The male loneliness epidemic has emerged as a hot topic of conversation in a post-COVID age where the world is collectively lonelier than ever. In digital spaces, prominent, right-wing figures prey upon men’s insecurities born out of that loneliness and place the blame on outside factors, particularly their lack of romantic interest from women.
Rather than take responsibility or reflect on the cause of their loneliness, the men who fall victim to this grift move through the world angry that the world robbed them of the opportunities, partners, and lives they are “owed.” They end up turning the male loneliness epidemic into a self-inflicted one, creating an environment that is miserable and unsafe, continuing their loneliness. Giselle Bonilla’s Sundance comedy, The Musical, takes this type of man and envisions him as a middle school teacher.
Doug (Will Brill), a disgruntled playwright, ponders over what went wrong in his relationship with fellow teacher Abigail (Gillian Jacobs). He’s desperate to achieve the big dreams he was meant to pursue and spends most of his day isolated, searching for (non-diverse) playwriting grants that will kickstart his dream.
Meanwhile, Doug’s nemesis, the charming and socially aware Principal Brady (Rob Lowe), prepares the staff to set their sights on securing the Blue Ribbon of Academic Excellence. Doug plans to go about his business with the school’s production of “West Side Story” until he discovers that Abigail is now dating Principal Brady. This discovery sends Doug over the edge, deciding to stage a musical so offensive it will ruin Brady’s chances at the Blue Ribbon.
The entirety of this film’s cynical humor hinges on the character of Doug. If you can’t sell Doug, this movie is dead in the water. Luckily, Brill, a Tony winner, completely disappears into Doug. For a man with such an inflated sense of self-importance, Brill has Doug take up as little space as possible; whenever he’s so much as near another human, it’s like we’re watching someone interact with another person for the first time ever.
He doesn’t play Doug as a joke, though. Brill completely surrenders to the darkness swirling inside this man. Whether it’s his loathsome gaze from the corner of a room (chillingly captured by Bonilla’s expert framing) or the way he spits writer Alexander Heller’s irreverent monologues with such vitriol, Brill works overtime to make sure Doug is the most unlikable character we meet this year.
Bonilla fully leans in, sometimes giving the audience moments that feel ripped from Taxi Driver (1976). Doug is genuinely chilling and uncomfortable to watch. Alienating as he may be, the decisions in his portrayal effectively paint the argument that the male loneliness epidemic is self-inflicted. Doug is alone because he is difficult to be around. He blames his shortcomings as a playwright on diversity initiatives and politics rather than having his craft say something meaningful.
He contrasts beautifully with Lowe’s optics-obsessed Principal Brady, who almost floats into every room he enters. It’s not much of a stretch for Lowe, but it works perfectly against Brill’s simmering portrayal. He also does a terrific job with Brady’s smaller nuances as he strives to create an inclusive community out of fear of being cancelled rather than actually being inclusive.
The other major standout performance comes from Nevada Jose, who plays Mikey, Doug’s right-hand man. Jose matches Brill beat for beat as he does the teacher’s bidding. As production trudges on, we watch Mikey slowly transform, indoctrinated by Doug’s worldview disguised as “standing up the machine.”
The entire cast completely sells the gasp-inducing comedy that will surely polarize audiences. It’s dry and jarring but entirely in service of our main character’s worldview. Unlike Brady, Doug doesn’t care for optics. At one point, Doug casts a white girl (Chyler Emery Stern) as Maria in their initial production of West Side Story over a Latine student, Lata (Melanie Herrera), insisting that it’s fine because she has the best voice. Doug clearly feels slighted by diversity and inclusion (he searches for non-diverse playwriting grants), and he thinks he’s doing his students a service by committing to being politically incorrect.
Political incorrectness takes center stage with their finished production, a set piece that had my jaw plummeting to the earth’s core. The joke of it all is undermined by a way-too-early reveal. Had Bonilla and Heller left smaller bread crumbs instead of blowing the joke, the shock of the completed musical would’ve been all the more effective. That’s not to say it isn’t funny or effective, but it loses a bit of its weight when the film gives very obvious context to the show barely an hour in.
The other facet keeping this film from achieving absolute greatness stems from some underdevelopment with Abigail and Brady. Although the point is that Doug is utterly infatuated with Abigail despite not being together that long or publicly, she’s just sort of there. It would be nice to fully utilize a talent like Jacobs in this role and make the character feel fleshed out. There could have been a way to make her lack of dimensionality feel intentional and tied to Doug’s perspective had Heller wanted to go that route, but here she just feels like an afterthought.
Likewise, we don’t get too much insight into why Doug hates Brady so much. Again, it’s apparent that the conflict really stems from Doug’s own insecurity, but that’s not given the time or attention to breathe and land. We are left to fill in a lot of the blanks.
The humor is alienating, and audiences may leave feeling a bit hollow, but Bonilla actively silences anyone who says you cannot make “edgy” comedy anymore. The Musical’s edge serves a purpose, though, and isn’t solely there to shock (shocking as it may be). This is a darkly comedic showcase of a man who makes his insecurity everyone else’s problem under the guise of rebellion on the largest scale he can muster.
Review Courtesy of Adam Patla
Feature Image Courtesy of Sundance Institute