MICerz, the first feature from writer/director Omar Dzlieri, starts out as a bit cloying and even annoying, but as the story develops and we get to know the characters more, there’s something oddly endearing about this punk-ish film about some not-very-talented comedians attempting to carve out a tiny niche for themselves in a grimy, underground comedy club.
We enter this world via Arnold (Austin Torelli), a wannabe comedian living in LA who loses his job and his girlfriend in quick succession. He winds up living out of his van, which breaks down beside an underground comedy club, much to the annoyance of the volatile owner Dave (Joe Manente). But through sheer sad-sackery, Arnold becomes the club’s unofficial mascot, MC, and handyman, making friends with regular comedians and trying, and often failing, to get up onstage himself.
One of the confusing elements of MICerz is whether anyone is actually supposed to be funny. There are comedians whose entire schtick is shouting at the audience, others who are moderately successful on the comedy club circuit, and still others who are so high that it’s unclear if they even know where they are. There are talented musicians making little of their talent, and untalented gents who just use “fuck” every other word like it’s a substitute for wit. But this is where the film actually gets endearing, if one looks at it not as a story about wanting to do something without actually being good at it, and still chasing after your weird dream. There’s something charming about the willfulness with which the characters pursue their comedy, despite dying every day on stage, rattling off tired jokes and occasional zingers at each other.
The film certainly presents this as a primarily masculine world; there’s one female comedian, Nelly (Kaylah Pantaleon), just as brash and occasionally nasty as the men, but she’s given little to do beyond provide a quick nod in the direction of, yes, girls are comedians too. And the jokes, where there are jokes, are often either unfunny or incredibly predictable, with just the occasional glimpses into the hearts of people who are trying very hard to achieve just mediocrity. Dave shouts most of the time, berating his comedians and trying desperately to keep his club going, while Arnold himself is exactly what the others accuse him of being—a somewhat sad schlub who wants success without doing anything.
At this level, MICerz isn’t doing anything new that a good dozen slacker comedies haven’t also done, and the persistent excuses about male mediocrity does get a bit tiring. At least the film doesn’t really blame Arnold’s girlfriend for telling him to get out; she’s got her shit together, after all, and he’s not even trying. But how many times do we have to watch a loser dude being a loser and insist that he’s lovable because of it? Despite its punk vibes and easy sense of comradery, MICerz treads a well-worn path that leads to, well, a rather blithe acceptance that dudes will just be dudes. At least they’re not toxic.
Yet I can’t help but like it. At the jaded heart of the film is an idea about people caring about each other and finding their own weird little space, whether that’s a broken-down van or a comedy club with a toilet that hasn’t been cleaned since the eighties. The vast majority of comedians, actors, musicians, and performers will never be headliners, yet many still do it, for the meaning that it has for them, for the fun, for the friendship, and the need to bare one’s soul via art, even if that art is a fart joke. Whatever it is that MICerz wants to be, what it is, is a weirdly charming film about a bunch of fuck-ups who learned how to be fucked-up together. Maybe the real jokes are the friends we made along the way.