Klown: A Cringe-Along Comedy Odyssey

Don’t be fooled by the K: Klown isn’t yet another ill-advised Kardashian enterprise. It is, in fact, a cringe-tastic Danish comedy hailing from the Superbad meets Curb Your Enthusiasm school of humour, with a refreshingly improvised, quirky style—and a touching emotional story at its heart—that elevates it beyond the realms of your typical gross-out macho caper.

Frank (Frank Hvam) is something of a man-child: while he has all the trappings of a successful adult life (the nice house, the steady income, the long-term girlfriend) there’s something fundamentally infantile about him, ironically demonstrated most clearly in his complete lack of paternal instinct—he’s pretty much the polar opposite of an Emperor penguin. Pun intended.

It’s this shortcoming that leads his girlfriend Mia (Mia Lyhne) to keep her pregnancy from him, until an unfortunate public encounter with the local doctor lets the cat out of the bag. Faced with the very real prospect of his girlfriend considering an abortion, Frank desperately flails around for a way to prove that he has fatherhood potential.

Driven to drastic measures, he opts to ‘kidnap’ his 12-year-old nephew Bo (Marcuz Jess Petersen), a subdued, pensive little boy, and take him on a canoeing trip with best friend Casper (Casper Christensen)—a philandering, aviator-wearing, sex-crazed ego machine who has very different expectations of the trip (‘pussy’), and is less than thrilled about having to babysit a minor.

For me, the most engaging aspect of the story is Frank’s emotional arc and the development of his relationship with Bo, as he tentatively begins to earn the little boy’s trust and respect, discovering a new part of himself in the process—that elusive paternal instinct. For both Bo and Frank, it’s a coming-of-age narrative: on the one hand, Frank matures and learns to be paternal, and on the other, Bo comes out of his shell and makes the transition from boy to adolescent. Casper pretty much stays the same: a douchebag.

That’s not to say Klown is saccharine or sentimental by any means, though. The emotional notes are balanced by some truly shocking scenes that will have you teetering on the edge between laughing out loud and cringing into oblivion—and these are usually driven by Casper’s questionable (and prolific) sexual escapades.

While there’s certainly a liberal amount of slapstick and crude sexual humour in this vein, some of the funniest moments arise from the more subtle scenes that poke fun at awkward social situations—the uncomfortable silences, furtive glances, disapproving looks and passive-aggressive comments that define so many family get-togethers. It’s a source of comedy that’s been mined pretty exhaustively by the likes of Ricky Gervais (I’m thinking mostly of The Office) but that still remains universally funny.

Unusually, Klown was developed from a highly successful Danish sitcom of the same name—also under the directorship of Mikkel Nørgaard—which ran for six seasons from 2004 to 2009, starring Hvam and Christensen as fictionalised versions of themselves. This no doubt explains the relaxed, natural chemistry of the cast, which lends many of the scenes an off-the-cuff, unrehearsed quality that makes them all the more enjoyable.

Perhaps best of all, Frank and Bo’s trajectory from ‘mutual disdain’ to burgeoning friendship isn’t a straightforward, formulaic (cough, Hollywood) one. It’s littered with masterfully placed bumps and hiccups along the way that keep you rooting for Frank throughout and invested in the relationship, even as his actions become increasingly erratic and outrageous—an element that sets it apart from films like The Hangover (to which it’s been compared) that put more emphasis on straight-up farce than meaningful emotional resonance.

According to reports, there’s already an American remake of Klown in the works, with Warner Bros having snapped up the rights and Danny McBride rumoured to star. Here’s hoping they manage to do it justice—they’ll certainly have a tough act to follow.