by Jeff Ayers
There’s a special place in hell reserved for friends and relatives who, every time you have any kind of congress with them, will not shut up about how much you need to experience something they enjoy. Having endured weeks and months of such brow-beating by my noodge brother to check out Joss Whedon’s online supervillain musical Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog I finally relented and bought the newly released DVD at Forbidden Planet this past weekend. I’m now so enamored of it I AM that jerkface who will relentlessly encourage you to do the same.
Dr. Horrible (Neil Patrick Harris) is an aspiring supervillain, shy and loser-ish and secretly in love with the girl at the laundromat (Felicia Day), and consistently foiled by his nemesis Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillion) at every turn. Conceived by Whedon during the last Writers Guild strike and brought to life by members of his troupe/family on the cheap, this is a real gem. Think Mystery Men but good. And a musical. The songs are quite witty, much in the same vein as Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s celebrated episode “Once More With Feeling,” the dialogue snappy and witty, and the performances spot on. The end result is one charming and rewarding little film to be enjoyed by Whedon devotees and noobs alike.
Lastly, I know it’s available for peanuts on the dollar, if not free, on the interwebs. That’s just swell, dandy, and peachy. Frankly, I couldn’t care less that I ponied up the dough for the DVD. There’s so much extra material added to the disc to make a purchase worth it. Commentaries, songs, docs; about ninety minutes of extra stuff that you’ll enjoy over and over. Plus it’s easier to be that noodge when you’ve got a tangible product to ram down the throats of others.
And to Mr. Fillion, who walked into Forbidden Planet one unbelievably hot afternoon last summer as I was leaving for the day, and whom I totally mistook for a friend of mine who’s a big Nationals fan and said, “Hey, man. Are you watching that game against the Mets tonight” and who proceeded to, rightly, look at me quizically and walk away: Sorry, dude. You’re pretty cool, I dig your work, and you and my friend are dead-ringers.
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