The Foot Fist Way
Tae kwan do instructor Fred Simmons (Danny McBride) is a dude high on his own fumes, treating every aspect of his life as if it were mortal combat. He's still dining out on an early `90s championship, and since then has missed no opportunity to toot his own horn, while growing ever flabbier and more pathetic. When Fred finds out that his far-too-hot-for-him trophy wife (Mary Jane Bostic) took her office party shenanigans far beyond Xeroxing her boobs, he explodes into a full-fledged existential meltdown that threatens to burn down his personal ego castle. If the movie looks like it was made for about 11 cents, that's because it basically was, shot in 19 days as a self-financed effort by McBride and writer/director Jody Hill. McBride fully commits to this ass-clown; whether he's taking out his aggressions on an 8-year-old or clumsily hitting on a female student mere minutes after she signed up for the class, he sells every seedy detail. The problem is that a little bit of this goes a long, long way, yet Foot Fist keeps working the tender spots with an annoying barrage of all-too-familiar jokes. Cluelessness is only funny in spurts, and watching Fred try to sort it out goes from amusing diversion to squirm-in-your-seat agony.