Much has been theorized about how “Jackass,” the MTV stunt show from the early 2000s that spawned multiple movies and enthralled a generation of young people with its gross-out and pain-inducing antics, exhibits an absurdist version of hyper-masculinity and genuine camaraderie. These men hit each other relentlessly, put their bodies at risk, and reveled in sidesplitting laughter as a warped way of bonding with each other physically.
Such an unruly approach to brotherhood also fuels “Crash Land,” actor Dempsey Bryk’s directorial debut, a movie as poignant as it is rooted in the crass humor, recklessness, and idiocy of young men whose preferred mode of diversion is to endure bodily harm for the sake of a “cool” video or simply a shared cackle. Punches to the genitals, stupidly daring acts involving fire or firearms while under the influence of alcohol are the daily bread of Bryk’s trio of amateur stuntmen, or stunt boys, in the small, isolated Canadian town of Inch.
When Darby (Billy Bryk, the director’s brother) dies unexpectedly, from an aneurysm and not as consequence of a stunt, his closest buds, Lance (Gabriel LaBelle) and Clay (Noah Parker) refuse to acknowledge those who claim his life and theirs amounted to nothing. To prove their detractors wrong, Clay suggests they make a movie, “the greatest of all time,” to be precise, which will combine preexisting footage of Darby and new scenes in which Clay will play him wearing a paper mask (it’s as ridiculous as it sounds). There’s a heartwarming idiocy to their pursuit, yet what festers underneath is their inability to process grief consciously and the fear that those who deem their existence meaningless might be right.
The technology available to the characters — a low-grade digital camcorder and flip phones — suggest they exist some time in the early 2000s. Grainy footage of the goofy, but nonetheless risky stunts they’ve carried out over the years reflects their carefree, extremely rough-around-the-ages personas and the wildness of their banter. That those clips come off as authentic outside of their aesthetic shoddiness, attests to Bryk’s casting choices and how these young actors can convincingly portrait lifelong friends with a shared, foolish devotion. LaBelle gives in to the walking ruckus that is Lance. An agent of chaos, his one-track-minded character is perpetually on the verge of an explosive reaction, which provides a healthy dose of amusement, but also makes him erratic and dangerous.
The film’s revelation is Parker, a Quebecois actor recently seen in the French-language drama “Who By Fire.” He holds the heart of “Crash Land” on his endearingly confused visage. Clay’s innocent expression of sadness after Darby’s passing gradually gives way to the face of a young man whose inner world is expanding as he considers that maybe amateur and vulgar stunts may not be a sustainable path forward — especially if other opportunities await outside of Inch’s limits. Each time Parker comes on screen works as a warm reminder that there’s soulfulness here, not just a trite “boys will be boys” tirade.
“Crash Land” takes a turn into the realm of expected tropes when introducing a romantic interest for Clay, who arrives as a catalyst for the guys to consider growing up. The soft-spoken, overprotected Jemma (Abby Quinn), a girl from Quebec in town for a while, doesn’t judge the boys, but takes their silly bravado and poor decision-making as a sincere, if misguided expression of who they are, but not the only thing they are. That includes the humorous neuroticism of Sander (Finn Wolfhard of “Stranger Things” fame), a third man in the operation (and an orphan) tasked with directing the Damsy tribute film. There’s a bit of a meta element at play since “Crash Land” is the newest feature from Kid Brother, a production company that Wolfhard and Billy Bryk co-founded, after “Hell of a Summer.”
The psychology that Bryk wrote for these young men is the key as to why these brutes are more lovable than unbearable. They move through the world unaware of the disconnect between how they understand their actions and how they are perceived. Despite what they’re known for in town — crashing out before ever taking off — Clay is heartbroken when learning that their neighbors see them as “bad boys.” In his mind, their wacky and irresponsible outings don’t come from a place of malice or a desire to harm anyone, but function as the language through which him and his friends communicate. Through the timid charisma of Quinn’s performance as Jemma, as the damsel in the equation who is not in distress but a voice of reason, Bryk doesn’t suggest Lance and Clay or even Sander should forsake the playfulness that bonds them, but allow themselves a chance to explore other facets of their selves. In turn, Jemma gets from them a modicum of their fearlessness.
A new entry into the “dudes rock” canon (movies that celebrate male camaraderie at its most earnest and less toxic) and simultaneously a coming-of-age yarn, “Crash Land” moves through familiar avenues structurally, yet its winsome nitwits become its greatest virtue.
