But this is largely a showcase for Heidecker, and his serious talent of being able to create a character right in front of the camera. His Heidecker character is inspired by a titanic source—Trump, unmistakably—though the impression is not built from a squinting face or Dorito tan. Instead, it’s the way he constantly stumbles through simple sentences, very awkwardly singles out people of color when chatting up constituents, or clings to the childish name-calling of his “rat” opponent. All the while, Heidecker is very good at making himself look awful, with a baggy brown suit that desperately needs a tailor, or when beaching himself on his hotel room bed couch, surrounded by fast food. It’s one of the most nuanced and cathartic riffs on our commander in chief, showing such grotesque behavior for what it is without a chorus to validate him.
Recognizing the film's many inside jokes will make “Mister America” even more rewarding, but those familiar with “On Cinema” will have the greatest advantage when it comes to the movie’s comedic rhythm. Anyone who has seen Tim’s four-hour trial, or watched eleven seasons where Tim and Gregg barely review movies despite rating most of them five out of five popcorn bags, knows that the humor of “On Cinema” is a slow burn through bizarre character quirks, which then lead to abrasive, hilarious story developments. True to previous form, “Mister America” is more of a relaxed, giggly character study than one that treats gags like clockwork. In a natural tonal shift, this restraint makes way for a melancholy rumination on Tim's self-destructive narcissism, which gives the film its ultimate staying power. For someone who has co-engineered a meta-comic creative style while always maintaining control of his name, self-awareness is essential. In this universe—and on the campaign trail—it’s a tragedy when you’re the biggest clown of them all.
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