic testicles, to expound on the value of philosophical tidbits like “living life with no boundaries.” The result of these departures is to allow the film to spring between two extremes of un-originality: tasteless, middle-school humor and self-help morality. 

On the other hand, the film could be viewed as mocking of this very morality, just as Chevy Chase’s earlier National Lampoon films made happy-go-lucky parodies of family values. While I reluctantly approve of the film as a sort of neo-Animal House reform venture, in which the frat boys of “Animal House” suffer the revenge of the rising, polyester-shirt-wearing alternative Van Wilder, I cannot vouch for the film as a convincing attempt to discuss serious moral messages.

The film chronicles the story of a college student chronically unable to graduate from college, who stays on at Coolidge College to throw excellent parties and to help less fortunate students gain acceptance and cool points. 

Tara Reid plays Gwen, Van Wilder’s love-interest, a student journalist who has none of the usual handicaps, like glasses and a ponytail, of the conventional “unconventional” female love interest. In this respect, the film dumbs down a dumb trope — the cool guy being attracted to the uncool or “quirky” girl with a metaphorical paint splash on her overalls. Reid lacks the paint splash and seems the obvious choice for Van’s wandering affection. 

Despite his character’s lack of definition, however, Reynolds is the one thing that manages to stay afloat amidst the film’s confusion of eclairs encrusted with canine semen and sexually rapacious hair-piece-wearing guidance counselors. Reynolds is a graceful star who handles some of the film’s worst moments — like when pooch’s buoyant testicles pop up out of a hot tub into Van Wilder’s face — with just the right bit of ironic distance. 

Reynolds’ biggest career moment before “National Lampoon” was the TV sitcom “Two Guys and a Girl,” which was recently canceled but fairly popular. He’s gorgeous on screen, although I didn’t quite sense the out-of-this-world comic timing that the press pack lauded him for. 

Reynold’s greatest skill seems to be the ability to float above and beyond a poor movie by simply raising his eyebrows at every bad joke, a quality he shares with Chevy Chase. On that note, it’s amazing how much bathroom humor that “Caddyshack” was able to get away with — the candy bar-shit in the pool — that “Van Wilder” just can’t seem to carry successfully.

When I spoke with Reynolds last week in San Francisco, he discussed the film eagerly and seemed conscious of its problems. Ryan wore a hip ensemble of pin-striped dark denim jeans, a short-sleeved white shirt and an argyle sweater vest. 


INTERMISSION: What are your long-term career goals? Do you want to keep on doing the kind of comedy you were doing in “National Lampoon”?

REYNOLDS: Well, I don’t think anybody wants to do that. Obviously I want to have a well-rounded career. I’m not going to try to franchise this movie or anything like that. People judge comedy in some different category than acting. I mean I’m playing a fucking role like I would any other role. I read it; this is my interpretation of it. My long-term goals are to continue to act, not to continue to be funny. 

The last three movies I’ve made have been stuff that I’m very proud of and that I’ve worked hard on and that I think have a diversity. If you were to put them all back-to-back, I’d like to think that a lot of people wouldn’t know it was the same person. The last thing I did before this one I was 20 pounds heavier and had a beard down to my neck. So it’s kind of fun to lose yourself in those things, but I’m not one of those actors who wants to be a chameleon, or anything like that. I’d like you to be able to tell it was the same person.

INTERMISSION: What’s the difference for you between improv comedy and stage acting. Do you prefer one or the other?

REYNOLDS: I think being on stage is more of an immediate gratification obviously than being on film. In comedy especially you’re surrounded by a whole crew and, although it’s fun to hear, there’s a lot of stifled laughter. I like people to be able to express themselves however they want right then and there. But working on a film you can create a reality that you could never ever reproduce in front of live people.

INTERMISSION: Have you ever had any really terrible experiences as an improv comic? 

REYNOLDS: Oh my god, yes. I can’t think of too many incidents that have been horrible, but I mean you get that hot face and your ears are burning and you’re sweating. We’ve all experienced it, whether you’re at a party or on a stage in front of 1,000 people, I mean it’s all the same thing. It sucks. The worst experience I’ve ever had: John Laroquette show, I played his son, we went up in front of the live audience, and I couldn’t remember my own name, let alone my lines. I just died; I literally just died out there. I cannot think of a more perfunctorily terrible feeling than when I walked out on that stage to deliver my first line, and I had looked at it backstage 100 times and it wouldn’t stay in my head, it’s the worst feeling on earth.

INTERMISSION: So why did you decide to pursue a career in film and TV as opposed to improv comedy?

REYNOLDS: Money. You can’t even make a living, I couldn’t support myself doing improv comedy. It’s right along the same lines as playing old Bryan Adams songs on the street for a crowd of four. It doesn’t add up. 

INTERMISSION: What do you think about Van Wilder’s philosophy of life, you know, living life with no judgements, living life in the present . . . ?

REYNOLDS: I think they’re words to live by, I mean I think those moments in the film are certainly more valuable than a breast joke. I think the movie’s strong point is pace, finding the right moments to be broad, trying, in this sort of genre, which can be sort of a cheap-shot genre, finding some ways to earn, if I may say so, those broader moments. That’s the most valuable thing in the movie.