Review: Eastbound & Down

    

 With Steve Carell performing his Michael Scott-swan song on this season of “The Office”, it seems an appropriate time for American television audiences to welcome a new moronic hero into their hearts. There is no better contender than Danny McBride’s uproariously overconfident and painfully pathetic Kenny Powers on the side-splitting HBO series “Eastbound and Down”. The discontented one-time major league pitcher coping with life outside the limelight has entertained premium cable viewers for two seasons and “Eastbound” was recently renewed for a third. McBride and company execute a pitch-perfect amalgamation of the modern comedic tastes seen on the silver screen in the past several years, one-upping them all.  The result is an exceptional brand of comedy described by its creators as “low-brow high art.”

             
The fairly simple “Eastbound” plot is saturated with standard B-movie glory. Kenny Powers was once a promising big league pitcher with a 101-mile-an-hour fastball, a reputation as an outrageous showboat, and loads of fame. After squandering his celebrity as a womanizer and drug user, he lost his athletic physique and abilities, moves into the suburban family-home of his older brother, and begins work as a substitute P.E. teacher at his former middle school. In a new and uncomfortable environment, the only thing Kenny Powers hasn’t lost is his attitude of entitlement. This is where “Eastbound and Down” begins. Kenny Powers is hell-bent on reclaiming his rightful place on the mound, and his woebegone stubbornness and flair for melodrama only further the show’s B-movie pastiche.

“Eastbound” was created by Danny McBride (“Tropic Thunder”, “Pineapple Express”), Jody Hill (director, “Observe and Report”) and Ben Best, all graduates of the film program at University of North Carolina School of the Arts and now frequent collaborators. Will Ferrell and partner Adam McKay, who serve among the show’s executive producers, add to the show’s mainstream appeal and lend their recognizable brand of comedy to the plot and dialogue. Movie-goers were first introduced to the McKay-Ferrell brand of comedy in 2004’s “Anchorman”, McKay’s directorial debut.

 There are striking similarities between the characters and pacing in the McKay-Ferrell films (“Anchorman”, “Talladega Nights”, “Step Brothers”) and those of “Eastbound”. Kenny Powers is a likable but arrogant moron in the same vein as Ron Burgundy or Ricky Bobby, but considerably more vulgar, racist and self-destructive. Surprisingly, the beer-guzzling, coke-snorting has-been who plays his own autobiography-on-tape in the car for encouragement and peddles “You’re fucking out, I’m fucking in.” as a catchphrase seems substantially more authentic than the host of Ferrell characters who have come and gone without emitting more than an aura of manufactured shtick.

The authenticity in the Kenny Powers persona can be credited primarily to McBride’s somewhat unfamiliar face and acting skill, but is aided by real-life examples of bombastic athletes, like Atlanta Braves relief pitcher John Rocker, who generated immense controversy with racist and homophobic remarks a decade ago. While the Kenny Powers character is not based on Rocker, the show’s creators do cite his career as an inspiration.

            Though he’d prefer it that way, it would be unfair to attribute the success of the show entirely to the Kenny Powers character. The well-cast “Eastbound and Down” boasts a small group of core cast members and a parade of reoccurring guest stars. Steve Little provides a uniquely odd performance as Stevie Janowski, the band teacher turned Powers-disciple who blindly mistakes Kenny’s abuse as affection. Will Ferrell provides an overstated, but funny performance in season one as Ashley Schaeffer, the owner of a car dealership who exploits Kenny’s former fame to sell BMWs. In season two, which documents Kenny’s foray into Mexican baseball, Don Johnson aptly plays Kenny’s long-lost father, hiding out in Mexico. Similarly, Matthew McConaughey cameos as a homosexual minor league scout who offers Kenny a spot at training camp. 

            Instead of cramming 25 episodes into a season and dragging out plot points, like most modern American television comedies, the first two seasons of “Eastbound and Down” consist of only 13 episodes, emulating the six-episode series tradition of British sitcoms. The first six-episode season documents Kenny’s adjustment to life in his hometown, his quest to win back his high school sweetheart and his ill-fated attempts at reclaiming stardom. Then, when you thought Kenny Powers couldn’t sink any lower, season two opens with Kenny’s debut as a reprobate cockfighter living in a Mexican barrio, having fled the reality of his inadequacies. With Mexico as his playground, Kenny Powers has plenty of chances to show off his xenophobia and indulge his vices.   

Despite its absurdity, the Kenny Powers character has a remarkable ability to evoke empathy from viewers. After watching a few episodes, viewers will feel they know Kenny and have expectations as to how he’ll behave. It’s quickly realized that in the misguided reality of Kenny Powers, he is doing the best he can and is deserving of support, even in his most simple-minded and self-indulgent pursuits. Powers casually tosses empty road beers out of his car window, uses drugs and discusses sex acts in the presence of schoolchildren, shamelessly derides cultures other than his own, and is legitimately unaware of any of his wrongdoings.

In the final words of his spoken word autobiography, Powers says, “If there's one thing I've learned through all my adventures and conquests, it's that some people are just wired for success. I had no choice when it came to being great. I just am great. I'm not trying to sound cocky or full of myself, but Kenny Powers has a sneaking suspicion that no matter what comes his way he will always be great. Because that's just the way shit works sometimes.” He really isn’t trying to sound cocky or full of himself. That’s just Kenny Powers.