by John P. Meyer

Primitivist filmmaking at its most naive -- and disgusting.

What the Hell was filmmaker Jared Hess thinking when he made Gentlemen Broncos, which may be the worst film I've seen this year? (It's certainly the most disappointing one.)

To clarify, this is a rhetorical question, because for the viewer it's all too plain what Hess was thinking: He seems to have been striving to recreate that naive, geeky vibe he achieved so winningly with Napoleon Dynamite, and then abandoned somewhat with the bigger-budgeted, Jack Black-driven follow-up, Nacho Libre.

But here's where he erred: In attempting to return to deep niche nerdiness, Hess has gone too damn deep: He's plumbed the very depths of unsavory and abnormal characterization, and what he dredges up is more gross and nasty than quirky and cool.

Benjamin (Michael Angarano, playing the only character in the piece who is even marginally sympathetic) is a young man whose world revolves around fantasy and science fiction. He's a would-be novelist, and his mom (Jennifer Coolidge, as the pathetic Judith) has arranged for Benjamin to attend Cletus Fest, a weekend-long fantasy writing workshop.

On the bus ride to the workshop, Benjamin makes the acquaintance of Tabatha (Halley Feiffer), who might also qualify for sympathetic character status if she wasn't completely enthralled by the abhorrent Lonnie Donaho (Héctor Jiménez, who spends the entire time on camera with his mouth stretched open in a grisly rictus). Lonnie has convinced Tabatha (and a few other back country rubes) that he's a talented auteur; his filmmaking oeuvre serves as one of several backstory threads involving Benjamin's fictional creations.

At Cletus Fest (the titular origin of which is never explained), Benjamin meets his idol: a bombastic and blatantly condescending fantasy novelist named Chevalier (Jemaine Clement, from The Flight of the Conchords) -- who might or might not be at least partially modeled after Harlan Ellison. (Notice me hedging my bets here with all the modifiers. Just in case you're reading this, Mr. Ellison. Sir.)

Chevalier's stories, along with the illustrations he produces to accompany them, are infantile, Freudian, and mammary-fixated -- though they do seem to take place in outer space and involve laser blasts. (From mammary cannons.)

In the workshop he leads, Chevalier puts forth his theory that the naming of one's fictional characters is key to the success of the work. He homes in on the suffix portion of character names, suggesting that they are most powerful if they end with a variation of "nous." To the young lady in the class who has named her protagonist "Teacup," he recommends "Traginous" as a preferred alternative.

Benjamin, along with dozens of other workshop attendees, turns in his novella (Yeast Lords), in the hopes that it will be judged by Chevalier as worthy of prize-winning status. Instead, the egotistical Chevalier steals the plot, renames the characters (one of whom -- Bronco, as played by Sam Rockwell in Yosemite Sam hair -- is based on Benjamin's deceased father) and turns the book in to his editor as his own creation. What eventually results is a paperback bestseller called The Chronicles of Brutus and Balzaak.

Intercut into the real-time narrative, we are "treated" to scenes from Yeast Lords in three different versions: Benjamin's idealized one, Chevalier's aberrant neurotic transgendered one, and Lonnie Donaho's actually-filmed one. The props and effects employed in all three versions are laughably crude -- which is undoubtedly part of the joke, but it leads one to wonder who besides Jared Hess and his wife Jerusha (credited as co-writer) thought that any of this could have been in any way amusing.

Starring as Bronco in Donaho's production is a dead-lame, long-haired loser named Dusty (Mike White, who's also one of Gentlemen Broncos' producers). In his non-moviemaking life, Dusty has taken on the position of Benjamin's "angel" through Judith's church. As we soon discover, Dusty's influence on Benjamin will prove to be anything but supportive. His proclamation of "Your Mom is hot!" offers a clue as to why he might have applied for the "angel" position in the first place.

If you're into regurgitation and/or excrement as a comic (or dramatic, or symbolic, or perhaps allegorical) film device, then you're going to love this movie, because it's full of it. Literally. From a giant boa constrictor copiously voiding its bowels, to blowgun darts dipped in steaming turds, to romantic kisses laced with vomit, this movie has it covered.

Once the denouement finds Benjamin achieving a level of redemption, there are likely to be far fewer audience members to appreciate it than the number who entered the theater to begin with. And I don't blame them for walking out.

(What the Hell was Jared Hess thinking?)

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