from Film Threat
SPACE NEEDLE SATIRE
by KJ Doughton
Forget "Lord of the Rings" and "Star Wars." For a real mythology, check out "G-Sale," director Randy Nargi's clever, detailed spoof on garage sale culture. Remember the first time you saw Rob Reiner's classic "This is Spinal Tap," and couldn't tell whether you were watching the abysmal deterioration of a real band — or a brilliant mockumentary? The fact that "Tap" so convincingly balanced itself on that tightrope of "is it real, or is it Memorex," even to the point where you might be convinced that a late drummer did, indeed, "explode onstage," it created an entirely new genre. And if Reiner is the godfather of mockumentary comedies, Christopher Guest (appearing in "Tap" as tongue-flashing, amp-cranking guitarist Nigel Tufnel, before going on to direct his own films) is the movement's clown prince. With "Waiting for Guffman," "Best in Show," and "A Mighty Wind," Guest has created an influential niche from funny, fake documentaries.
Enter "G-Sale," which shares Guest's trademark shrewdness. Initially unveiled to the festival scene in 2003 and recently resurrected onto DVD, "G-Sale" champions subtle giggles over flatulence-powered, Farrelly Brothers humor. Remember the dry one-liners thrown out by a sarcastic grandparent or old college professor? That's the type you'll find here. There's nothing as side-splitting as the body-waxing sequence from "The Forty Year Old Virgin." However, it's likely that you'll carry Nargi's tart gang of obsessive-compulsive garage sale freaks in your long-term memory, reflecting back from time to time with a pleasant grin. How many contemporary comedies can generate guffaws without hawking shocks and pushing poop-jokes? "Napoleon Dynamite" is the only one that comes to my laugh-starved mind—until now.
Nargi's satire-rich onscreen playground is Bogwood, a Seattle-area suburb inhabited by slightly insane collectors. You know the type. They peruse newspapers for yard sales, show up an hour earlier than the announced start-times, then burn up afternoons at Value Village, Buffalo Exchange, and a dozen other "vintage" thrift shops. At night, they go online, haunting Ebay for that half-eaten hot dog found at last season's Super Bowl, or a hunk of used Kleenex that supposedly serviced Mick Jagger's nose. There's opinionated retiree Mr. Fenwick (Wantland Sandel), who resents his wife's plan to have an estate sale. "Estate," the crusty codger complains, implies that he's dead. And although Fenwick might be up in years, he's still a collection-crazed geek, fixated on mosses and lichens. "This one I got through the National Moss Association in Vancouver," he explains, proudly pointing out his sizable backyard accumulation of the thick green stuff.
Vicky Bell (Mary White), a pragmatic realtor who makes Martha Stewart come across like Oscar Madison, proposes a sickeningly functional Garage Sale Ratings System. "G" would indicate baby gear, "A" could represent antiques, and "CES" would identify a Certified Estate Sale. "To get certified," Bell elaborates, "you would need a death certificate." Just don't tell Mr. Fenwick.
Scott Burns is hilariously deadpan as one-time game designer Ed LaSalle, whose fame and fortune evaporated in one cruel twist of fate. "Game players went delusional," he describes of "Caves and Beasts," a particularly vivid role-play competition. "A secretary decapitated her boss. There is such a thing as bad publicity. That killed sales."
Perhaps most memorable of all is Dick Nickerson (Ted D'Arms), a bearded Teddy Bear of a commercial voice-over announcer. "My voice is at a frequency that many people have a hard time hearing," he explains. "It's ideal for disclaimers." Ultimately, Nickerson and a handful of other G-Sale terrorists mob the Fenwick's garage in hot pursuit of a valuable, antique board game. It's here that the "every man for himself" nature of Nargi's mercenary motley crew reaches a crescendo. "I don't know if this is worth anything," says one rabid deal-hunter to an accomplice, "but I want you to hold onto it, 'cause that little weasel wanted it!"
This is funny stuff. And like all great mockumentaries, "G-Sale" could easily be mistaken for a real doc, so convincing is its colorful cast of searchers, hawkers, and flippers. Viewers can be forgiven for exclaiming, "Hey—I know someone just like that guy!"