UNFROSTED - Mark Reviews Movies

Unfrosted, Netflix

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Review by Mark Dujsik | May 3, 2024

Unfrosted falls into that category of comedy that takes a premise and then throws as many gags at it as possible, hoping that they stick. The backdrop is a business war between two of the biggest cereal companies in the United States in the 1960s (and now, for that matter), and for an idea of the kind of humor one can expect from this, another rival is represented by a Quaker man dressed in traditional garb, as if the owner of the company stepped right off a can of its famous oats.

It's a bit refreshing to see the filmmakers buck the recent trend of movies that treat products as subjects worthy of serious-minded origin stories and biographies. Co-writer/director/star Jerry Seinfeld's fictionalized account of the creation of a handheld, toaster-friendly pastry (Just because the company gets free advertising—yes, even in a comedy—doesn't mean they get to have it here) definitely doesn't take itself or its story seriously. This one has striking mascots, for example, storming corporate headquarters as if they're part of a political cult that's unhappy with election results.

Is that really a joke, though? It's a reference, for sure, just as this story also suggests the Cuban Missile Crisis had something to do with one cereal company blocking sugar exportation from Puerto Rico to its main competitor. Yes, the movie is specifically set in 1963, and as soon as the President appears on screen, there's instantly a bit of morbid curiosity if the screenwriters will approach the most momentous historical event in the United States in that year.

It does, by the way, at the very end with a throwaway joke about who was on a particular grassy knoll on that tragic day. That joke might be in slightly better taste than another about the remains of dead astronauts being buried with test monkeys.

Taste in comedy—like comedy itself, for that matter—is subjective, of course, and one imagines the quartet of writers (Seinfeld, Spike Feresten, Andy Robin, and Barry Marder) would argue that, since the material doesn't take history seriously, we shouldn't be so serious about the jokes it makes with, about, and at the expense of figures from history. It's a decent hypothetical point, but there's a more practical one, too. A joke should probably have some set up, possess at least a bit of logic, and be funny in the first place before anyone starts debating its merits.

This movie never establishes its world in such a way that makes its intentions known or its methods apparent. That doesn't mean it's not funny at times, especially since Seinfeld, one of the most famous comedians in the history of the gig, seems capable of snapping his fingers and summoning just about anyone to appear in his narrative directorial debut. With this many funny people in one movie, odds are that at least some of the gags will work.

Seinfeld plays Bob Cabana, an executive at one of the major cereal companies—the one with the big, red K—in Battle Creek, Michigan. His boss Edsel Kellog III (Well, there's the giveaway for the still and somehow curious) is played by Jim Gaffigan, and Kellog wants a new product that will win the marketing battle with their main rival, the namesake company of its current owner Marjorie Post (Amy Schumer). To help, Bob calls in help from former cereal exec Donna "Stan" Stankowski (Melissa McCarthy), who's currently working at NASA and trying to fit all kinds of foodstuffs into tubes for the astronauts.

With a whole bunch of '60s references, more and more comic actors keep entering with a lot of to-do and exiting with little thought as to whether their appearances matter. Apart from the aforementioned cast, the major ones include Hugh Grant as a Shakespearean actor in a tiger costume and Bill Burr as the President.

We're also given a duo of nefarious milkmen (played by Christian Slater and Peter Dinklage), a trio of onomatopoetic cereal mascots (played by Kyle Mooney, Mikey Day, and Drew Tarver), and a quintet of questionably successful entrepreneurs (played by Adrian Martinez, Jack McBrayer, Thomas Lennon, Bobby Moynihan, and James Marsden). Indeed, a review could probably stall from pointing out how hit-and-miss the jokes are with even more names, such as Cedric the Entertainer as an awards host and Tony Hale as the ventriloquist to a cartel lord-like sugar farmer—not to mention Max Greenfield as Post's eager and abused assistant, as well as Kyle Dunnigan doing a fine impression of Walter Cronkite and an eerily spot-on one of Johnny Carson.

Yes, some of this is funny because it's so silly (A full-honors funeral for someone who contributed to the world of cereal manufacturing is inspired goofiness). Other bits are predictable but amusing, such as Burr's President talking around affairs while scheduling them on the phone, and most of Unfrosted just shifts back and forth between the simple stuff—puns, cultural references, one-liners, and sometimes all three at the same time—and its not-consistently-absurd-enough parody of corporate biographies and history. It's all over the place, which is both the point and, without much narrative or comedic guidance on the filmmakers' part, an inescapable problem.

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