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Hot Fuzz Directed by Edgar Wright

Edgar Wright’s parody trailer, Don’t, is the only good moment in Grindhouse. It stands out for having a sense of what’s ridiculous—something Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino lack. In under three minutes, Wright perfectly conveys the trashiness of horror films while mocking their ludicrous hard-sell. Then he redeems it all: His mock title is not just a punchline; its savvy advice is, well, Godardian. Such brilliant, critical regard of pop culture is combined with storytelling flair throughout Wright’s new full-length movie, Hot Fuzz.

Wright’s premise is the same as his 2004 film Shaun of the Dead, a merry but slight zombie-movie spoof. Hot Fuzz takes the hyperactive narrative of Hollywood cop movies and relocates it in a small English town. But this time the gimmick is a masterstroke. Extending the ingenuity of Don’t’s pretend movie trailer, Hot Fuzz provides a full-scale analysis of genre and a commentary on society at the same time. Grindhouse—a fanboy bacchanal—ignores the real world and is politically obtuse, while Hot Fuzz mixes the fine English comedy tradition of social and behavioral observation with audacious pop references. (One disgruntled cop is recognized by his customary gripe: “Nobody tells me Nuthin’!”)

Hot Fuzz’s concept, Wright’s second collaboration with actor/writer Simon Pegg, comes at just the time that American action movies have mindlessly resigned from any social or political significance. And Hot Fuzz is the richer for jovially insisting that the deepest pleasures of action movies don’t come from explosions and chase scenes, but seeing characters realize their place in the world and acting on it—enthusiastically.

Simon Pegg’s Nicholas Angel is a gung-ho, media-celebrated London cop. “You continue to be exceptional, and we can’t have that. You make the others look bad,” his superiors complain—expressing the professional mediocrity that infects film culture as much as law enforcement. Angel gets reassigned from flashy Tony Scott-chaos to the quiet Merchant-Ivory suburb, Sandford. Yet, his duty-bound proficiency (specified by his husbandry of a Japanese Peace Lily) uncovers a local conspiracy. Cop movie paranoia is comically reignited

Wright and Pegg knowingly reactivate cop movie conventions. Angel’s by-the-book, super-efficient character is defined in a fish-out-of-water setting, replete with British eccentrics and pop tunes. But this long, multi-leveled wind-up leads to an exultant big finish. Layering musical, visual and verbal jokes about Angel’s mission makes Hot Fuzz a likable satire of cop-movie expectations (whereas the calculated lack of surprise and self-satisfied grisliness made Grindhouse a depressing return to formula). Angel’s suspicions about Sandford’s town fathers are complicated by his growing friendship with Danny (affable Nick Frost), son of the town’s police chief (Jim Broadbent). Where American cop movies pose buddy-system clichés against the impersonal nature of big-city policing, Hot Fuzz restores a sense of personal obligation through Angel bonding with Danny. It’s a serious notion lightly conveyed.

Hot Fuzz’s marvelous cast (from Billie Whitelaw to Paddy Considine) asserts a comedic sense of community. It’s a British Music Hall version of the social myths that cop movies inherited from American westerns. They’re paying tribute to what is most human in an increasingly dehumanized pop genre now gone global. When Angel and Danny get inspired by a drugstore rack of cop-movie DVDs, these clichés are revitalized and given back their roots in cultural/social anxiety. This moment of truth derives from Danny’s infatuation with Kathryn Bigelow’s exotic 1991 film Point Break—a cop/surfer movie, freedom/friendship/fatherhood apotheosis. When Keanu doesn’t shoot the President Reagan-masked robber, it beautifully distills one’s ambivalence toward authority. Referring to Bigelow’s profound incident, Hot Fuzz proves our modern political crises are also cultural.

Wright and Pegg accept pop culture’s changed tone since Point Break, yet they submit today’s comic mayhem to travesty. A climactic fight in a scale-model replica of Sandford recalls David Fincher’s “Love is Strong” video for the Rolling Stones but plays out the idea of behemoths warring over civilization. Even a “fascist/hag” crossword puzzle joke sharpens language and class with Godardian purpose. This is better than Borat, more meaningful than Shaun of the Dead or the salacious Grindhouse. Wright has done the nearly impossible: Hot Fuzz satirizes pop conventions while making essential cultural myths irresistible fun. It’s an anti-zombie movie in the deepest, funniest sense.