Nostalgia drove me to the theater, and part of me was frightened when purchasing tickets, not because I feared being one of a handful of adults in a theater replete with children – much less the only one without his own progeny in tow – but because of what could have happened to The Muppets. Would they suffer the fate of last year’s Alice in Wonderland, chocked full of kitchy antics and silliness (Fudderwacking?!)? Would they be chartered down the Smurf route of potty humor and smurf-laden slang and euphemisms?
Pleasantly, the answer to both questions is no, something that is obvious from the opening musical number of the film, a scene that announces the innocent, clever, intelligent humor and whimsy of the Muppets have returned to the screen.
The story is simple: three friends, Gary (Jason Segel) Mary (Amy Adams), and Walter (Gary’s brother, a Muppet) head to Los Angeles – Gary and Mary to celebrate their tenth anniversary (though they live separately and sleep in their own twin-sized beds) and Walter to see the currently closed Muppet Studios made famous by the The Muppet Show in the 1970s.
Arriving at the studio, they find it condemned and on the verge of being purchased by Tex Richman (Chris Cooper), a wealthy oil tycoon who intends to raze the entire property for the wealth of the black gold underneath. To avert this, the Muppets must raise $10 million by the stroke of midnight to save their studios and preserve their rights to the name “Muppets” – two things that Kermit agreed to sign away years prior when the Muppet’s collective future looked infinite. Now, however, they’ve all grown apart, gone on their separate ways, and occupy different, disparate pockets of society: Fozzie headlines a Reno-based group called the Moopets, in which Dave Grohl is the tambourine player; Gonzo, accompanied by his faithful brothel of chickens, is CEO of a toilet company, The Royal Flush; Animal is working on his anger issues with Jack Black at a celebrity retreat; Rolf is relaxing in a hammock; Miss Piggy is fashion editor at Vogue Paris, where Emily Blunt serves as her receptionist.
What’s a frog and his three new comrades to do? Well, get the gang together and put on a telethon of course. There are a number of highlights to The Muppets, but one of its best might be its cognizance that it is a film. In another movie, this could get tiring when the audience constantly feels intruded upon by the characters, but The Muppets are noninvasive: they don’t break the wall and speak to the audience; rather, they acknowledge they are on stage, but only to each other.
For instance, after tracking down Fozzie, Gonzo and Animal, the observation is made that “this could take a while,” and a proposal that they should “use a montage to get the rest of the gang.” Thus, brief clips overlaid with music of a large shepherds hook removing Muppets from their respective places. The same tongue-in-cheek joke exists when the gang has to “travel by map” to Paris – because it’s too far to drive “by car.” While obviously silly, “travelling by map” simultaneously pays tribute to classic films like Casablanca and Raiders of the Lost Ark, but it also reminds the audience of the fantastical world affiliated with the Muppets.
And, this is something else that is – and always has been – refreshing about the Muppets: they aren’t outcasts from another dimension or fantastical land; on the contrary, they exist in what we perceive to be our world while transforming this familiarity into a fantasy. In turn, there’s a metaphysical dichotomy at work here that asks us to recognize the innocence and whimsy that resides under our work-filled, frenetic days. Certainly, three-foot-high frogs in love with pigs don’t commute with us in the daily toil, but the silliness of our own routines follows us everywhere, even when we try to mask it, ignore it, or hide it away from others.
Truthfully, our tendency to revel in tension rather than fantasy could be a cynical indictment levied on us by The Muppets, but it never goes so far as to be righteous or pedantic. Instead, it touches on various issues to acknowledge they exist but never tries to reform them. Take for example “Punch Teacher,” a show that has ultimately replaced the joie de vivre of the original Muppet Show. There’s plenty criticized in a very short scene (the feeling of futility in education, the angst of the youth, the endemic exhibitionism and violence on television) but there’s no long-winded, metaphor-laden exposition, just an allusion that quickly becomes a plot point: “Punch Teacher” gets abruptly cancelled, leaving the television executive (Rashida Jones) with a time slot to fill. Enter the Muppets.
Likewise, Tex Richman, who could only be more of a perfect cartoon villain if he constantly twirled a black mustache betwixt his fingers while producing “menacing laugh” after “menacing laugh.” (Those who see the film will giggle here.)
The Muppets also avoid unnecessarily filling us in on the happenings of the last fifteen years. The cause of the animosity between Kermit and Piggy is unmentioned (we only know it exists), and Fozzie’s time in Reno seems as natural as his graying eyebrows. Throughout the two puppetry, comedy, and musical interludes, there is very little forced exposition – and that which exists is quickly pointed out and mocked by the cast.
The most remarkable moment of The Muppets came before the film even began and completely allayed my initial fears of buying a ticket – of the hundred or so people in this United Artist theater, there were less than a handful of children. Everyone around me and my companion were adults, and each of us laughed wholeheartedly, frequently, and genuinely. Perhaps we were euphoric with nostalgia, or perhaps The Muppets has been released at just the right time. Perhaps, in the end, this film is a fine analgesic for our current state in this world. And, this is not to say that we are constantly imbibing murky cynicism and chasing it with futility; rather, The Muppets remind us that there exists a capricious, unaffected child in each of us, and maybe, at times, that should be our armor.
