“Captures the unhinged madness of modern life in unforgettable and provocative ways.”

For some, teaching is a passion, while for others it’s a way to pay the bills. However, for a select few it can be a complete inconvenience. This is the premise behind The Musical, the wildly offbeat directorial debut of Giselle Bonilla, who puts together a terrific satire about the education system. The curmudgeon in question is Doug Leibowitz, formerly an aspiring playwright who always dreamed of writing sold-out Broadway shows, but has found himself at a creative impasse, forced to take up the job of a drama teacher at a mediocre middle school. His responsibilities become the bane of his existence, and when he discovers that his ex-girlfriend (who also happens to be the school’s resident art teacher) has begun dating the smarmy principal, Doug decides to take matters into his own hands. Working with his cast of rambunctious but delightfully gullible drama students, he writes his first original work in years: a musical based on the September 11^th attacks, which he intends to perform for the school’s annual production. A caustic, darkly comedic satire that goes for the jugular at every turn, The Musical tackles subjects that would be considered taboo in just about every other context, but with a combination of whip-smart writing, memorable performances and a directorial approach that underlines its pure ambition and craving for chaos, it manages to very effectively capture the unhinged madness of modern life in unforgettable and provocative ways.

Logically, a film about a writer mounting a stage production is usually centred around passion or ambition, or simply the drive to express oneself creatively. This is not the case with The Musical, which is a film framed entirely around the concept of spite. The protagonist is a petty, self-centred blowhard with delusions of grandeur and limited (but not non-existent) talent, and he allows his insecurities and flaws to not only define him, but also guide every decision he makes. This film treats spite as the rare impetus for both creativity and destruction – it isn’t enough to say this is a film about revenge, since Doug’s actions are not some moral crusade, but rather his immature response to what he sees as a slight against him. We’re introduced to a protagonist who occupies a world of institutions that he feels are inherently ignorant of his gifts, and which are actively against seeing him succeed, plunging him into a Kafkaesque hellscape, immersed in surroundings where every institution feels arbitrarily cruel and inescapable. As a satire based on the idea that every mediocre artist believes their lack of success is a result of being misunderstood, rather than that perhaps they’re just not capable of achieving their dreams (at least based on how little effort they put into their growth), The Musical is relentless in forcing its protagonist to endure a long string of humiliations, becoming a broadly funny deconstruction of not only the arts, but the inherent quest for recognition that many artists desperately crave.

This bold approach results in a film about someone clearly past his prime trying to weaponise his skills for personal gain, which backfires tremendously. The film mercilessly lampoons theatre culture (especially amateur and education-based theatre) in such a way that it can be read as both a scathing critique and an endearing celebration, which is a credit to Alexander Heller’s terrific screenplay, as well as Bonilla’s sharp direction. At its core, The Musical is a comedy, but it has thornier edges that make it far more interesting and engaging, particularly in how it frames the protagonist’s efforts to get revenge as being entirely meaningless, beyond the satisfaction of knowing that he has succeeded. It is a classic case of trying to win the battle without acknowledging the broader war (especially when both are entirely one-sided), which allows the film to fixate on the banalities and unconventional quirks on which it is built. A classic cringe comedy that relishes its discomfort, escalating the awkwardness to the point where it borders on outright psychological horror, while refusing to provide any sense of catharsis, it becomes an offbeat fever dream. The awkward pacing forces the unease to linger a few beats too long, and the refusal to give the main character any clear arc in which he grows only further solidifies The Musical as a deeply uncomfortable film, albeit one that is wildly funny once it hits its stride.

When building a film like The Musical, which centres on one of the most intentionally unlikable protagonists we’ve seen on screen in a while, the right actor needed to be chosen, someone who could roll with the punches and be willing to tackle such a despicable and pathetic character. Will Brill has done exceptional work on stage and screen, but has only recently come to our attention, with this film being a tremendous showcase for his skills. His development from a pitiful, emotionally stunted milquetoast into a cackling, Machiavellian anti-hero is extremely entertaining, and Brill’s ability to make Doug so wholeheartedly repellent but compelling is what anchors this entire film. His performance draws from his growing resentment at the gradually compounding inconveniences that he misinterprets as personal humiliations, reflected in everything from the delivery of the dialogue to the smallest physical tics, reaching an outrageously funny crescendo that underlines Brill’s extraordinary talents. The supporting cast consists of a group of gifted young actors making their film debuts (and who do very well in holding their own against Brill), as well as a wonderfully goofy Gillian Jacobs and a scene-stealing Rob Lowe, whose gradual evolution into a self-aware character actor in recent years has proven to be a lot of fun. These strong performances from the whole ensemble allow the film to balance cruelty with comedy, preventing it from collapsing into outright misanthropy while still maintaining that sardonic edge.

At a glance, The Musical seems relatively straightforward as far as satirical dark comedies go, especially since it follows a particular structure from which it only momentarily drifts. However, the further we venture inwards, the more we begin to see just how unconventional it is, mostly in how it addresses a subject that we don’t normally see being the root of a deeply sardonic black comedy. Theatre is a topic that has been explored extensively in every conceivable medium, so in that regard, the film isn’t doing anything unique – but in its efforts to be both critical and affectionate towards those who follow their desire to succeed on stage, it manages to make some fascinating observations around artistry and how it is often driven by ego more than anything else. It’s undeniably difficult to sell a film where discomfort is its greatest commodity, but somehow Bonilla makes it work, through a deft blend of audacity and creativity, giving us a film that refuses to conform to standards by acting as a conventional crowd-pleasing comedy, and instead challenges us without becoming too didactic about its premise. The Musical is bound to be divisive, and not only because it trivialises an enormous global tragedy as fodder for its comedy, but because it is daring enough to engage complex themes into something wildly entertaining, taking a subject like petty revenge and reconfiguring it into a sarcastically perverse tale of the desperate human need to be seen and validated, by any means necessary.