My Comfort Blanket Movie: Jackass 3D | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

My Com­fort Blan­ket Movie: Jack­ass 3D

23 Jun 2020

Words by Hannah Strong

A laughing man wearing a yellow T-shirt and sunglasses, sitting comfortably on a large bean bag.
A laughing man wearing a yellow T-shirt and sunglasses, sitting comfortably on a large bean bag.
Han­nah Strong delves into the myr­i­ad thrills and spills of MTV’s finest export.

When I was a child, cer­tain tele­vi­sion pro­grammes were off-lim­its with­in our house: Fam­i­ly Guy, South Park, Beav­is and Butt-Head; and cru­cial­ly, the jew­el in MTV’s crown, Jack­ass. In part these shows were shunned because I had a fair­ly reli­gious father, but I think main­ly my moth­er just thought they were crass, and thus chose to change the chan­nel when­ev­er they came with­in spit­ting dis­tance of our young eyes and ears in the liv­ing room where we watched television.

It’s not as though I grew up in a cul­tur­al black hole – I still had The Simp­sons, The Fresh of Bel Air and Buffy the Vam­pire Slay­er for my quick fix of 90s Amer­i­cana. But it did mean I missed out on a cer­tain cul­tur­al cache with some of my peers.

I was in my lone­ly first year of uni­ver­si­ty and a vora­cious con­sumer of pop cul­ture when I final­ly dis­cov­ered John­ny Knoxville and com­pa­ny, in part due to my exten­sive blog­ging on Tum­blr, where films and tele­vi­sion shows were con­densed to memes and sub­ti­tled screen­caps with a finesse no oth­er social media net­work has been able to repli­cate since.

My rea­son for final­ly watch­ing Jack­ass was sim­ple; I recog­nised the cute guy from Men in Black II, and then realised this was one of the things I’d nev­er been allowed to watch when I was younger. A fit of 18-year-old inde­pen­dence and obses­sion with social media brought that plas­tic Love­Film rental wal­let to my door, and a love affair began that’s still going strong almost a decade later.

Per­haps being raised on the slap­stick stylings of Mon­ty Python and The Young Ones paved the way for my fas­ci­na­tion with Jack­ass – even barred from watch­ing the show, my sib­lings and I enact­ed our own stunts from an ear­ly age, hurl­ing Bar­bi­es and Action Men out of our win­dows on lengths of elas­tic and rid­ing down our house’s rather steep dri­ve on an office chair. In my pre­teen days, pranks and prat­falls with my friends were all the rage, before I became a self-con­scious teenag­er who would soon­er die than make a fool out of her­self in public.

But my own expe­ri­ence with self-muti­la­tion and pain did not come from a desire to impress or to amuse oth­er peo­ple. I began to self-harm when I was 13 (long after the Bar­bi­es, long before Jack­ass) as a form of con­trol dur­ing the ear­ly days of my strug­gle with men­tal ill­ness. It was some time before I was diag­nosed, and it’s dif­fi­cult to say how this unhealthy cop­ing mech­a­nism impact­ed my reac­tion to with­stand­ing pain, but when I became acquaint­ed with Jack­ass, I was incred­i­bly unhap­py, and still self-harm­ing, some five years after it began.

My self-destruc­tive ten­den­cies were so dis­tinct from the ones I watched on screen, which seemed fuelled by an ado­les­cent fas­ci­na­tion with the lim­its of human endurance, rather than a desire to con­trol one’s body in the face of men­tal insta­bil­i­ty. But there was a kin­ship between per­former and view­er estab­lished, as I watched men will­ing to taser them­selves or drink each oth­ers’ sweat in the name of enter­tain­ment, push­ing the lim­its of human endurance and the patience of the BBFC.

Group of people in colourful festive attire celebrating outdoors.

This cheer­ful reck­on­ing with the fragili­ty of the human body and the fleet­ing, pos­si­bly incon­se­quen­tial nature of our very exis­tence rel­a­tive to the wider uni­verse is a balm for the soul for some­one as chron­i­cal­ly unwell as I am, but anoth­er ele­ment of Jack­ass has always spo­ken to me too. There’s a deep sense through­out the tril­o­gy (and the orig­i­nal tele­vi­sion show) of how deeply each of these men cares for each oth­er. Jokes, stunts and pranks aside, they’re quick to pick each oth­er up and dust each oth­er off.

Jack­ass 3D tips its hat to this with its delight­ful end cred­its sequence, which shows baby pho­tos of all the stars and footage from their ear­ly days as the enfant ter­ri­bles of cable tele­vi­sion, as well as a clip of Knoxville’s teenage daugh­ter Madi­son punch­ing direc­tor Jeff Tremaine with a box­ing glove, to which Knoxville replies That’s my girl!”

It’s entire­ly pos­si­ble that my love of the Jack­ass crew also stems from my own dif­fi­cult rela­tion­ship with men, pri­mar­i­ly my absen­tee father and the ones I have encoun­tered over the years who have shaped my atti­tudes towards inti­ma­cy and rela­tion­ships. I don’t like to talk about the neg­a­tive life expe­ri­ences that have shaped who I am as a per­son, but now I’m much old­er (and a mod­icum wis­er) now than I was when I became acquaint­ed with Knoxville, Marg­era and Steve‑O. I can under­stand why a group of chron­i­cal­ly imma­ture but ulti­mate­ly sweet men who have gen­uine affec­tion for each oth­er and no inter­est in doing harm to any­one but them­selves might appeal to me.

It’s a fan­ta­sy, but it’s a nice one, even with all the urine, fae­ces and vom­it, and hear­ing the gang speak can­did­ly about their own strug­gles with addic­tion, par­tic­u­lar­ly fol­low­ing the death of Jack­ass main­stay Ryan Dunn in 2011, has encour­aged me to con­sid­er my own reck­less behav­iour, par­tic­u­lar­ly dur­ing the depths of my depression.

I firmly believe that at some point in our lives, we all fall for the metaphorical soup.

There’s also the inter­tex­tu­al­i­ty of Jack­ass, which appeals to my sen­si­bil­i­ties as a meme his­to­ri­an and pro­found love of movies which acknowl­edge movies – in Jack­ass 3D, William Tell, Rocky and Duck Hunt all get a look-in, but it’s the recre­ation of the Max­ell advert using a jet plane engine which always blows my mind. In the after­math, the gang exper­i­ment throw­ing var­i­ous objects into its downstream.

When Bam Marg­era decides to uri­nate into the cur­rent, unsur­pris­ing­ly, it blows back and cov­ers him before he is lit­er­al­ly swept away. Knoxville, observ­ing, ges­tures to Marg­era. That’s the sto­ry of Jack­ass right there,” he says. Just piss­ing in the wind.” But as the old adage goes, to play a piano bad­ly, you have to know how to do it well; chaos reigns in the world of Jack­ass, but it’s always metic­u­lous­ly rendered.

As for Jack­ass 3D’s crown­ing glo­ry, I have tried many times to describe the per­verse joy I get out of the film’s open­ing stunt, which sees grown men being body slammed by a giant fibre­glass hand on bungees, while their com­rades pro­ceed to col­lapse into gid­dy hys­ter­ics at the car­nage. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it jus­tice since the great­est sum­ma­tion of the scene comes from Knoxville him­self, who squeals, incred­u­lous – while Ehren McGhe­hey lies dazed on the ground cov­ered in the debris of a tray­ful of food – He fell for the soup!” I think of this line more often than I think of per­haps any oth­er quote from film or literature.

I can under­stand the ret­i­cence of some to attribute val­ue to Jack­ass 3D, but for me there is noth­ing more I crave than the famil­iar­i­ty and decep­tive sim­plic­i­ty offered by it. Even the songs that play over the end cred­its, Karen O’s cov­er of If You’re Gonna Be Dumb, You Got­ta Be Tough’ and Weezer’s Mem­o­ries’, speaks to the show’s her­itage, but also encap­su­late every­thing it stands for: nos­tal­gia, cama­raderie, tom­fool­ery and a healthy dose of sheer, dumb luck.

At a basic lev­el, I just find Jack­ass fun­ny – but I also firm­ly believe that at some point in our lives, we all fall for the metaphor­i­cal soup. It’s the Jack­ass crew who taught me to be will­ing to laugh about it.

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